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Chapter Text

This year will be different, Aang tells himself. He can barely contain his excitement as he rushes up the stairs with Appa by his side. The big wooden doors part in front of him, and he enters William McKinley High, his new school. Not just his new school, but his first proper school! To Aang, this makes everything he sees beautiful and full of promise. The rows of scruffy, broken lockers are a safe space for his new books and notebooks. The smell of sweat, disinfectant and chalk that drifts heavily through the air is the scent of a building that is used and loved. Even the low lights and ugly red and brown décor excite him, reminding him that he is as far away from the monastery as it is possible to be. And the people! A sea of teenagers constantly moving, talking, running, shouting – those are all his new friends, whether they know it or not. He twirls around happily, taking it all in, and smiles at a group of tall guys in red and yellow letterman jackets. They smile back, and for a moment he’s sure he’s already found new friends. Then one of them raises the cup he’s holding and the slushy hits Aang straight in the face.

Cruel laughter rings in his ears, but that’s not the worst of it. Aang thought he knew what it was like to be doused in cold fluids – the monks were big fans of cold showers, even in winter. But he was not prepared for a slushy in the face. It hurts, and it sticks to his face and in his mouth and on his hair. He’s so shocked he just stands there, numb and empty, until he feels Appa’s cold nose nudge his hand. Appa is trained to notice signs of an impending seizure, and he’s clearly worried that Aang is in pain. Aang takes a deep breath and looks around, trying to find someone, anyone he can ask for help. Most of the people around him are still laughing, but a few lockers down a pretty girl with braided hair is looking at him quietly, the corners of her mouth turned down. He dips a hand into the soft fur at the back of Appa’s head, and, murmuring a quiet “yip, yip,” walks towards her.

“Hi, I, well… sorry, but can you tell me where I can get rid of this?” He waves his hand, indicating the mass of red slush sliding down his face.

She gives him a sympathetic look. “You’re new here, right? I can take you to the bathroom, it’s just around the corner.”

The girl sends him into the boys’ bathroom with the advice to use plenty of warm water and take care of his eyes first. He smiles at her, and spends the next ten minutes painstakingly removing icy red lumps from his face and hair. As painful as it was to get hit in the face, he’s glad most of the mess avoided his shirt. It’s nothing special, just an orange t-shirt, but it’s one of the first pieces of civilian clothes Monk Gyatso bought for him when they moved to Lima. Aang doesn’t mind the robes that everyone wears at the monastery, but there is something thrilling about wearing a t-shirt and jeans like a normal teenager.

“Well, boy, that wasn’t such a good start, was it?” he says, kneeling down to rub Appa’s ears. “But that girl was really nice! Maybe we should get her name.” He knows that talking to dogs is a bad habit, but as pathetic as it is, Appa is his best friend. There’s just something reassuring about looking into those big, soulful brown eyes, and the slushy hit shook Aang more than he’d like to admit. He rallies, though, because this is his first day and it’s all part of the high school experience, isn’t it?

“Yip, yip!” he tells Appa, and they leave the bathroom together. The pretty girl is waiting for him outside, talking to a boy who looks so similar to her that they have to be related. They both turn when Aang pushes the door open, the girl smiling. The boy is frowning, but his face lights up when he sees Appa, and he immediately leans forward and tries to pet the dog.

“You have a dog! How do you have a dog? He’s so cute!” he exclaims.

Appa, however, is on duty. He backs away, and the girl grabs the older boy before he can go any further. “Sokka!” she says, scandalised, “can’t you see that that’s a service dog? You’re not supposed to pet them!”

The boy – Sokka? – looks confused, so Aang chimes in. “It’s true, Appa is my service dog! That’s why he has the yellow vest. He’s working right now, so you can’t pet him, but he does like cuddles though, so maybe you can pet him some other time when he’s off duty.” He gives both of the kids his best smile, and rubs one of Appa’s ears to calm him down.

“Oh, sorry!” Sokka says, pouting. “He was just so cute! I didn’t see the vest. Will you really let me pet him another time?”

The girl sighs and turns to Aang. “Please don’t pay any attention to my brother, he’s an idiot. I’m Katara, by the way,” she adds, extending her hand.

“I’m Aang!” he replies, shaking her hand enthusiastically. “Thank you for your help earlier. I’ve never had a slushy thrown in my face before.”

“Well if you’re not planning on becoming a football player you better get used to it,” Sokka tells him drily, “because it’s a pretty normal occurrence here. Especially if you’re short and bald,” he adds, pointing to Aang’s head.

“Sokka!” Katara exclaims, lightly punching the boy’s shoulder. “What?” her brother answers, flinching away. “It’s true! You get bullied all the time because of your braids, and being bald is worse”.

Aang is confused. “Why is it bad to be bald? At the monastery you shave your hair off as a sign that you’re letting go of physical attachments.”

“You’re from a monastery?” Katara asks, cutting over Sokka, who’s trying to tell Aang that he hopes he isn’t attached to clean shirts then.

“Yes!” Aang answers her excitedly. “I grew up in the Buddhist monastery in Columbus. But Monk Gyatso was always getting into trouble, so they sent him to set up his own temple here in Lima, and he said he’d only go if they let me come with him. I’m his favourite, you see. And since it’s just us here in Lima and he’s too busy to teach me, they all agreed I can go to a regular school. It’s my first time, and I’m really excited!” He smiles at them, the simple act of standing in a high school corridor filling him with joy.

Katara smiles back. “That’s so interesting, Aang,” she says. She really is very pretty, Aang thinks, with her big blue eyes and the beaded braids framing her face. A tendril of hair has escaped the braids and is hanging in front of her eyes, and Aang wonders what it would be like to tuck it back behind her ear.

His daydream is cut short by a snort from Sokka. “So you grew up in a monastery and this is your first time in high school? They’re going to eat you alive, buddy.”

This year will be different, Katara tells herself. She’s already made a new friend! Aang is a bit strange, and definitely too enthusiastic about high school, but he seems nice. It’s a good start, especially since her goal this year is to make more friends. Sophomores don’t hang out with their older brother all the time, not if they want to stop being losers. And while Sokka isn’t too bad for a boy, all he wants to talk about is food, pro-wrestling and his robotics club. Plus, she thinks, as she hands Sokka his lunch and gym clothes, sometimes she feels that he takes her for granted.

Aang, on the other hand, is smiling at her like she’s the best thing that’s happened to him all day. It turns out their lockers are next to each other, and Katara smiles back at Aang as she tries to keep up with his barrage of questions. He doesn’t seem to know anything about high school, and gets excited about the smallest details.

“Really?”, he exclaims, “there’s more than 50 clubs at this school? How do you choose which one to go to?”

“Well,” Katara answers, feeling a little defensive, “it’s actually not that easy to get into some of them. Sokka’s in the robotics club, for example, and you have to have really good math scores to get into that one. And a lot of the clubs are either for a specific political stance or religion, like God Squad, or they’re just stupid, like Fruit Sculpture Club. I’ve tried joining a few, but I haven’t found one I really like.” She doesn’t mention that most kids don’t want the loser Native girl in their club. High school is a brutal place, and she wants Aang to keep his wide-eyed innocence as long as he can.

“Oh,” Aang says, and he looks so disappointed that Katara finds herself adding, “but I’ve always hoped that someone would start a glee club, a show choir, you know? I really like singing, but I’m not that good, and it would be so fun to learn to sing with other people. When Mr. Iroh the history teacher started teaching here I hoped he would start one, because he used to coach the glee club at his old school. But that hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t think it will this year…” she realises, belatedly, that her unfulfilled glee club fantasy is perhaps not the best thing to cheer Aang up. But the boy is smiling at her again, clearly undeterred. “That’s a great idea! I love to sing too, we used to sing all the time in the monastery. Don’t worry, Katara, I’ll talk to Mr. Iroh. I’ll get him to start a glee club, and we can be in it together!”

Katara tried to tell Aang that there’s no point, that if Mr. Iroh hasn’t started a club in the last two years he won’t start one now. But it seems that once Aang gets an idea into his head any criticism just flies over his head, and when he finds out he has fifth period with Mr. Iroh any chance of dissuading him is gone. He goes off to his classes with a promise to update her after school, and his enthusiasm is so infectious that Katara can’t help the tiny spark of hope that builds in her chest. After all, it would be so nice to have a place to sing that isn’t her room or the shower.

This year will be different, Iroh tells himself, watching a dejected Aang leave the classroom, shoulders slumped in disappointment. A new beginning. No more sitting around moping about the good old days, or wallowing in guilt about Lu Ten. He needs to concentrate on being a good history teacher, being a parent to Zuko and deciding on this year’s tea club theme.

It’s why he had to say no to Aang’s plea to start a glee club at McKinley High – it would be too much like chasing the past. Iroh needs to move forward, not try to desperately recreate his life from before the accident. He already catches himself calling Zuko “Lu Ten” in his head sometimes, and coaching a show choir will only push him deeper into the past.

Still, he can’t stop thinking about it. He takes a detour on his way home and stops at Lima’s only Japanese shop for tea, but even as he’s choosing the best oolong for the tea club, he finds that his head is full of show choir logistics. They could use the choir room – he knows it’s empty most afternoons. There are so many songs he’d like to try out, so many dances he’s now itching to choreograph. He wonders if there’s any good singers at McKinley High. Discovering new singers is one of his favourite things – there’s nothing quite like watching a shy kid’s trembling voice bloom into confident, beautiful song. He’s smiling and humming as he pulls out of the shop’s parking lot, the seat beside him piled high with tea. He reminds himself that no, he’s not starting a new glee club, it’s a bad idea. But then he wonders what it would be like to coach a show choir without the pressure that Vocal Adrenaline had – they won nationals five years out of the seven he coached them, and a winning streak like that is a heavy burden to bear.

He’s still fighting the ideas crowding his mind as he unlocks the door to their house and takes off his shoes, almost dropping the boxes of tea heaped precariously in his arms.

“Zuko!” Iroh shouts. “I brought you some of those green tea mochi you like!” There’s no answer, so Iroh just takes everything into the kitchen. He knows Zuko is home – football season hasn’t properly started yet, and other than the occasional practice Zuko doesn’t go anywhere except school and home. Iroh spends a moment in front of the photo of Lu Ten that stands on the living room bookshelf, and then heads down the steps to the basement. The basement door is slightly open, and standing on the last step, Iroh can see Zuko clearly. The boy’s headphones are perched on his head, and he’s stomping around trying to learn some complicated dance sequence. He’s covered in sweat, his face scrunched in concentration and his mouth a thin angry line. Zuko is always angry these days, and Iroh feels something in his chest constrict as he watches Zuko fumble the routine and let out a frustrated shout. He tries again and this time trips right away, turning away in a rage to throw off his headphones and bang his head on the wall.

Iroh itches to go in and try and help him, comfort him, tell him he doesn’t need to try so hard, that dancing should come from joy, not from desperation and anger. But he knows it won’t help – he’s tried it all before. Zuko doesn’t listen to him, and the truth is that Iroh is afraid for the boy. When he’s not at school or playing football he’s always here, practising the same dance moves and songs over and over again, getting worse every day. Standing on the stairs and watching helplessly, Iroh comes to a decision. He will start a new glee club at McKinley High, but not for his own glory, or because he wants to go back to his old life. He’ll do it for Zuko.

This year will be different, Zuko tells himself. This is the year he gains back his honour.

He stares at his face in the bathroom mirror. The scar is as prominent as ever, a crusted red blemish on the left side of his face, a constant reminder of his failure and humiliation. It’s only the second day of his junior year and he’s already tired of school. Zuko is never happy, but at least in the summer he can spend all day training, feeling like he’s doing something to change his miserable life. But this year he has even more classes than before, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive a year of math and English and Spanish and biology when he should be doing everything he can to fix his mistakes.

Every minute wasted is another minute that he isn’t good enough. Not good enough for his father, which means not good enough for Vocal Adrenaline. Not good enough for his sister, who hasn’t called him in months. Not good enough for any school except the pathetic William McKinley High in the shithole that is Lima, Ohio. The only path before him is to train, and train, until he’s such a good performer they can’t help but want him. Then, he can go back to the life he deserves.

Uncle Iroh is waiting for him in the kitchen when he comes down the stairs. Judging by the expression on his uncle’s face, he’s itching to tell Zuko something. The last thing Zuko needs at 7am is some overly-enthusiastic rant about the different levels of green tea roasting, but Zuko knows from experience that there’s no stopping Iroh. We have to seize the day by its hair and start it right, Zuko! Make time in the morning and time will make itself, Oi! Ugh.

But it seems that today Iroh isn’t interested in roasted green tea. “Oi, I have good news,” he tells Zuko, beaming. “I have decided to start a glee club at McKinley High. I am calling the group New Directions, and I hope that you will be one of its founding members.”

For a moment, Zuko feels something light up inside of him. A show choir he can actually join! He could sing again, and dance with other people, and feel the adoration of a happy audience. But then he hears Azula’s voice inside his head, teasing and vicious. Oh Zuzu, have you really fallen so far that you’ll join some pathetic group of misfits? Next is his father’s, cold and uncaring. If you think going along with anything my failure of a brother tries to do is a good idea, then I was right to get rid of you. Zuko’s heart fills with despair and anger, and he can’t even look at his uncle. His uncle, who for the past year and a half has been bothering him relentlessly, intent on giving him stupid advice. What use is finding the joy, or following his heart? His uncle, who failed even more than Zuko did, who has fallen to the deepest depths, but has the audacity to somehow still smile and joke and get excited about tea. Zuko can’t bear how unfazed his uncle is by his own failure whilst Zuko is working himself to the bone every day to fix the mistakes he made. And this new glee club is just another sign that his uncle doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand what Zuko needs and what he’s going through.

“No, Uncle,” he says angrily. “I am not joining some stupid bunch of talentless losers. Until I can get back into Vocal Adrenaline, singing with other people is a waste of my time.” “Zuko-” his uncle starts, but the boy stands up quickly and grabs his bag before his uncle can say anything else. “I’ll see you after school” he says, and leaves, not looking back.

Parking his car in the school lot, he fights the wave of misery that washes over him. He can’t cry, not like this, not now. He bangs his head against the steering wheel and balls his hands in his shirt. This afternoon he will train even harder, he decides. He’ll try the dance routine again from the start, and repeat it as many times as he needs to. Failure is not an option – this year is his last chance to prove himself and get transferred to Carmel High so he doesn’t have to finish his school years as a nobody from Lima.

Wiping his face on the sleeve of his red and yellow football jacket, he decides to pick up a slushy on his way inside. The look on people’s faces when they’re hit by the icy flakes always makes him feel a little bit better.

This year will be exactly the same as all the ones before, Toph tells herself. Completely fucking awesome. There’s no other way for a year to go when you’re Toph Beifong, absolute badass and future rock star. It doesn’t matter that she’s blind, or that she uses a cane to get around. Everyone at the school knows that you don’t mess with Toph Beifong. The only reason she isn’t popular is because she doesn’t want to be – popular kids somehow manage to be even more idiotic than the average McKinley High student, and that’s saying something. No, Toph is perfectly happy on her own. Why would you need anyone else when you’re Toph fucking Beifong?

Toph also has no doubt what her path in life will be. The moment she manages to leave her parents’ over-protective clutches, she is going to be a rock star.

But every good star needs to start somewhere, so when her history teacher Mr. Iroh announces at the end of his class that he’s starting a new glee club, Toph doesn’t hesitate. She goes up to Iroh after class and tells him she’s going to audition. Once she has the information she needs she turns to leave, smiling, but is stopped by someone shouting her name.

“Wait, Toph! It’s Toph, right?” It’s the new boy, the one who talks too much and walks around like a dancer. He’s so light on his feet Toph can barely hear him stepping towards her, and senses where he is mostly by his service dog’s loud panting. Seriously, why do dogs have to be so loud? Her parents keep wanting her to get her a guide dog, but she’s stood her ground so far. Any help the dog would provide would be far outweighed by the incessant panting that would block all other sounds. Of course, her parents still won’t acknowledge how useful Toph’s hearing is, no matter how many times she demonstrates what she’s capable of. No, Toph is their helpless little girl and needs constant supervision and help with everything. Ugh.

“What do you want, twinkletoes?” Toph asks the boy without turning around. With her level of hearing there’s not really any need to face people when she talks to them, and she finds that it sets people on edge to talk to her back. It doesn’t seem to deter the new boy, though. “Oh, that’s a cool name! My real name is Aang, but you can call me twinkle-whatever if you want, I don’t mind.” She can basically hear the smile in his words. Ugh. “I just wanted to say that I’m also auditioning for the Glee club. We could be in it together! Isn’t it exciting? My new friend Katara will be so excited to hear about it, and she’s also going to join, and maybe her brother will as well, and we can all be friends, and it will be so fun.”

“Ok,” Toph says. “See you at rehearsals.” She starts to walk out of the room, but hears Aang and his dog rushing after her again. “Wait!” he shouts. Seriously, does he need to be so loud? He’s only a few steps behind her. “Do you know what you’re singing tomorrow? I still haven’t decided, I don’t know that many popular songs, we mainly sang religious chants at the monastery… Do you have any suggestions? I’m sure Katara will have suggestions if not, she’s so smart.”

Toph sighs and turns to face him. “What do you want, twinkletoes? I have to get to math.”

“Well,” he answers, his voice more tentative now, “I just thought we could be friends? Since we’ll probably be in the glee club together? Mr. Iroh says he thinks everyone who auditions will get in.”

“I don’t have friends,” Toph tells him, hoping to nip that terrible idea in the bud. “I’ll sing next to you, but I’m not singing with you. Bye.” And with that, she leaves a stunned Aang behind, humming to herself on the way to math class. She knows exactly what song she’s going to sing tomorrow. The only thing she needs to figure out is how to sneak her electric guitar out of her room without her parents noticing. Or maybe she can borrow one from school? She’ll figure it out. After all, she’s Toph Beifong.

This year will be different, Sokka tells himself. This is the year he’ll get Zuko to be his friend.

He sneaks a look around his shoulder at the group leaning on the lockers on the other side of the hallway. They’re all wearing football jackets and cheerleading uniforms and are laughing loudly at some rude joke. They’re school royalty, and Sokka hates them, but he also longs to be with them, to be them. They all look the same to him, the boys tall and muscled with perfect hair, the girls blond and slim and always smiling. All except Zuko. Sokka wonders sometimes if the scar is the reason he’s so obsessed with Zuko. It doesn’t fit with the rest of him, with the persona of the star football player and school bully. It doesn’t stop Zuko from being the best looking boy at the school – it just makes him more interesting. It gives his image a twist towards something that’s darker, but also more relatable. In his weakest moments, Sokka wonders what that scar would feel like under his fingertips. But a real man would not be thinking of touching another boy’s face, so most of the time Sokka tells himself he just wants to be Zuko’s friend. Because Zuko isn’t as bad as the others. Yes, he’s a bully – he pushes kids around a fair bit, and has definitely thrown his share of slushies. But he never seems to enjoy the bullying, not in the vicious way that the others do. He just seems angry, and sad under the anger. Sokka doesn’t think he’s ever seen Zuko smile properly, and it’s not for lack of looking. They share most of their classes, and Sokka often finds himself staring wistfully at the back of Zuko’s head and wondering what it would take for the boy to notice him – and not in a slushy-in-the-face kind of way.

He’s shaken out of his reverie when Katara smacks him lightly on the side of his head. “Katara!” he exclaims. “Stop staring at Zuko and pay attention, Sokka,” she tells him. “Aang worked hard to get Iroh to start a Glee club, you should listen to him.”

Sokka can feel his face heating. “I wasn’t staring at Zuko!” he says, his voice far too high and squeaky. “Also, I don’t care about the stupid Glee club,” he adds, trying to gain back some of his dignity.

“Of course you were staring at Zuko,” Katara says. She turns to Aang and adds, “Sokka has a crush on him, you know. I can’t see why myself, he’s just a big bully.” Aang looks embarrassed by the whole interaction and clearly doesn’t know what to say.

“For the millionth time, I don’t have a crush on Zuko!” Sokka shrieks. It comes out far too loud, and he glances around, relaxing when he determines no one has noticed. When he turns back, Katara is smirking at him, and Aang is trying to hide his embarrassment by getting something out of his bag. Sokka decides he’s had enough.

“Well, even though this has been wonderful, I have to get to biology,” he says, turning to go. “See you both later.”

He only makes it a few steps away before Katara runs after him, shouting. “Wait, Sokka, you forgot your lunch!” She hands it to him when he turns, and smiles placatingly. “I’m sorry for teasing you. I cut the crusts off the sandwiches, just like you like it.”

Sokka is starting to smile back at her when he hears a loud snort of laughter from the other side of the corridor. He looks up at the group of football players and finds them all staring at him and Katara, barely holding in their laughter. One of them mock-whispers to the others “She cuts the crusts off!” and then they all burst out laughing, pointing at him and wiping tears off their eyes. Sokka feels like his gut has turned to lead and his throat has swollen shut. This is his worst nightmare, he thinks, his eyes wet. Katara is telling him something, probably to brush it off, but he can’t hear her clearly. All he can hear is a voice in his head going no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening to me. It feels like hours pass, and his world is nothing but horrible laughter and mocking whispers and bile in his throat. Then his eyes find Zuko’s across the hallway. Zuko is smirking in a way that somehow makes Sokka feel even smaller and more worthless than before, and he knows he’s going to cry.

He’s saved by the bell going off for the next period. The football players disperse, still laughing, and Sokka rushes off to biology without saying a word to Katara. He somehow holds it together through class, and then spends the next break in the boys bathroom, feet pulled up onto the toilet seat, crying as quietly as he can. He cries so much these days, and he hates himself more every time he does. He’s supposed to be the man of the house, but no, all he can do is eat his crustless sandwiches and cry. How pathetic.

On the way home in the pickup, Katara is extremely nice to him. Every time he looks at her, she has this gentle expression on her face that makes him want to cry and punch her at the same time.

“You know, Sokka,” she says, “I still think you should join the Glee club”.

“Why?” he asks, annoyed. “Because I can sing sooo well?”

“Well, maybe you’re not the best singer out there,” she replies diplomatically, “but you’re an incredible dancer. I’m sure no one else in this club will be able to dance, and you’ll be the one teaching everyone else.”

Sokka hums noncommittally. She’s right, he is a great dancer, and the idea of lording his superior abilities over a bunch of other kids does sound appealing. But joining Glee club is still basically social suicide, and Sokka doesn’t know if he can take any more bullying.

“And you know,” Katara adds, “When Aang and I asked Mr. Iroh about dancing, he told us that his nephew Zuko was going to be in the club, and that he’s a terrible dancer, so we don’t have to worry about being the worst. You’d probably have to teach Zuko as well.”

Sokka parks the car and turns to look at her. She’s smiling at him knowingly. “Ok,” he says, resigned, “I’ll join this stupid Glee club.” And, he adds in his head, I’m going to wipe that smirk off Zuko’s face once and for all.

Iroh is satisfied. He accepted everyone who auditioned into the Glee club, which now has six members: Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph, Suki, and Teo. They’re all very talented, and Iroh already knows what song they’re going to start working on this afternoon.

“You see, it’s just what these children need,” he tells his friend coach Zhao over lunch in the break room. “A place where they are not afraid to be themselves. A tree can only grow as large as the sky, after all!”

Zhao looks sceptical, but whatever he wants to say is interrupted by a loud crash from the direction of the counter.

Sue Sylvester approaches their table, the shards of her broken mug sitting in a puddle of coffee on the floor behind her.

“Iroh,” she says, her expression tight and cold, “did I or did I not hear correctly, buddy, that you are starting a Glee club at this school?”

Iroh starts to answer her, but she interrupts him. “This school, where I, Sue Sylvester, have led my world-famous Cheerios team to five national cups? This school, where my Cheerios need the full attention and support of the students and the principal, without a bunch of diaper-wearing losers distracting them with soppy show tunes?”

Iroh doesn’t know what to say. He’s never had any problem with the cheerleading coach before, but everyone at the school knows she has a short temper and he doesn’t want to set her off.

“Why, yes, Sue,” he tells her. “Isn’t it good to have a club for the children who want to perform?”

This seems to have been the wrong thing to say. Sue’s face twists in anger, and she points at Iroh, says, “Principal's office, now,” and storms out of the room.

ooooo

Principal Kuei’s gaze flits nervously back and forth from Sue to Iroh. “Well Sue, I can’t really say no to a glee club at the school. It doesn’t cost much, and it’s pretty normal for a school to have one.”

“My dear badger-eyed Kuei,” Sue tells him, putting her hands on the principal’s table and leaning over him. “Do you realise what I, Sports-magazine-appointed cheerleading coach of the year Sue Sylvester, do for this school? I am this school! Without my five national cheerleading trophies, you are nothing.”

“Well, we are of course very appreciative of your talents, Sue,” the principal tells her placatingly. “You will always be my star coach. But Iroh isn’t asking for three thousand dollars for a nutritionist – he just wants to use the choir room so a few kids can sing.”

This only seems to make Sue angrier. “When I came to coach here as a fresh-faced prodigy, you vowed that my Cheerios will always be the only performers at this school. Are you, principal, going back on your sworn word? And for who? This ageing Asian Santa Claus?” She throws her hand violently to the side, pointing at Iroh, who so far is quite amused by the whole display.

The principal coughs nervously. “Well, Sue, I don’t quite remember swearing anything… I think I just told you we didn’t have any other performing clubs at the time, but I mean, you didn’t say anything when Ms. Norton started the Renaissance club last year. There’s really no reason not to have a glee club, and after all Iroh had a very good record at Carmel High – you might even be sharing the national championship win at the end of this year!”

“Really, Sue,” Iroh adds, thinking that he has to say something to de-escalate the situation. “I’m sure we can work together. One cannot use a single straw to sweep the floor! You are, after all, the experienced coach here – maybe you can teach me.”

Sue turns on him, so angry now that spit is flying out of the corners of her mouth. “Sue Sylvester will not be swayed by idle flattery,” she spits at him. “I don’t trust a man with long hair. I can’t help but picture birds laying sulphurous eggs in there, and I find it disgusting.” She stands up and walks towards the office door, only turning when she grasps the handle. “You, Mr. Iroh, have made a new enemy. You are about to board the Sue Sylvester express. Destination? Horror!” And with that dramatic statement, she sweeps out of the room and down the hallway, pushing students against the lockers as she goes.

Iroh looks back at principal Kuei. The man looks worried, and he frowns at Iroh. “I’m sorry, Iroh,” he says, “but Sue is my star player. I can only say no to her for so long. If you want to keep the glee club running, it needs to do something for me – I need you to place at Sectionals, or I’m shutting down the club.”

This, Iroh thinks, is extremely unfair, since no other club’s existence is conditional on their success in competitions. But Iroh learnt long ago that it’s always better to be patient and choose your battles. So he nods and thanks the principal and goes back to the break room to finish his tea. If Sue Sylvester wants to make an enemy of Iroh – well, she’ll have a fight on her hands.

ooooo

Just a small-town girl

It’s Friday afternoon, and there’s just one more thing Iroh needs to make this a perfect week. He’s sitting in the auditorium, watching the Glee club perform their first song on the stage. They’re awkward, unused to singing in front of an audience, fumbling through the moves. Toph is blind, Teo is in a wheelchair and Aang has a service dog on stage, but Iroh doesn’t mind. It’s obvious they’re enjoying themselves, and their voices are beautiful. Iroh gave this first solo to Katara and Aang, and he thinks he made the right decision. Aang has a surprisingly strong tenor for such a small boy, and it’s a great counterpoint to Katara’s soprano. They already have great chemistry, singing to each other as they walk around the stage.

Just a city boy

The only thing missing, Iroh thinks, is a baritone. Toph does provide some strength with her mezzo-soprano, but Teo is a tenor and Suki is a soprano. Iroh has told Sokka to stick to dancing for now. What they need is a strong, dramatic baritone.

It goes on and on and on and on

As if on cue, Iroh hears the door to the auditorium creak open. He’s timed this rehearsal perfectly, and he smiles to himself as he patiently waits for the person by the door to make a decision. Once the song is over and the children on stage are laughing and congratulating each other, Iroh hears someone walking down the steps, and a thump as a backpack is thrown down on a seat a row behind him.

Some will win, some will lose

“You chose this song on purpose, didn’t you, Oji?” Zuko asks.

Iroh’s smile widens. “I don’t know what you mean, nephew. It’s a popular song!”

He hears Zuko scoff behind him. “They’re good,” he says reluctantly. “Especially the tiny bald one.” He waits a few seconds, and then adds, “But you need a baritone. The sound is too weak.”

“My thoughts exactly, Oi,” Iroh says, turning to look at Zuko. The boy has his arms crossed across his chest, but his frown is a little lighter than usual. It might be a trick of the light, but Iroh thinks he sees a corner of Zuko’s mouth twitching into a smile. “Do you know where I might find one?” he asks.

Some are born to sing the blues

Zuko gives him a long look, evidently unamused. “Ok, you win, Uncle. I’ll join your stupid Glee club. But only because you need a baritone, and I can’t watch you embarrass yourself with this bunch of losers.”

Iroh smiles, and asks teasingly, “I thought you said they were good?”

Zuko shakes his head, and Iroh’s almost certain he’s smiling, but Zuko stands up and walks down the row before Iroh can decide for sure. At the end of the row, Zuko turns back to his uncle. “I’m assuming,” he says, “that it’s not a coincidence they were singing this song just as I got out of football practice.”

Streetlights, people

Iroh can see he wants an answer, but really, where’s the fun in that? “Practice is every day after school in the choir room,” he tells Zuko. “And now, I need to get back to my students. Oh, and if you pick up some squash on the way home, I can make my famous orange soup. After all, nothing warms the heart like soup!” Iroh thinks for a moment. “Except maybe tea, of course.”

Don't stop believin'

He can see Zuko shake his head all the way back up to the door of the auditorium, and he swears he hears a snort of laughter. A perfect week, he tells himself, sinking back happily into his seat.

Hold on to that feelin'

Chapter Text

Iroh is walking down the hallway and thinking about his glee club when a tiny girl in a cheerleading uniform steps out in front of him.

“Miss Sylvester wants to see you in her office, Mr. Iroh,” she tells him. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Thank you – Ty Lee, isn’t it?” Iroh asks. Ty Lee just gives him a look, and turns to lead him to Sue’s office.

“Hello, Sue,” Iroh says as he enters her office. Sue’s office is much bigger than his, and has space for multiple large pieces of sports equipment, as well as her large desk. Sue is on the treadmill when he comes in, wearing her usual red jumpsuit and smirking to herself. “You wanted to see me?” Iroh asks.

“Hey, buddy,” Sue says, getting off the treadmill and wiping her forehead. “Come on in – I just blasted my hammies.” She doesn’t look as angry as she had last week, but if anything her friendliness is suspicious, so he waits for her to start talking. She picks up a pill box from her desk and hands it to him. “Iron tablet?” she asks. “It keeps your strength up while you’re menstruating.”

Not sure what to say, Iroh just tells her “I do not menstruate.”

“Yeah?” she asks. “Neither do I.” When Iroh just looks at the pill box, confused, Sue comes to stand in front of him, leaning down to look him in the eye. “So, I had a little chat with Principal Kuei, and he said that if your group doesn't place at Regionals he's cutting the program. Tsk, ouch.”

“You do not need to worry about glee club, Sue,” Iroh tells her, wondering if she only invited him in to gloat. “We are going to be fine”

“Really?” Sue adds, turning back to her desk, smiling. “'Cause I was at the local library, where I read Cheerleading Today aloud to blind geriatrics, and I came across this little page-turner. Show Choir Rule Book,” she picks up a book from her desk and shows it to him. “And turns out, you need 12 kids to qualify for Regionals. Last time I looked, you only had five and a half, and that’s including the cripple in the wheelchair.” She hands him the Show Choir book, and picks up another paper from her desk, this time a list of some classes. “I also took the liberty of highlighting some special ed classes for you,” she says, handing him the papers. “Maybe you could find some recruits. 'Cause I'm not sure there's anybody else who's gonna wanna swim over to your island of misfit toys.” Turning to her desk, Sue picks up some dumbbells and starts lifting them over her head, staring intensely at Iroh.

Iroh sighs. He knows, of course, that you need 12 kids to qualify for Regionals – you need that many just to get into Sectionals. But Sectionals are a few months away, and Iroh wanted to focus on building a strong base with the kids he has. Still, Sue’s vicious tirade bothers him more than he wants it to. He doesn’t mind that the glee club is full of misfit kids – if anything, he’s glad it gives them a safe space to be themselves. But even now that Zuko has joined, Iroh still needs five more members, and if the glee kids continue to be at the bottom of the school hierarchy, no-one else will want to join.

Despite his uneasy thoughts, years of Pai Sho games have made Iroh good at keeping his emotions to himself. “Are you threatening me, Sue?” he asks the cheerleading coach, his face expressionless.

She smirks at him. “Threatening you? Oh, no, no, no. Presenting you with an opportunity to compromise yourself? You betcha.” She leans forward, gesturing at him with one of the dumbbells. “Let's break it down: You want to be creative, you want to be in the spotlight. Face it – you want to be me! So here's the deal. You do with your depressing little group of kids what I did with my wealthy, elderly mother – euthanise it. And then I'll be happy to offer you a job as my second assistant on Cheerios. You can fetch me Gatorade and launder my soiled delicates, it'll be very rewarding work for you.”

Iroh almost laughs at this ridiculous offer. “Thank you for the offer, Sue, it is very kind. But I am afraid I have to decline it. I believe in these students. And do not forget that I have also won multiple national championships. The Cheerios will have some competition this year, because the glee club is going to show at Regionals, you have my word on that. Good day.” He smiles at Sue’s furious face, and turns to leave.

At the door, he has another thought, and turns back to add one last thing. “Oh, and you should try drinking Rooibos tea, it is very high in iron and even better, it is delicious!” Walking down the corridor back to his office, he hears a crash coming from Sue’s office, sounding very much like dumbbells hitting a metal door.

Zuko is bored. It’s Monday afternoon, and they’re all in the choir room, waiting for Iroh to come and start the practice. Although he was impressed by their singing last Friday, Zuko still thinks the rest of the club is a big bunch of losers, so he’s sitting alone in the far right corner, glaring at a picture on the wall in front of him. Like the rest of the school, the choir room is a medley of brow, purple and grey. There’s a black piano by the door, and the students sit on chairs arranged on the raised platform on the other side of the room. The floors are worn, the bookcase is shoddy, and the tiny windows only let in a sliver of light even on the sunniest days. It’s nothing like the sleek modern hallways of Carmel High, and Zuko hates the way it makes him feel, oppressed and tired and ordinary.

When he walked in earlier most of the other choir members were already here, and they all got very excited by his appearance. He didn’t answer any of their questions, and definitely did not listen to them when they all introduced themselves. He’s already categorised them in his mind, after all: blind girl, bald boy, emo girl, wheelchair boy, braid girl and her brother undercut boy. After a particularly enthusiastic question from braid girl about whether or not he could convince other football players to join, he raised his hand. “I’m here to sing, not to make friends. So don’t talk to me.”

Blind girl, who was sitting further from the others and rocking back in her chair, seemed to approve of this statement. She hadn’t joined in on Zuko’s interrogation, and had even given him a “good one, Sparky” after he’d made his disdain clear. The others, however, all looked scandalised, and Zuko used the quiet to go and sit down as far away from them as he could. They turned away from him then and started talking amongst themselves, all except undercut boy, who stared at Zuko for another minute with a strange expression on his face.

Zuko doesn’t care – it doesn’t matter what they think. He’s here because it turns out that some people can sing despite being total losers, and with him in the club the New Directions could actually win some competitions. He imagines it now – him singing a solo at Regionals, or even nationals, these idiots backing him up with perfect umms and aaahs. His father is in the audience, and Zuko sings and dances so well that after the show his father approaches him, tells him he’s made a mistake and asks Zuko to come back to Vocal Adrenaline.

Zuko is trying and failing to imagine what pride and love would look like on his father’s face when his uncle enters the room, his eyes catching on Zuko’s with an expression all too similar to Zuko’s imaginings. Zuko feels his face heating, and he goes back to glaring at the wall, embarrassed by his daydreaming.

“Hello, my young artists!” Iroh says, turning towards the gathered students and placing a large stack of papers on the piano. “I see you have already met our newest member, my nephew Zuko.” He gestures at Zuko, who ignores him and continues staring at the wall.

“You all did very well last week, so well that I am sure we will go far in the competitions.” Iroh smiles at them, and the others start whispering excitedly. “However,” Iroh continues, “although I would happily give any song to the seven of you, to qualify for Sectionals we need at least 12 members. Settle down!” he adds placatingly when the other students, agitated, try to protest. “I know you are worried about the status of the glee club at the school, but I am sure getting another five members will not be hard. After all, talent is like an ant who has found some food. It attracts more of itself!” There’s a confused silence at that statement, and Zuko smiles inwardly. These kids will have to get used to Iroh’s incomprehensible sayings if they want to stay in the club.

“So,” his uncle continues, “I have asked principal Kuei if the New Directions could perform at the school assembly, and he has agreed! This will be the perfect opportunity to recruit new members. So today,” he says, turning to the stack of papers on the piano, “we will choose a song to sing at the assembly.”

Iroh then proceeds to hand out music sheets to the excited students, listing all the songs he thinks they could perform. Braid girl wants them to sing a love ballad, but her brother interrupts her and argues that they need something with a good beat for dancing if they want to impress the students. Blind girl wants to do a heavy metal song, and emo girl suggests alternative songs no-one has heard of. Wheelchair boy doesn’t seem to have any opinion, and bald boy just keeps asking what all the songs are called and writing them down in a notebook.

After a few minutes of bickering, Iroh shushes them, and says, “I am very glad you are enthusiastic, but I am afraid that we can only perform one of the songs from this list.” He points to the list of songs he’s handed around, and Zuko can’t help but groan when he sees the songs on it.

“Nephew, do you have something to say?” Iroh asks. Zuko looks up to see everyone staring at him.

“All these songs are terrible,” Zuko answers. “There’s not a single song here that’s less than a decade old. We can’t sing these songs in front of the school.”

“Oh, come on, Nephew!” his uncle says cheerfully. “These songs are classics. And even better, they were all approved by principal Kuei. I am sure we can find something here we all want to sing”.

Zuko leans back in his seat, too tired to argue. He should have known that it would be like this – after all, Iroh probably got kicked out of Carmel High for a reason, and Zuko knows from living with him that his uncle’s taste in music is decades old. It doesn’t really matter to Zuko, though. He’s certain he’s going to be the soloist at the competitions, so if only loser backup singers want to join the club, that’s fine. It shouldn’t be a problem to get another five misfits to join – there’s plenty of them at the bottom of the school hierarchy. If the assembly performance doesn’t do it, Zuko can just threaten some freshmen into joining.

Iroh goes through the list of songs, singing a few bars of each of them and explaining who could sing which song. Zuko is satisfied to hear he would sing most of the leading male solos, even if he thinks the songs themselves are stupid. Once he’s finished going through the songs, Iroh tells them to take some time to think about it and listen to the songs online, and that they will all decide together in practice tomorrow.

Once Iroh is out of the room, the rest of the club turn towards each other and start debating the songs. Despite himself, Zuko is curious to hear what they think, so he takes his time packing up his backpack. Blind girl is listening to some of the songs on her headphones, and has found a mention of someone praying on their knees in one of the religious songs. This, of course, has led to a competition to come up with the dirtiest religious double entendres possible.

“That sermon was nuts”

“She was so wet after her baptism”

“He’s coming to god. He’s coming!”

“Loving Jesus is a wild ride.”

“Everyone is giving to the poor, and his is the biggest package.”

The jokes are terrible, but Zuko can’t help but join in the laughter. Almost everyone is contributing – even the tiny bald kid adds a joke, saying that someone called Gyatso loves to make fun of Christianity. The only person not laughing is undercut boy, who looks more confused with each new joke. Finally, he seems to break, and loudly asks, “Why are you all laughing? What’s so funny??” This, of course, makes all of them laugh even more.

Zuko smirks at undercut boy. “Don’t worry,” he tells him. “Glee club accepts everyone, right? Even virginal prudes who wouldn’t know a sexual innuendo if it hit them in the face.”

At that, the laughter dies down, although blind girl is still giggling to herself. Undercut boy is blushing so hard it shows on his dark skin, and he turns to face the wall, blinking.

“That was mean,” bald boy tells Zuko angrily.

Zuko gives him a cold look, “Yes, that’s the point of making fun of someone. To be mean. Would you like me to demonstrate on you next, grandpa?”

Bald boy doesn’t seem phased by the insult, but he glances at undercut boy worriedly. “I think you should leave now,” he tells Zuko, who shrugs and leaves the room.

This is why he usually hangs out with all those stupid jocks. Nice people are no fun at all, and Zuko can’t afford to be soft.

After spending some time crying on Monday evening, Sokka wakes up on Tuesday determined to prove Zuko wrong. So what if Sokka didn’t understand some sexual innuendos. He’s not a prude – he loves sex! Or he probably would love it, if he could find anyone to do it with.

Unlike Sokka, Zuko has a girlfriend, the head cheerleader, Mai. They never seem to talk much to each other or hang out together, but Sokka assumes they’ve had sex. Images of Zuko having sex fill his mind, and he has to forcefully turn his thoughts back to his plan. First, he’s going to get Mr. Iroh to open up the song list for the assembly, to make Zuko appreciate him. Then, he’ll choose the dirtiest, rudest song possible to prove that he has no problem with sex. No problem at all.

Unfortunately, the first step of his plan is harder to pull off than he thought. After kindly but firmly telling Sokka that no, he won’t be changing the song list, Iroh looks at him more closely. “Sokka,” he says, “I did not get the impression yesterday that you cared about the song list. What changed your mind?”

“Well,” Sokka answers, searching for a good reason. “I listened to the songs yesterday evening, and they are really old, so you know, I thought we could do something newer.”

“So you listened to all the songs?” Iroh asks.

“No, I ate the songs. Of course I listened to them!” Sokka answers, rolling his eyes, happy Iroh is going along with his story.

“And what did you think of Disco All Night?” Iroh asks, serious.

Sokka racks his brain. He can’t remember any song called Disco All Night, but then he didn’t actually read the song list or listen to any of the songs yesterday evening – he was too busy crying.

“Umm I didn’t think it was bad, umm, just, well, old, you know, and not the sort of thing people my age would umm, listen to.”

As soon as he’s given his answer, Sokka realises his mistake. Iroh has a small smile on his face, so Sokka is not surprised when the teacher tells him, “As far as I know, Sokka, there has never been a song called Disco All Night, and it is definitely not on my song list.”

Sokka can feel his face burning, and he apologises to Mr. Iroh, hoping the teacher will just let him go. Iroh, however, still has something to say to Sokka. “You know, Sokka, you shouldn’t pay too much attention to what my nephew says,” he tells him kindly. “He has a lot to learn. If I am correct, you may even be able to help on his path.”

Sokka swallows, his throat suddenly tight. “He hates me,” he tells Iroh, looking at the floor.

“Ah, Sokka,” Iroh answers him gently, “He hates himself, not you. Give him time.”

Sokka stares at him. It’s inconceivable to him that proud, popular, brilliant Zuko would have any reason to hate himself. “Yeah, of course. Zuko hates himself,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. But Iroh just shakes his head, gives Sokka a pat on the shoulder, and tells him to go off to class.

On the way to robotics club, Sokka decides that he won’t let this setback stop him. He’ll just have to convince the others to change the song without Iroh knowing.

ooooo

That, luckily, turns out to be much easier than convincing Iroh. In practice they decide on one of the songs from the list, and then spend the afternoon learning disco moves. Sokka thinks it’s rather fun, but by the end of practice he can tell everyone else agrees that shimmying their hips and pointing their arms up and down is not going to win them any fans amongst the rest of the McKinley student base. Toph complains multiple times during practice, and by the end even Katara asks Iroh if they can expand the song list. He gently turns down all of their requests, and reassures them that everyone loves disco, and that the song will be fine.

Sokka doesn't have any trouble getting all of them to stay around after Iroh leaves, and the moment they’ve all sat back down, he says “We need to do a different song.” This is met by multiple relieved exclamations of “Yes!” and “Exactly!”.

“But how do we convince Mr. Iroh?” Katara asks.

“We don’t,” Sokka tells her. “We practise it behind his back. It’s just the second week of school, so we should all have enough time to learn it.”

Sokka can tell Katara is scandalised by this suggestion, her eyes wide and her mouth scrunched up in worry. Aang looks worried as well, but Zuko is smirking, and everyone else is nodding their heads.

“I like your guts, snoozles,” Toph tells him.

Sokka smiles. “Zuko and Toph can work on the music, I can work out the choreography, and Suki, you can get us some costumes, right?” The girl nods.

“And,” Sokka adds, “I already have a great song for us to sing. We’re going to give students what they want – sex.” He presses play on his phone.

Everyone in the club has a different reaction to “Push it”. Toph is smiling widely. Suki and Teo exchange a look and burst out laughing. Katara is frowning, and Aang is glancing at her nervously. But in truth, Sokka only cares about one person’s reaction, and his heart does a little leap when he sees that Zuko is actually smiling. He has a beautiful smile, somehow both soft and mischievous, and Sokka can’t believe he’s the reason for that smile, however indirectly.

When the song ends Zuko leans back, still smiling, and says, “Yes, that will work. My uncle will be angry, but the students will love it.”

“We can’t do that song!” Katara exclaims. “Not if Mr. Iroh won’t like it.”

“Oh come on, Katara,” Sokka tells her, still high on the beauty of Zuko’s smile. “Don’t be a prude. It’s a good song.”

She glares at him. “I’m not a prude,” she says, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to get our coach angry with us in the second week of school. We can get people to join another way.”

“How?” Sokka asks her. “Because we’re sooo popular? Maybe as things stand now we could still get one or two losers to join. But if we perform that disco song in front of the whole school, they’re going to kill us.”

“Sokka is right, Katara,” Suki adds, “Personally I think the sex song is ridiculous, but it’s the fact that the teachers will hate it that will make it work. Kids like rebellion. There’s no song we could do that would fit the principal’s standards and not be social suicide.”

“But I don’t understand,” Katara asks, nervously twisting the hem of her t-shirt. “are we really that intent on winning that we’re willing to go behind Mr. Iroh’s back? I thought glee club was about making friends and having fun together.”

“Of course not,” Zuko scoffs, “Glee club is about winning.” He leans forward, staring at Katara incredulously. “Everything is about winning. You may not know this, because you have obviously never won a thing in your life, but winning feels good.”

“Hey!” Aang turns on Zuko, frowning. “That’s not nice. I’m sure Katara has won plenty of things.”

Sokka knows that Katara has never really won anything, so it doesn’t surprise him when Aang’s defence only makes her angrier. “Or maybe,” she says forcefully, her shining blue eyes trained on Zuko, “those of us who don’t have life handed to us on a silver platter know that it’s ok not to win all the time.”

The part of Zuko’s face that isn’t covered by his scar gets very red, very fast. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” he screams at Katara. His voice is so loud that Appa gets agitated, standing up from his perch near Aang’s chair and shifting closer to his owner. Zuko is opening his mouth again to shout some more when Toph hits him on the head with her cane.

“Oh shut up, sparky,” she says. “Yes, boo-hoo, you had a hard life, don’t we all, who cares. I have to say, though, sugar queen,” she adds, turning to Katara “I agree with the prince. I’m glad your positive attitude works for you, but some of us are here to win.”

Katara looks around the group, searching for support. Sokka feels bad – she’s his sister, after all. But he’s finally on the same side as Zuko, and there’s no way he’s giving that up, so he shakes his head at her. Suki and Teo are similarly unsupportive, shrugging and frowning in turn.

Disappointed, Katara stands up. “If you’re going to do this, I won’t be part of it,” she says angrily. “Come on, Aang.”

She leaves the room with her head held high, and Sokka has to admire her resolve. He’s not proud of it, but he knows that by this point in a fight he himself would be off crying in some corner.

Aang looks around nervously, clearly unsure what to do. In the end, he follows Katara out of the room, but not before he gives Sokka a pleading look.

“Well,” Sokka says, watching Aang leave. “That went well. I can probably convince Aang to come back, but knowing my sister there’s no way we can get her to join the song.”

“Will she tell Mr. Iroh?” Teo asks worriedly.

“Nah, she’s a controlling prude, but she’s not a tattle-tale,” Sokka says. He feels a bit bad saying things about Katara behind her back, but they are true, after all. All she had to do was agree to break one rule, but no, she couldn’t let Sokka have even one moment of success. She always has to be in control, and it’s starting to drive him mad.

Still, as he looks down at the score and doodles possible dance moves in his notebook, Sokka has a sinking feeling in his gut that might be guilt.

Aang isn’t sure what to do.

The problem is that he isn’t good at these sorts of things. He grew up as the only child in a monastery full of adults, and as much as he loves Appa and Gyatso, they’re a dog and an elderly monk. Katara, on the other hand, is a girl, and to Aang girls are a completely alien species.

He really likes Katara, more than he likes Sokka or Suki or Toph. She’s so kind, caring, and clever, and she’s an incredibly talented singer. When they sang to each other during the duet last week, Aang felt like he was walking on air. All he wants to do for the rest of his life is sing with Katara.

That doesn’t help him now, though, because Katara isn’t going to sing at the school assembly – she’s made that very clear. And she clearly expects Aang to not sing either. She never actually asked him not to, but just assumed that he wouldn’t. That makes Aang feel weird, because he hasn’t decided yet.

He doesn’t really understand why Katara doesn’t want to sing. Yes, the song is very sexual, but Aang Katara doesn’t seem like a prude. He himself liked the song – Monk Gyatso is of the opinion that there’s no age limit for jokes, no matter how sexual, so Aang’s pretty used to sexual innuendo. But he doesn’t know what to do, because Katara has just assumed that he won’t be singing, and he’s worried that if he starts asking her why then she’ll think he’s on Sokka’s side.

He’s still trying to decide when Sokka corners him in the bathroom.

“Hey Aang!” Sokka greets him cheerfully. “So I know you left the choir room with Katara yesterday, but you’re still going to sing at the assembly, right? We need your voice.”

Aang was just washing his hands in one of the faded white sinks, and Sokka has now crowded him against the wall, Aang’s backpack hitting the orange and red tiles. His wet hands drip on Appa’s head, and the dog whines softly and moves a few steps away. Aang quickly wipes his hands on his shirt.

“Well,” he answers hesitantly, “I don’t know, Sokka. Katara thinks we shouldn’t do the song.”

“Oh, don’t mind her,” Sokka tells him flippantly. “She just gets these moods sometimes. Girls do, you know. She’s probably just on her period or something, and by the assembly she’ll have changed her mind.”

“She seemed pretty sure to me...” Aang says uncertainly.

Sokka gives him a long, assessing look. “You like Katara, don’t you, Aang? Like like like her?”

Aang feels his face heating. “Nooo-”, he starts. “I mean of course I like her, she’s amazing, and so pretty – but not like like her, not in that way – at least – do you think she likes me? Not like like likes me, like you know – likes me?”

Sokka smiles at Aang, and turns him back towards the bathroom mirror, putting an arm around his shoulders and pointing at Aang’s reflection with his other hand.

“Look at you Aang!” Sokka tells him. “You’re a good looking guy, aren’t you?”

“I, I am?” Aang stutters, not sure what to think. His reflection looks the same as usual – a short, bald boy in an orange t-shirt, with big ears and wide grey eyes.

“Of course you are!” Sokka exclaims. “Now, girls like Katara, they’ll tell you that what they care about is kindness or honesty or some soft shit like that. And maybe that’s a small part of it, but it’s not what they really want. They don’t want a nice guy. What they want is a man, someone who takes charge, someone who is aloof and does whatever he wants to do. They want someone sexy and confident, someone who isn’t afraid to wiggle his ass in front of the whole school.”

“They do?” Aang asks, sceptical.

“Who’s the expert here?” Sokka asks him, tightening his hold on Aang’s shoulders. “You, who had never even spoken to a girl before last week? Or me, who grew up with one and has been around girls all his life?”

“You, probably,” Aang says.

“Exactly!” Sokka smiles, letting Aang go and clapping him on the back. “And I’m telling you that if you go up onto that stage and use your voice and do some sexy moves, all the girls in the school will go crazy about you.”

“But Katara will be angry,” Aang says, feeling like he’s losing the argument without really being sure how.

“Oh, maybe,” Sokka says dismissively. “She’ll be a bit hysterical at first, she’s just a girl after all. But when she sees you on that stage being all sexually assertive, she’ll realise she was wrong and be super into you.”

“That does sound good,” Aang says, smiling now. He imagines himself dancing and singing on stage. The crowd is composed exclusively of teenage girls, all of them going crazy, jumping up and down and tearing at their hair. Some of them even have huge signs saying “We love you, Aang!”. But Aang only has eyes for one of them – Katara, sitting peacefully in the middle of the crowd. She’s shouting his name and looking at him like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen, and Aang wants to bask in this feeling forever.

“Great,” Sokka says, snapping Aang out of his daydream. “Then we’ll see you at the secret practice this afternoon?”

“Okay,” Aang says. He decides he’s going to listen to Sokka, because the boy really does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“Just remember,” Sokka adds before leaving, “you need to be a real man. So even if Katara is angry at you, keep in mind that what she actually wants is someone aloof and assertive. Just remind yourself that after the assembly she’ll be so into you she’ll forget she was ever against the song.”

This all sounds very strange to Aang, but if Sokka says this is what girls are like, who is he to contradict him?

Principal Kuei coughs lightly into the microphone.

“Silence, children. Silence. First, an announcement: the toilets are broken again. We are fixing the problem, but let me warn you there will be zero tolerance for anyone soiling school grounds. We're not going to have a repeat of last time!”

He gives the assembled students a serious look.

“We have a treat for you all today. The glee club needs new recruits, so they will perform a song to show you what the club is like. New Directions, take it away!”

Ah, push it

Ty Lee’s mouth is hanging open, and she can’t seem to close it. She blinks her eyes a few times, but the image in front of her stays the same. On the stage, in front of the whole school, Zuko, Toph Beifong, and a bunch of kids she doesn’t know are singing “Push It” and pretending to hump each other. Ty Lee can’t decide what’s the worst part – the girls sliding weirdly on the stage like snakes, the boys smacking each other’s asses, or the sweet little bald boy waving his hands up and down above the two girls’ waving buttocks.

P-push it real good

Ty Lee certainly isn’t a stranger to dances that hint at something erotic – she’s a cheerleader, after all, and being a cheerleader is all about carefully balancing that madonna/whore image. But that’s the point, it’s about balance, about teasing at buttocks with flared skirts, and doing seemingly innocent flips and jumps that hint at the body beneath the tight uniform. There’s nothing balanced about this performance. Someone has decided to cram sex into every inch of this song, and Ty Lee is somehow simultaneously horrified and impressed.

Get up on this!

As soon as the song is over, the audience erupts in ear-shattering applause. All the students know that they have just seen something very, very naughty, and they love it. The teachers look much less impressed, and Coach Sylvester is staring daggers at Mr. Iroh, who’s holding his head in his hands dejectedly. The only adult who doesn’t look angry is principal Kuei, who Ty Lee saw nodding happily along to the music during the song. The glee club has probably been saved by the principal’s habit of listening to songs with his eyes closed, although judging by the look on Coach Sylvester’s face she won’t waste any time in complaining about the performance.

Still, the person Ty Lee is most worried about is Mai. She turns to her best friend, who, to her great surprise, just looks bored. And it’s real boredom – to others Mai always looks bored, but Ty Lee can tell when her friend’s boredom is real. Her face may be expressionless, but her aura is very strong, and Ty Lee knows how to read it.

“Aren’t you angry?” Ty Lee asks her.

Mai raises a delicate eyebrow. “Why?” she asks. “It was a terrible performance, but if I got angry at every bad show I saw I would never stop being angry.”

“No!” Ty Lee exclaims. “Aren’t you angry at Zuko? He’s your boyfriend, and he was on that stage pretending to hump other girls!”

Ty Lee herself is furious. She can’t stand Zuko. He doesn’t deserve Mai, but instead of grovelling at her feet, he basically ignores her. They barely talk or hang out, just hold hands in the hallways and go to parties as a couple. Mai doesn’t seem to mind, but Ty Lee seethes with rage every time she sees them interact. She doesn’t know why it makes her so angry, but she does know that if Mai was her girlfriend, she’d treat her like the queen she is, not like some boring arm candy. Zuko has never so much as kissed Mai in public, and now he’s gone and ground against some girls on stage who can’t be worth a tenth of Mai. She should be angry!

But Mai just shrugs. “Zuko can do what he wants,” she says, and stands up to leave.

Following Mai out of the auditorium, Ty Lee decides that she can’t let this insult lie. Mai might not mind Zuko publicly undermining their relationship, but Ty Lee is her best friend, and she won’t let Mai be humiliated.

“We need to join the glee club,” she tells Mai as the other girl opens her locker.

“Why?” Mai asks, eyes widened fractionally in surprise. “Their singing wasn’t so bad, but that performance was embarrassing.”

“Exactly,” Ty Lee answers her. “They need stars, and we’re stars. I know you sing really well, and I can definitely dance better than anyone on that stage. And the universe is telling me that we need to join,” she adds, and does a little twirl, her braids flying around her head. “Also, they need more girls! You can’t have a proper show choir without even pairs. Although at least today the uneven numbers meant Zuko was humping that boy with the undercut for half of the song, and not any of the girls.”

At that, the corner of Mai’s mouth curls up in a secretive smile. “Yes, they looked like they were enjoying that,” she says.

Ty Lee isn’t sure what to make of Mai’s smile, so she just barrels on. She knows the Zuko argument would not be enough to convince Mai to join the club, so she goes through a list of reasons why it would be great for them to be in a show choir. When Mai still seems uncertain, Ty Lee brings out her trump card.

“Do it for me, Mai?” she asks, widening her eyes in the way she knows makes her look pathetically cute.

Mai huffs and shakes her head. “Ok, sure, if you want to. We can join the stupid glee club.”

Ty Lee whoops, pumps her fist and proceeds to hug Mai. She loves hugging Mai. The girl goes all stiff and awkward when Ty Lee wraps her arms around her, but Mai never complains or pushes Ty Lee away. And it makes her aura get brighter, so Ty Lee hugs her as often and as lovingly as she can.

Katara stares miserably at the two girls performing. They’re very good: Mai is singing in a beautiful deep voice, and Ty Lee is dancing and jumping around her like the rules of gravity don’t apply to tiny girls in cheerleader uniforms.

Katara thinks that this is just her luck. As soon as something goes right in her life – new friends, a club, solos, something she’s good at – if falls apart. Sokka started this, but she can’t blame it all on him, because she understands his motivations. As much as he likes to deny it, he’s had a crush on Zuko for a very long time, and she gets why he would take any opportunity to make the guy stop bullying him. She also can’t really blame the rest of the club – Sokka’s plan worked, after all. But what she still doesn’t understand is what went wrong with Aang.

She’d thought Aang was her friend. Katara hasn’t really had any friends, not since – well, not since her mother died. That’s when everything really went wrong. They’d been such a happy family before – mother, father, brother, sister. But then one day, a truck driver hadn’t looked behind him while reversing, and nine year old Katara had come home from singing practice to a broken family. Sokka had been crying, curled up on the floor, and it had taken Katara only one look at her father’s frozen face to know that it was all up to her now. And she had done it – she’d taken care of them then, like she still takes care of Sokka now. But a part of her heart was torn out that day, and the hole it left never really stopped feeling raw. Her mother had been everything to her: parent, friend, confidant, someone to rely on. Her death had left Katara with nothing, nothing but a torn heart and endless duties. It has occurred to her that maybe the burden shouldn’t have fallen on her, that maybe her father should have taken charge instead of leaving everything in the hands of a nine year old child. But she understands – their parents’ relationship had been a true meeting of souls, a partnership full of so much love. Losing Kya broke Hakoda, and Katara hadn’t even been surprised when he’d taken a job in DC and left them with Gran Gran. He has never been able to look at her directly since Kya died – Katara probably looks too much like her mother.

So yes, Katara misses her mother. But the thing is, she actually likes taking care of Sokka and Gran Gran. She likes being in charge, and making sure people are happy and safe and have what they need. And she likes following rules, and being a good student and pleasing her teachers. She still wants more, though, she wants friends and hobbies and fun. She lost all her friends when her mother died, and hasn’t really been able to make new ones since. Even if she wasn’t so busy taking care of everyone, no ten year old wants to hang out with a sad, world-weary girl. But this year she felt that maybe something had changed, that either she had healed enough or that people around her had matured. She had been so happy to meet Aang, someone who was kind and funny and actually seemed to like her.

But then the argument over the assembly song happened, and Katara stood her ground, because Mr. Iroh had been so kind and good to all of them and did not deserve to be betrayed like this. And she’d assumed Aang would be on her side, and for a day it seemed like he was. And then he started acting strange, ignoring her in the hallways and answering her coldly. That hurt, and she couldn’t help thinking that maybe Aang had just realised what a loser she really was and didn’t want to be her friend any more. But that hadn’t even been the worst of it, because then the assembly started and Aang was there, on stage, singing that ridiculous song and waving his hands above Toph and Suki’s buttocks. And that, that felt like betrayal, and all of Katara’s misery transformed straight into anger. So when Aang approached her after the show, an excited grin on his face, she gave him the coldest look she could and turned away without a word.

She can feel Aang’s gaze on her now. He tried to talk to her again when she entered the choir room, but she just ignored him. She focuses on Mr. Iroh instead, who’s standing in front of them with a serious expression on his usually smiling face.

“My students,” he says, and everyone quiets down. “Our actions have consequences. Some of them are good consequences, like the addition of these two lovely ladies to our club,” he gestures at Mai and Ty Lee. “Some of them, however, are less good.” He takes out a pile of papers and hands them around. “This is a list of songs that the glee club is allowed to perform in public.” Iroh shakes his head at the chorus of groans that sound when the students read the songs on the list. “Do not ask me to fight this, not yet. No, Nephew-” he holds out his palm to stop Zuko from protesting. “Sometimes the best strategy is patience. Right now the parents are angry, Coach Sylvester is angry, and there is a lot of pressure on principal Kuei. But if we behave for a few months then this pressure will go away, and the principal will only remember that he enjoyed your performance. Then we can act, and go beyond the list.”

No-one is happy with this plan, but they all nod, resigned. Aang raises his hand. “We’re sorry, Mr. Iroh,” he says. He turns to look straight at Katara. “I’m sorry. We thought we were doing the right thing, but we didn’t really think this through.”

“Yeah,” Sokka adds. He looks dejected, and keeps glancing over to where Mai is sitting with Zuko. “I should probably apologise as well, since it was my idea. I still think it would have worked, if Coach Sylvester didn’t hate us,” he adds defiantly.

Mr. Iroh smiles at them. “It is usually best to admit mistakes when they occur, and to seek to restore honour,” he says. “And it is not only you who need to apologise.” The students frown at him, confused. “I also owe you an apology, my students,” Iroh adds sadly. “I am as responsible for what you did at the assembly as you are. I did not listen to you, when it was clear none of you liked what we were doing. I should not have cared so much about performing a song off the list – glee club is about having fun, and I promise you that we will never again do a song that all of you hate.” He turns his smile to each and every one of them, and something melts in Katara’s chest when he meets her eyes. She smiles back at him, and thinks that she was right to trust him. With a teacher like Iroh, glee club might still be the more that Katara wanted, even if Aang has let her down.

ooooo

Less angry now than she was before, Katara doesn’t ignore Aang when he runs up to her outside the school after practice, an agitated Appa following after him at a slower pace. Aang is panting, and he looks so miserable and desperate that Katara decides that it wouldn’t be so bad to hear an apology.

“What do you want, Aang?” she asks him, more tired now than angry.

“I’m so sorry, Katara,” Aang apologises. “It was wrong of me to ignore you like I did, and to perform when you didn’t want me to.” He looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “I just… I thought you were going to see me perform and you would like it so much that it wouldn’t matter that you’d been angry before. But I realise now that it wouldn’t be right to hurt you like that even if it did work out in the end, because you’re my friend and friends don’t do that to each other.”

He sounds so sincere, and Katara wants to believe him so much. She wants to take that word, friend, and lock it up somewhere safe inside her chest. But it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

“But why would you think that, Aang? I made it very clear that I didn’t want to change the song behind Iroh’s back.”

Aang looks embarrassed. “Umm, well,” he starts, his voice small. “I just, I don’t know how to do this friend thing.” He’s earnest, embarrassed but not ashamed. “I’ve never had a friend before, not a real one like you,” Katara’s heart clenches at that, at the thought that she isn’t alone in her loneliness. “So Sokka gave me some advice,” Aang continues, “about how to be friends with umm, girls. He said I should be cold to you and show off at the assembly.”

Katara can’t help but laugh at that. “You took advice from Sokka?” she asks incredulously. “Sokka, who is the most awkward person ever? Sokka, who’s idea of courting Zuko is to concoct an elaborate plan to grind against him while singing ‘Push it’?”

Aang is smiling at her now, and he looks like himself again, his grin spreading from ear to ear.

“Yes, well, hindsight is 20/20,” he says. “I just thought that he would know more than me, but maybe being friends with a girl isn’t that different from being friends with a dog or an old monk.”

“Really, Aang,” Katara shakes her head, smiling. “Girls aren’t a different species. There’s all sorts of girls and all sorts of boys, and all sorts in between. We’re all just people.”

“I see that now,” Aang tells her, earnest. “So,” he adds hopefully, “will you be my friend again? I promise I’ll be a good friend. Please be my friend again.”

Katara looks at him, and she finds that she’s not angry any more. It helps that she understands Aang. She knows what it’s like to have no friends, and to think that you need to change to make friends, that you’ve been doing something wrong and there’s a trick to friendship that you just haven’t learnt. Katara was lucky enough to learn from her mother that friendship isn’t about tricks, but about connection and trust. But she can imagine that Buddhist monks may not have been the best instructors on attachment.

“Yes, Aang,” she says. “You’re my friend.” She holds out her palm to stop Aang from tackling her just yet. “But that means we have to be honest with each other. I’m also at fault for all this, because I didn’t explain my reasons for not joining the song.” She takes a deep breath. “So no more tricks, no more assuming what the other person thinks, and definitely no more asking Sokka for advice. Okay?”

Aang looks a bit shifty when she mentions honesty, but by the end of her little speech he’s nodding emphatically and smiling at her. He tells her he agrees, and she lowers her arm and accepts his hug. It seems that things haven’t fallen apart after all.

Still, when she gets home, Katara is going to have words with Sokka.

Mai and Ty Lee have been called to Coach Sylvester’s office, and now they’re standing in front of her huge wooden desk, the coach’s piercing blue eyes watching them.

Mai is bored already. It’s obvious this is about glee club, but coach Sylvester likes to be dramatic, so she’s been watching them silently for five minutes. Ty Lee is a bit scared of the coach, so she’s on edge, nervously playing with her ponytail. Mai, on the other hand, doesn’t mind coach Sylvester. Yes, she’s a big bully, and she’s vicious and incredibly self involved. But she’s also completely unpredictable, and will ignore any rule if it gets her what she wants. That means that she’s interesting, and coming from Mai that’s the highest praise possible. She reminds Mai of Azula, Zuko’s sister, who was Mai’s best friend when they were young, before Mai’s parents moved to Lima to advance their career.

Mai and Azula and Zuko’s parents are close, so the three of them spent a lot of time together when they were younger. It had always been obvious to Mai that Zuko is gay, so last year, when her parents’ constant matchmaking got too much for her and she decided she needed a boyfriend, Zuko was the automatic choice. He agreed on the condition that Mai praise his singing talents to Azula when she talks to her. Mai has kept her side of the bargain, but she doubts it will do Zuko much good – Azula is now the lead singer of Vocal Adrenaline, and although she misses her brother Mai doesn’t think her ruthless friend wants him to come back to Carmel High.

Ty Lee doesn’t know that Mai’s relationship with Zuko is fake. Mai doesn’t really know why she hasn’t told her friend, because Ty Lee probably wouldn’t mind. In part it’s because Ty Lee’s anger at Zuko’s ‘neglect’ is very funny. But it’s mostly that telling Ty Lee about the relationship would mean telling her that Mai is a lesbian, and for some reason that makes Mai feel uncomfortable. She likes the relationship they have now, and she feels that telling Ty Lee about her sexuality would change things, both for Mai and for Ty Lee, and she’s a bit scared of what would happen.

So for now the true nature of their relationship remains a secret, Ty Lee hates Zuko, and they’ve both joined the stupid glee club. Mai did it for Ty Lee, because despite her friend’s protests she knows that deep down Ty Lee just loves performing. Unfortunately Coach Sylvester would throw them out of the cheerios if she thought they actually enjoyed it, so they’ve agreed to stick with the jealousy storyline, which at least on Ty Lee’s part is genuine.

Mai does find it funny how angry Ty Lee gets when Zuko dances with other girls in glee club, when she herself knows that if there was any danger of involvement it would be with one of the guys, not the girls. The dark skinned boy with the undercut looks like a good candidate, since it’s pretty obvious he already has a crush on Zuko. But for now Mai needs to pretend to be jealous.

Everyone knows that Mai has only one expression – bored. So all she has to do is deadpan some bullshit about suspecting that something is going on between Zuko and the emo girl, how Suki was undressing him with her eyes. Coach Sylvester buys it, of course, because she’s the sort of person who would find jealousy a lot more believable than friendship or joy.

“Cease fire on the waterworks,” she tells them. Mai’s eyes are dry and her expression is as blank as usual, but then in her opinion coach Sylvester never makes much sense. “I don't want to hear it, I don't want to see it,” the coach continues. She gives Mai an appraising look. “You know, Mai, when I first laid eyes on you I was reminded of a young Asian Sue Sylvester, though you don't have my bone structure. But it wasn't until this very moment I saw how alike we really are.”

Coach Sylvester smiles at them then, teeth bared like a hungry predator. “You two are going to be my spies, because I need eyes on the inside,” she says gleefully. “We're going to bring this club down from within.”

That, Mai thinks, sounds like it’s going to get interesting.

Chapter Text

It’s the weekend, and Sokka is sitting at the kitchen table at home, working on his math homework and trying to make Katara laugh. His sister chuckles as she stirs the stew bubbling on the stove, and Sokka takes a moment to close his eyes and relish the wonderful smell of cooked meat. Then Momo starts meowing and scratching his leg, and he opens his eyes and helps the cat up into his lap before turning his attention back to the equation he’s solving.

He’s just underlining his final result when he hears the sound of the front door opening. Except for Sokka, Katara and Gran Gran, only one other person has a key, and Sokka immediately stands up and rushes to hug his father, trying not to trample Momo on his way there.

“Dad!” he cries, “how come you’re here?”

Hakoda pries Sokka off of him, laughing. “Hello Sokka,” he says fondly. “I had to talk to some people in Cleveland for a case, so I thought I’d drop by for the weekend since I was already in the state.”

Hakoda looks up over Sokka’s shoulder. “Hello Katara,” he says, greeting his daughter a bit more coldly than he did Sokka.

Katara, standing in the kitchen doorway, just nods at him. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” she tells her father. “If you’re ready by then you can join us.” At that she turns back into the kitchen, and Hakoda watches her, a careful expression on his face.

“Well,” he turns to Sokka, “I better say go say hello to Kanna, or she’ll have my head. But I think there’s a match on after dinner, if you want to watch it together?”

Sokka isn’t that interested in football, but he’ll take any chance to spend time with his dad. The man is his hero – not only is he big and strong and confident, but he also works tirelessly to make the world a better place. After his wife died, Hakoda decided that being a real estate lawyer wasn’t good enough any more, and he re-trained and found a job working cases related to Native American rights in DC. Sokka sometimes wishes that their father could have taken them with him, but he knows that he travels so much for his cases that they probably wouldn’t see much of him anyway.

He misses Hakoda all the time though. Sokka sometimes thinks that if Hakoda was around he himself could be stronger, that he wouldn’t have all these strange thoughts and feelings. After all, Hakoda was the one who told him he needed to be the man of the house. And Sokka tries, he really does, but he just never manages to be a real man like his father.

These are the thoughts running through his head as he sits next to Hakoda on the couch, the old tv flickering with some match Sokka couldn’t care less about. He tries his best, though, booing and cheering at the appropriate moments. He tries to focus on how aesthetically right this moment is – a man and his son, watching football together, with cold beer for Hakoda and snacks on the table for Sokka. In a way, it’s good that Hakoda never spends long at home, because that way Sokka can maintain this image, be the perfect son without giving away the weakness underneath the surface.

When there’s a lull in the game, Sokka asks, “So how long are you staying, dad?”

Hakoda takes a deep swig of his beer. “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon,” he says, eyes still on the game.

“Oh.” Sokka feels his stomach plummeting, and he has to fight not to turn away, not to rub his eyes, not to clutch his father and beg him to stay longer. “I guess you have to get back to work on Monday, right?”

“Yeah,” Hakoda answers. And before Sokka has time to say anything else, something happens on the screen and Hakoda leans forward, shouting at the television.

Sokka tells himself he should enjoy the time he has, and he does. He just can’t help wishing it was longer.

ooooo

Sokka knows his father usually sleeps late, so he uses the free time on Sunday morning to practise his dance moves. He’s been going to ballet classes again for the past few years, and he loves them. He had danced a lot when he was small: ballet, jazz, even flamenco. But when he got a bit older Hakoda had decided dancing wasn’t the right hobby for a young man, and Sokka had joined the chess club instead. His mother hadn’t been happy about that, and the fight between her and Hakoda over Sokka’s dance classes was one of the only times Sokka can remember his parents arguing. It had only stopped when Sokka told them that he didn’t mind, and that chess was fun too.

And it had been fun, until Kya died a few years later and Hakoda left. Sokka was lost without his parents, a ship drifting through the waves without anywhere to go. Katara was his anchor, and when she suggested he try starting ballet again to remind him of their mother, he had. And there, in that dingy studio above the electronics shop, he felt joy again for the first time since his mother’s death.

He still plays chess with Katara sometimes, but there’s nothing quite like dancing. There’s just something about dance that speaks to him, that makes him feel more like himself than anything else. Sokka does know that dancing, and especially ballet, don’t fit the manly image that he wants to uphold for his father. But he can never bring himself to stop, or even feel ashamed of it – dancing just feels so right, like something he was born to do.

Even if he isn’t ashamed, he’d just, well, he’d just prefer Hakoda not to know about it. It isn’t even really a secret – Hakoda knows so little about their lives that there’s no need to deliberately hide anything.

Still, when Sokka finishes a complicated sequence of moves and turns to find his father standing in the door to his room, he panics.

“Sokka?” Hakoda asks, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, umm,” Sokka stumbles over his words. There are many good explanations for what he’s doing – just trying something out, practising for glee club, helping Katara out with a dance. But Hakoda doesn’t know about glee club either, so Sokka’s panic rises, and he goes with what might be the worst possible explanation. “It’s a new type of workout,” he says. “For the football team. I’m, yeah, I’m on the football team this year.”

This is, of course, not true, and Sokka is trying to find the strength to tell his father it was a joke when Hakoda grabs his arm and pats him on the back. “Sokka!” he says, smiling widely, “that’s great! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, umm,” Sokka searches for an answer, “I, uuh, it’s new, you see, dad. I just got on, and we have our first game next week, and I didn’t want to tell you before I was sure I was going to play.”

Hakoda’s expression turns fond. “Ah, Sokka, I’m so proud. Look at you, all grown up like a proper man of the house! Even if you only played for a few minutes, I would still want to see that.”

There’s a voice in Sokka’s head screaming at him to stop, stop now before it’s too late. But he can’t remember the last time his father looked at him with such pride and happiness, and it feels so good that he simply can’t help the next words that come out of his mouth.

“I could get you tickets to our next game?”

Hakoda looks uncertain for a moment, but then smiles. “Yes,” he says, “okay, Sokka, you get me tickets and I’ll be there.”

Sokka can’t help but hug his dad at that. There seems to be no limit to how happy the words I’ll be there can make him. But underneath the happiness there’s a deep current of pure pure panic, because oh god, what is he going to do?

ooooo

His panic just gets worse as the day goes on, and on the way to school on Monday morning he drives so erratically that he almost crashes the car. Both Sokka and Katara have an understandable fear of driving accidents, and by the time Sokka parks the car in the school lot both of them are on the edge, nerves frazzled and tempers raised.

“What the hell were you thinking, Sokka?” Katara screams at him. “Where is your mind at this morning? What’s so important that you can’t keep your eyes on the road?”

“None of your business!” he shouts back at her.

“If you’re going to risk our lives driving like a drunk person, it is my business!” Katara shouts back. “Are you really so depressed that dad left that you can’t drive? He leaves all the time Sokka, that’s basically all he knows how to do, leave. I don’t know why you want him around so much when he obviously doesn’t care!”

That last insult hits Sokka somewhere deep inside him, and his mind goes no, no, no, dad cares, dad cares. And not for the first time in the last few days, he panics, and the words spill out. “Well,” he tells Katara, “you’re wrong, and he obviously does care, because he’s coming to my football game later this week!”

It’s suddenly very quiet in the car. Katara stares at him. “Sokka… what football game? You don’t play football.”

Sokka feels all his energy leave him in a rush, and he buries his face in his hands. “I know,” he says. “Dad caught me practising a dance routine, and I panicked and told him it was an exercise for football and that I was on the team.”

“Oh, Sokka,” Katara says, her voice unbearably soft. “You didn’t have to do that, you know? There’s nothing wrong with dancing, especially not when you’re as talented as you are.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Sokka tells her, defensive. “But, well… I just didn’t want dad to know. He would get angry, and I just want to spend the time he’s here pretending to at least be good enough for him, you know?”

Katara makes a little pained noise, and tries to tell him that of course he’s good enough, but Sokka doesn’t care. “All I want,” he tells Katara, “is for my father to come watch me play a football game. Is that so wrong?”

“No, Sokka,” Katara answers him, staring out the window with a faraway look in her eyes. “It isn’t.”

Braid girl corners Zuko by his locker before classes even start.

“What do you want?” he asks her roughly. Uncle Iroh forced him to go shopping on the weekend, so he’s already had to endure hours of his uncle finding things he didn’t even know he wanted at a great bargain. He doesn’t know if he can take useless berating from a goody-goody girl on top of that.

“I want you to help my brother get on the football team,” the girl tells him simply. He frowns, but he has to hand it to her – she does have guts. People are already glancing at them, mumbling to each other and snickering. He could very easily just shove her into the locker and leave, but he’s intrigued.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks.

She smirks at him. “I know for a fact that Mr. Iroh is going to give Aang the solo this week,” she tells Zuko. “I can talk to Aang and convince him to turn it down.”

“What?” Zuko shouts. Even the thought of losing a solo boils his blood, and he punches his locker, furious. “My uncle would never give that loser a solo! He knows I have the best voice.”

Katara just continues smirking at him. “Well, practice is this afternoon. Let’s just wait and see, shall we? My offer will stay open.”

Zuko is now seriously considering shoving her into a locker, but she turns and walks away before he can decide either way. He tries to let go of his anger. His uncle would never give a solo to anyone else, right? Not on the first proper song they’re doing.

Hi uncle, it seems, will do exactly that.

“No!” Zuko shouts, the wrong-keyed score crumpled in his hand. “You need to give me the solo.”

“I’m sorry, nephew,” Iroh says gently, “but show choir is a team effort. You are the one in this room with the most experience. You will get plenty of solos in time, but right now I have to give the chance to someone else, so we can all grow and get better together, like the trees in a forest.”

Zuko has no time for his uncle’s meaningless platitudes. He doesn’t care what bullshit the old man wants to spout about teamwork – Zuko has not gone through years and years of training and suffering to sing backup to a tiny boy with no hair. “You will not take this away from me, Uncle,” he says angrily. “My destiny isn’t to sing in the background!”

“Zuko–” his uncle starts, but Zuko doesn’t let him finish. He throws the crumpled score at the wall, and marches out of the room, leaving the rest of the choir stunned and uncomfortable.

After shoving a few smaller students into the lockers Zuko calms down and remembers braid girl’s offer. An hour later he’s waiting for her outside the choir room, and the moment she emerges he grabs her arm and drags her away. When they’re out of the others’ hearing he leans closer to her and tells her, “The deal is on. You get me that solo this week, and I will make sure your loser brother gets on the football team. If I don’t get the solo, I will make all of your lives hell as long as I’m at this school.”

The girl pales, but doesn’t flinch. “Good,” she says calmly, “you’re on.”

ooooo

All the single ladies (All the single ladies)

Less than 24 hours later, Zuko is walking onto the football field, steeling himself for hours of tortuous practice with a loser. He stops on the edge of the field, surprised to see that undercut boy is already there. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt and twirling through a graceful dance sequence, headphones covering his ears. Zuko doesn’t want to admit it, but undercut boy is an extremely talented dancer. He has the sort of natural talent that Zuko wishes he had. If the boy was in direct competition with Zuko, he might have been jealous, but undercut boy is such a terrible singer that he really doesn’t feel like a threat. In a way, his over-the-top dance moves are exactly what’s needed to round out a performance in which, of course, Zuko is the main star.

'Cause if you like it, then you should've put a ring on it

Approaching the other boy, Zuko yanks his phone out of his back pocket, looking at the song that’s playing. It’s “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé, and Zuko can’t hide his surprise – with the exception of his talented dancing, undercut boy is always overtly masculine, wearing flannel shirts and spouting sexist puns.

“Hey!” the boy shouts, but Zuko doesn’t listen.

“Good song choice,” he says, handing the phone back to the other boy. Looking him up and down, he adds, “the open position on the team is for a kicker, which should work for you. Not really lineback material, are you?”

The boy splutters, and then looks at him suspiciously. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“No,” Zuko says, and it’s true. He deserves that solo, and he has a feeling braid girl would not be too happy if he was mean to her brother during practice. The problem is that Zuko isn’t very good at talking to people when he’s not bullying them. “I’m here to teach you,” he adds.

“But…” the other boy starts, “you meant it, about the song choice being good?” He looks confused. “It’s not an, umm, typical song choice for football players.”

“Who cares,” Zuko scoffs. “All those idiots lost their last brain cell when they started tackling each other to the ground. Their idea of fun is driving around and drinking beer in a parking lot.”

Zuko has only disdain for the rest of the football team. He plays because it keeps him fit and places him at the top of the school hierarchy, but that doesn’t mean he actually cares. It’s not as if they ever win any games, and there’s only one thing Zuko cares about: winning. And his honour, of course.

“So,” the boy says slowly, “you think I could use this song to warm up in front of the team? It, uh, it really helps me get into the, uh, zone.”

“Sure,” Zuko shrugs. “They’ll make fun of you, but like I said, who gives a shit? The point is winning. You can’t care about what other people think if you want to win, so do whatever you need to do. Anyway, once you’re on top no-one cares how you got there.”

“Oh,” the other boy says softly. There’s a strange light in his sapphire-blue eyes, and his expression is soft, and fixed intently on Zuko. Something is definitely going on there, but Zuko doesn’t have time for emotions, so he just tells the boy to finish his warm-ups and goes to get the ball.

The thing is, the boy is good. Not good at blocking or tackling, but decent at running, and a truly excellent kicker. By the end of the practice, Zuko can’t help but smirk a little. The Titans’ previous kicker was lucky if he hit the ball in once in ten tries, and undercut boy hits it in every time. This deal might turn out to be a win-win situation for Zuko – it’s not at the top of his priorities, but he certainly wouldn’t mind winning a few football games.

Iroh doesn’t know what to do about Zuko. Yes, he’d expected some resistance from the boy – he knows very well how intent Zuko is to get back to Carmel High, and his anger and pride was bound to manifest in the glee club. But Iroh had hoped that assigning Aang the solo would give Zuko a chance to learn humility – that he’d grumble and complain, yes, but ultimately accept the choice. He had perhaps underestimated, though, how deep the boy’s desperation is, and in truth it breaks Iroh’s heart.

When Zuko first moved in with him, it had seemed like a gift, a second chance to raise a child. But this… it’s the helplessness which makes it so hard. Iroh knows he needs to wait, and be patient – he’s not going to help Zuko by pushing. But sometimes it feels impossible to wait, because Zuko is suffering, tearing himself apart every day, and Iroh sometimes wonders if the boy will manage to heal before he tears down everybody around him as well.

He knows that giving in to Zuko and assigning him the solo would not do any good, not when humility is only the first of many lessons Zuko has to learn. So when Aang approaches him after history class, fidgeting nervously, he feels his heart sink. He shuffles the students’ latest scruffy pile of essays, and listens to Aang explain that he has to give up the solo. He tries to convince the boy not to, that he’s just as good as Zuko and deserves to sing, but the boy is persistent.

Aang insists it’s just cold feet, but he has a shifty look in his eyes, and Iroh worries that Zuko has gotten to him somehow.

He walks back to his office, dodging groups of students in the crowded corridors. It’s already the third week of school, but the students are still filled with the energy that every new year brings, the energy of new opportunities and exciting possibilities. He lets the fragments of laughter, complaint and gossip wash over him. No matter how shabby or old its building may be, a school always feels so alive to Iroh, filled with the hopes and worries of hundreds of students. Carmel High had been different in so many ways, but Iroh finds that that vibrant aliveness is the same here as it was there, and it comforts him.

It comforted him even when his own new house felt echoing and empty, devoid of Lu Ten’s youthful shouts of joy. Back then he had listened to the new-but-old sounds of McKinley High, to the sounds of all those living children, and it helped remind him that he still had purpose. And now, troubled but far from disheartened, it gives him hope for Zuko. After all, despite what Zuko might think, he is not alone, and perhaps some of the life around them can reach him in a way his uncle can’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s thinking about his nephew, but when he hears the name “Zuko” in one of the many strands of conversations surrounding him, he can’t help but stop and listen. It’s Katara and Sokka, standing at the wall on his left, the girl removing some books from an open locker. Feeling slightly ashamed, but not enough to stop, Iroh slowly steps around the corner – just far enough to hide himself from view, but close enough to still hear them clearly. He busies himself with studying the notices on the board in front of him, listening.

It seems that Sokka has joined the football group as a kicker. That is in itself a surprising development, but Iroh is more interested in what Sokka has to say about the football players.

“They’re all so bad,” the boy says, whining, “Katara, I’ve never seen a group of stiffer athletes in my life. They laughed when I danced to warm up, but seriously, I think they could use some dancing to loosen them up. The only good one is Zuko, and maybe the quarterback, Jet, but they’re both just lumbering around like idiots. I’m not sure if I want dad to come to the game this week if we’re going to get beaten to a pulp.”

Sokka’s sister answers him, but Iroh doesn’t hear what she says – he’s already hurrying towards the break room, knowing Coach Zhao will be there. He’s had an idea, not his best, admittedly, but something that might trigger the change he wants for Zuko. At worst, it’ll postpone the solo argument to next week. At best, it could teach Zuko an important lesson about teamwork and humility.

“You want to do what?” Coach Zhao asks him, incredulous.

“I want to teach the football players how to dance,” Iroh tells him again. “Sometimes, a bit of looseness is exactly what one needs to be strong.”

“I don’t know if you mean that literally, or if it’s just another of your stupid sayings, Iroh,” Zhao tells him, “but that’s a terrible idea. My kids are football players, not dancers.”

“Ah,” Iroh tells him, putting down his steaming mug of tea and leaning forward over the break room table. “But I hear you have a new student on your team, a kicker?”

“Yes,” Zhao says suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s a damn good kicker as well, better than most of the other players we have, so don’t go poaching him for one of your hair-brained schemes.”

“No, no,” Iroh tells him placatingly. “I have no intention of acting to the detriment of our school’s illustrious football team.” Zhao cocks an eyebrow at him. “But you see,” Iroh continues, “your talented kicker is already one of my glee students, and the best dancer in the school.”

Zhao frowns at the mention of the glee club, but motions for Iroh to continue.

“I have it on good authority,” Iroh tells him, “that young Sokka’s success at football is in big part due to his dancing practice. You cannot deny that your players are all as stiff as curtain rods! The only exception is my nephew, who, while he may not be the best dancer, still practises enough to move with grace.”

“So what you’re saying,” Zhao asks him, taking a long sip of his coffee, “is that dancing can what, loosen them up? Help them react more smoothly?”

“Exactly, my friend!” Iroh exclaims happily, leaning back in his chair with a grunt. “Action is never just about brutality, even in our nation’s favourite aggressive sport. It is about control, movement, and grace. Grace with power, and strength, yes, but strength that is graceful nonetheless. When your player is blocked, you do not want him to simply attack with his body, but with his spirit, his breath, and so flow around the attack and land on his feet. In many ways, all movement is just an improvised form of dance.” Iroh demonstrates with his hands as he speaks, showing the smooth flow of graceful movement.

Zhao gives a short, gruff laugh. “God, Iroh, sometimes you like to hear yourself speak so much that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He shakes his head, but when Iroh starts to speak again he stops him with a raised hand. “No,” he says, “I got your message, somewhere in the middle of that incoherent babble. I have wished in the past that my players wouldn’t stand around and fall down like goddamn bowling pins. If you think dancing will help with that, then why not?”

Iroh smiles joyfully and leans forward again, grasping Zhao’s hand in a warm handshake.

Zhao draws his hand back quickly, but he laughs, shaking his head at Iroh again. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, old man,” he tells Iroh jokingly. “I just said I’ll give it a try one time. At worst, it will make my kids look stupid, and they deserve some punishment for not winning me one single game last year. At best, hell, we might even win this week’s game, although I don’t think there’s any amount of loosening up that would make that bunch of incompetents a functioning team.”

Iroh feels a sliver of unease curl in his stomach, as it always does when Zhao talks about his team in such derisive terms. He and Zhao are not exactly close, but he does consider the coach his friend, someone he can chat to over lunch in the break room. To him Zhao is always respectful and considerate, but Iroh has seen him shouting at students in the past, and he gets into arguments easily with other teachers. Iroh, however, doesn’t like to judge people too quickly, and it’s not as though he knows Zhao very well. After all, the coach has good reasons to be bitter – the stars of McKinley are without doubt the cheerios, and the football team has not won a game in many years.

However uncomfortable he is with Zhao’s motivations, Iroh will take the win, so he smiles and arranges a practice time with the coach. Zhao leaves Iroh to go to teach gym class, and Iroh stands to refill his mug with tea. It’s his favourite, a simple white mug with “world’s best uncle” written on it in ugly all-caps black text. Zuko had gotten it for Iroh last Christmas, insisting repeatedly that it was just the cheapest thing he could find at the drugstore. Iroh didn’t say anything at the time, but as far as he knows no place in Lima sells “best uncle” mugs, so his nephew must have found it online. He’s used the mug so much that it’s chipped in two places and the text is starting to fade, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s small things like that that give him hope for Zuko, and he tries to carry that hope with him to the choir room.

The club is understandably annoyed that Iroh will be dedicating his time this week to the football players, but they agree to work on individual songs and perform them at the end of the week. Zuko seems to take the withdrawal of Aang’s solo as a win, and smirks coldly at the other boy. Iroh will have to find a more permanent solution to that issue next week, but he’s grateful for the extra time to work it out. After giving the students some tips on singing alone, he retreats to his office. Sokka has told him that he uses “Single Ladies” to warm up, and Iroh has to work out dance moves that fit the song and work for football players.

Jet can’t believe what this school has come to. Dancing? For football players? Seriously, it’s one thing to be all inclusive and allow a scrawny gay boy to join the team as a kicker. But they can’t expect proper men like him and Pipsqueak and Sneers to dance, right? So maybe the football team hasn’t been doing that well. And yes, maybe, as the captain, Jet should be doing something to improve his team. But there’s no world where dancing is the answer.

The thing is, Jet has a reputation to uphold. Zuko gets away with his singing because he’s a bully – everyone knows you don’t criticise Zuko if you want your face intact, a lesson some had to learn at the cost of a broken nose. And although Zuko is in theory “popular”, he’s not actually popular. Nobody likes him, and he doesn’t have any real friends – even his girlfriend Mai doesn’t seem to want to be around him. Jet, on the other hand, is liked by everyone, or at least everyone that matters. He’s charming, handsome, drives a motorbike, and his friend group “The Fighters” rules the school. The only reason he doesn’t have a girlfriend is because he won’t be tied down – he’s had any girl worth having in his year, and has started dipping into the pool of sophomores. He won Prom King last year, and will probably win it again this year. But that sort of reputation takes a lot of work to maintain, and dancing just isn’t in his repertoire.

“No,” he tells Coach Zhao. “This is stupid. We don’t need to dance, we need to practise football.”

“This team has been practising football non-stop for the past two years,” the coach tells him bluntly, “and where has that got us? We’re so low down the rankings we’re not even in the fucking basement.”

The coach tries to grab the unlit cigarette out of Jet’s mouth, but Jet just steps backwards, smirking. It’s a typical pattern between them – Jet found out a year ago that the school can’t actually stop him putting a cigarette in his mouth if he doesn’t light it, so now he has one in his mouth at all times. Coach Zhao hates it, and while he can't officially tell Jet to take it out, he tries to remove it at every opportunity. To Jet, the coach’s hatred just makes the cigarettes taste all the more sweet.

“Look,” the coach continues, “do I like seeing you boys prancing about like a bunch of ladies? No.” Jet starts to say something, but Zhao interrupts him. “But if it gets me the win, I don’t care, and I definitely don’t mind forcing you through a bit of humiliation.” The coach smiles at Jet, an unpleasant baring of the teeth with no joy in it at all. “So you either dance, or you’re out of the team, and that applies to everyone. Your choice.”

Jet turns and goes back to the team, fuming. They’re all in the choir room, where Coach Zhao has dragged them after lunch. They look wrong in the choir room – a bunch of big, confident guys in red and yellow letterman jackets, hunching their shoulders nervously because they’re in a room for singing. It’s quite pathetic, in a way.

“Sorry boys,” Jet tells them, making sure to look both sympathetic and angry. “The coach says you either dance or you’re out of the team.”

There’s groans all around, but Jet just continues. “But,” he winks at them, “he didn’t say we have to dance well.” Some of the smarter boys smile and cheer, but most of the group is still confused.

“What do you mean, Jet?” Pipsqueak asks uncertainly.

There’s a loud groan from the other corner of the room, and Sokka stands up from his chair, shaking his head. “Oh, because that was so hard to understand… What he meant,” he tells Pipsqueak, tapping his own skull, “is that you should all agree to dance and then do it badly on purpose. Which is suuuch a great idea. No-” he adds, voice high pitched with exasperation, “don’t nod your heads! I was being sarcastic – it’s a terrible idea! You should be using dance to get better!” he finishes, turning to Jet.

Jet doesn’t like Sokka. The boy is a strange combination of fear and confidence, of loud shouts and clumsy retreats. He runs away when bullied, but then keeps coming back, like a rabid buck crawling back, shivering and hurt, to try butting the lion again. Jet usually has someone else do the bullying, but he decides that Sokka deserves the honour of a direct put-down from the King.

“Oh, Sokka,” Jet tells him, “I really have no problem with what little ladies like you do in your free time – heck, I’ll even continue to let you ogle my abs in the locker room like a pervert. But if you think you can just come in here and spread your sissy tendencies to all of us, you have another think coming. So you better stay quiet, or we’ll give you something to swallow, like the cocksucker you are.”

Jet mimes hitting someone with his first, and smiles when Sokka flinches. The other boy glances desperately at Zuko, who’s sitting in another corner and typing on his phone. Jet can see Sokka's eyes getting misty when Zuko ignores him, so he pounces gleefully, “Aaaw, the itty little girl is crying, isn’t she? Why don’t you run to your mummy, little girl?”

Sokka stares at him for a moment, and then gives a strangled sob and runs out of the room.

Sneers gives a little cough. “Umm, Jet,” he says cautiously, “I think Sokka’s mom is dead.”

Jet pales. Dead moms are a sensitive topic for this group, and the air in the choir room is tight with tension.

“Really, Jet,” Zuko says from behind him, cold fury in his voice, “you’d think a self-declared king could come up with better insults than that. If you ever mention anyone’s dead mother again you’re over, do you understand? Over!” His voice rises on the last word, and when Jet turns to look at him he can’t help but take a step back. Zuko just looks so intimidating, with his narrowed golden eyes, short-cropped dark hair and large, livid scar. The boy bares his teeth at Jet, and turns to leave the room, pushing past coach Zhao and Mr. Iroh as they enter, the latter staring after him with worry creasing his forehead.

“Well,” the coach says, looking around the room, “the queer and the maniac have left, have they?” Mr. Iroh visibly flinches. “Since they already know how to dance, they get a pass,” Zhao decides, and turns to Jet, narrowing his eyes, “but you boys better put everything you have into swinging those hips, or we’re not leaving this room until you’re so loose you’re flying off the handle, understood?”

Jet decides that given his earlier slip-up it would be better to lay off for a while until his dead-mother mistake is forgotten. This is why he doesn’t usually do the bullying himself – you can’t keep up the persona of a gracious charmer by hurling insults. Better leave the dirty work to Smellerbee or Sneers.

It turns out there’s no need for the boys to deliberately sabotage the dance practice – it goes terribly without them even trying. Mr. Iroh is infuriatingly patient, repeating the instructions again and again and demonstrating the movements with surprising grace. But even he tires of them, obviously discouraged by the absence of his nephew and student. And the football players just can’t seem to relax, their movements so stiff and awkward that even Jet feels embarrassed. Yes, dancing may be very faggy, but the point is to avoid it because they’re better than that, not because they can’t. It just doesn’t sit right for the football team to be bad at anything, and Jet drives home that evening with too many new emotions swirling in his chest, uncomfortable.

ooooo

The next day Zhao declares the dancing lesson a complete failure, to everyone’s relief. Even Sokka seems happy to get back to normal football practice – probably fewer chances for someone to insult him. Zuko is still angry at Jet, and gives him the evil eye whenever Jet dares to look in his direction. Jet feigns nonchalance, but the truth is that he’s a little unsettled – Zuko is one hell of a scary guy. Still, nothing much happens until the day of the game. They practise, they drive around in the afternoons. Jet arranges to take Ty Lee out for dinner on the weekend, because that girl is always good fun.

And then the game arrives, and it goes terribly. The other team is heckling them constantly, and by the end of the fourth quarter the Titans are losing six to zero. Morale is low, and Jet is racking his brains about what can be done when Sokka approaches him.

They haven’t spoken since their altercation during dance practice, but Sokka just tells Jet, “I think you should do the “Single Ladies” dance.”

Jet stares at him. “You can’t be serious,” he tells Sokka. “What, I should get the guys in a huddle and do a little dance before the down?”

“No,” Sokka tells him. “I think you should do the dance on the field, in front of the other team.”

Jet’s mouth is hanging open. “What,” he says, feeling slightly hysterical, “out of anything I’ve said to you so far has made you think I would be ok with that? We’re not some big gay team of dancing gays, for god’s sake!”

Sokka is somehow still calm, despite how close Jet is to punching him. He looks sideways at someone for a moment, and Jet realises that Zuko is listening to their conversation from a few paces away.

“Because,” Sokka tells Jet, turning back to face the taller boy, “you want to win. Someone smart once told me that you can do anything you want to win, because if you do no-one cares how you got there. If you dance out there, it’s going to confuse the other team completely, and you can finally get past them while they’re all trying to figure out what just happened. It’ll work, I promise – classic misdirection.”

Jet has to admit that it isn’t such a bad idea. After all, mind games are not uncommon in football, as demonstrated by the heckling that has been bringing the team down all evening. He chews his lip for a moment, and thinks of how uncomfortable he felt after that afternoon in the choir room, of Sokka’s talent as a kicker, of his own position as a leader and a king, and most of all of how much he wants to win, just once.

“Okay,” he tells Sokka, who immediately bursts out in a triumphant grin. “Do you have the music?”

“You betcha I do!” Sokka tells him happily, and runs to give the music track to the technicians.

Turning, Jet’s eyes meet Zuko’s, who gives him a little nod before walking back towards the other players. Jet tries to suppress the satisfaction that Sokka and Zuko’s approval gives him, annoyed, because he really shouldn’t care what those two losers think of him.

Initially the other guys are not happy with the idea of dancing on the field, but it doesn’t take much to convince them. They all look up to Jet, and the truth is that they’re desperate. Their long record of devastating losses has already made them a laughingstock, so what’s a little dancing on top of that, especially when they can just say that someone else had forced them to do it?

Woah-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

The thing is, it works. By the time the last notes of “Single Ladies” play, Jet is throwing the ball to Zuko, who runs like his life depends on it and manages to score a touchdown in the end zone. The game is tied, and the crowd goes wild, screaming in support of the Titans.

The players are also ecstatic, but they know that it’s not over yet. All the attention is now on Sokka, who walks slowly up to the ball. He’s obviously nervous, so when he glances over to the team Jet gives him a nod and a sway of the hips, signalling that he should warm up like he usually does. Sokka flashes him a grin, and turns back towards the goal, motioning to the technicians to start up the music again.

All the single ladies (All the single ladies)

The stadium is utterly silent, a collective breath held back in anticipation. When the first notes of the now-familiar song start playing, Sokka bends and starts swaying as he approaches the ball. He goes through a series of graceful dance moves on his path, jumping from side to side and waving his hands, and Jet is so mesmerised by his movements that it almost comes as a surprise when Sokka reaches the ball and kicks it powerfully towards the goal. It flies high above all the players and passes right in between the two poles.

There’s another moment of silence, no-one quite believing what just happened, and then the referee raises his arms and blows his whistle and the crowd explodes, screaming wildly. The team is ecstatic, tackling each other and shouting in happiness. Jet joins as they crowd around Sokka, lifting him up on their shoulders. It’s a beautiful moment, and Jet decides that yes, winning is utterly and completely worth it. Maybe dancing isn’t so bad after all.

Sokka feels like he’s dreaming. He just made the winning shot in a football game, his school’s first win in years. He spent an impossible few minutes being carried around on the shoulders of boys who usually make his life hell, and even Zuko gave him a pat on the back, a small smile lighting up his face.

It’s wonderful, but Sokka still can’t stop scanning the bleachers, hoping. The seat next to Katara and Aang is empty, and has been empty since the start of the game. For a while Sokka convinced himself that Hakoda was just late, and then when halftime had passed and the seat remained empty, that he had perhaps just found another seat. The bleachers are full, and Sokka keeps reminding himself that it’s hard to find someone in the middle of such a large crowd.

Now, however, as he heads back to the changing rooms, he has to accept the truth. Hakoda didn’t come. From closer up he only had to take one look at Katara’s face to see the worry underneath her smile. So yep, no Hakoda.

It’s ok, Sokka tells himself. He probably got too busy with some important case, or had been delayed on his way. No text message though, he thinks, checking his phone. The last few messages in the conversation are all from him, confirming the time of the game and how his dad can access his ticket. But that could just be bad service wherever his dad is, right? He couldn’t have forgotten the game, no, he’s just busy. It was too much to ask anyway, for Hakoda to come back to Lima so soon and at such short notice.

Sokka doesn’t know how long he sits there on the bench in the locker room, staring at his phone, willing a message to arrive. The rest of the team changes around him, clapping him on the back, rowdy and happy and high off the win. When Sokka is finally shaken out of his stupor by a text message from Katara asking him what’s taking so long, the locker room is empty except for him and Zuko.

Zuko is sitting on the other side of the room, and seems to have taken off his shirt before getting distracted by his phone. He looks up when Sokka starts taking off his gear, but turns back to the glowing screen after only a quick glance.

Sokka can’t help stealing glances at Zuko though, trying not to think about what the image of a bare-chested Zuko is doing to him. It’s gotten harder to suppress those kinds of thoughts this week, especially after Zuko basically told him not to care if people assume he’s gay. Could Zuko be gay? Sokka wonders. No, he can’t be – he’s dating Mai, and he just, well, he doesn’t seem gay. Sokka knows all about seeming gay, and how important it is to avoid that. Or at least, how important it used to be – winning a football game by dancing to “Single Ladies” has really confused his priorities.

By the time he’s finished dressing, Zuko has as well, and they head out of the locker room at the same time. Thinking about Zuko and the football game has distracted Sokka’s mind from the silent phone in his pocket, and he feels the adrenaline high take over again, his thoughts spiralling in all sorts of exciting directions. The high makes him feel a bit reckless, and he can’t bear the silence – he has to say something to Zuko.

“Hey, man,” he starts, and Zuko turns to him, his face unreadable in the dark. “Thank you for helping me practise and for the advice. It, uh… it meant a lot to me.”

He feels raw, admitting how much it meant to him to hear someone popular tell him not to care what other people think, and it doesn’t help when Zuko just scoffs. Still, Sokka tells himself that’s just what Zuko is like – quiet and broody – so he barrels on.

“Umm,” he starts, and stumbles around his words until he manages to blurt out, “do you want to study with me?”. He hurries to explain himself. “I mean, we have a lot of classes together, you know, and umm, junior year is hard and it’s always good to study with other people, you know, and I think our grades are quite matched, I mean, not that I know what your grades are, just, you’ve answered questions in class, so I sort of know what you know, you know…” he trails off, cursing himself. Why does he always lose his cool around this boy?

Zuko just stares at him for a moment, and then says simply “I don’t study with other people.” His voice is deep and resonant and raw, and it’s such a contrast to Sokka’s own high-pitched babbling that he gives an involuntary shiver. He’s disappointed, obviously, but that wasn’t too much of a letdown, especially compared to how mean Zuko can be. Sokka gets ready to say goodbye and head to his car, when Zuko takes a deep breath and continues.

“And,” he says, more gruff now, “even if I did, I would never study with a loser like you.” Sokka inhales sharply. “I may have helped you with football this week, but I did that to win the game, and because your sister told me to. So don’t read anything into it,” Zuko adds, his tone becoming angrier with every word. “We’re not friends, and we won’t ever be friends, so you need to stop hanging around me like a pathetic lapdog.”

He turns and walks away, leaving Sokka shocked, tears already streaming down his face. It’s only when Zuko’s car pulls away that Sokka finds the strength to walk around the corner to where Katara is waiting in their car, forcing himself to pull open the door and climb in. The moment he sits down behind the wheel the warmth of his familiar pickup truck and Katara’s steady presence at his side loosen something in him, and he rests his forehead on the wheel and starts to cry in earnest, sobs wrenching themselves out of his chest.

“Sokka–” Katara stops suddenly, the smile dropping off her face. “What’s wrong?” she asks him, reaching out and gently rubbing his back.

“Nothing,” Sokka says, petulant. “Nothing is wrong! It’s not like Jet made fun of our dead mother, or Zuko told me I’m a pathetic lapdog. Nooo, this is definitely the first time I’m crying this week. And poor dad, well, of course he couldn’t find time in his busy fucking schedule to come see one fucking football game. It’s fine. Everything–” he bangs his head on the wheel. “Is–” bang, “just–” bang, “peachy!” bang. He’s crying again now, and his forehead hurts from banging it against the wheel, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, Sokka,” Katara says, her voice soft. “I’m sorry about those assholes. They’re idiots, they just lash out to make themselves feel bigger. You’re a thousand times better than them. And dad,” she adds, her voice steely now with anger, “well, he’s the biggest idiot. Because that game was amazing, and he should be sad he missed it.”

“Don’t call dad an idiot,” Sokka tells her softly, turning his head to face her. He loves Katara, and he appreciates her support, but they often disagree about Hakoda.

She usually backs down when he asks her to stop, but now she doesn’t stop. “Well,” she says forcefully, “he is an idiot! No Sokka, he is,” she adds, when she sees he wants to argue with her again. “I don’t mean that he doesn’t love you, and I understand he’s busy, but he should visit more. I know being here reminds him of mom, but you should be worth that, and instead he’s just being weak.”

Sokka only shakes his head. He doesn’t quite agree, but the fierceness of her defence feels nice. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says sadly, “it isn’t really dad, I’m used to him not being here. It’s just… I thought I was getting somewhere with Zuko, I thought he was getting to be my friend. And then,” Sokka shuts his eyes, squirming at the memory. “He just told me I’m a loser and to stop following him around like a lapdog.”

Katara’s hand on his back clenches, grabbing his shirt. “I swear,” Katara says, furious, “one day I’m going to kill that Zuko.”

“But I don’t want you to!” Sokka says desperately, sitting back up in his seat and burying his face in his hands, Katara’s still on his back. The strength of his emotions is overwhelming, so many thoughts, feelings and experiences coming together and cresting over his denial like a tidal wave. “Because the thing is, I still want him to like me! Why do I still want him to like me, Katara? It’s not because I want to be his friend, is it?” he shouts. Panting, he lowers his hands from his face, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. It seems obvious, now, why he likes looking at Zuko. Why his heart flutters every time the boy looks back at him, why he’s so desperate to impress him.

“No-one wants to be friends with someone like that,” he says, calmer now, resigned. “No, I don’t want to be his friend. I want him to like me because I like how his fucking abs look when he’s not wearing a shirt, and because I got turned on seeing him score a fucking touchdown. I want him to like me because he’s hot, and I’m gay. I’m… I’m gay, Katara,” he says, and breaks down crying again, letting go of the wheel and hiding his face back in his hands.

“Oh, Sokka,” Katara says gently. She leans forward and pulls him towards her, wrapping him tightly in her arms.

“I’m gay, Katara,” Sokka says again, sobbing into her shoulder.

“I know Sokka,” she tells him, rubbing his back gently. “And it’s ok. I don’t care – you know I don’t care, right? I love you just as much.”

Katara’s words shatter something inside Sokka, and he throws his arms around her neck and weeps violently, hiccuping sobs shaking his chest. Sokka is gay, Katara knows, and she doesn’t care. Sokka is gay, Katara knows, and she doesn’t care. Sokka is gay, Katara knows, and she still loves him. He knows rationally that a sister’s love can’t stop everything in the world, that there’s a reason he was so scared of being gay, that it’s not going to be easy. But somehow, right now, that’s not important.

They stay like that for a long while, parked in the middle of an empty lot, two siblings clinging together like nothing else matters.

Katara stands alone in front of the glee club. She’s chosen to sing “I’ll Stand by You” by the Pretenders, and the song pours out of her as effortlessly as breathing. She means every word she sings.

Nothin' you confess, could make me love you less

The rest of the choir have joined in, oohing and aaahing in the background, but she doesn’t care. She’s singing this song for Sokka, and Sokka only.

Let me see you through

Her brother sits in front of her, eyes wet and lips trembling with emotion. When she looks at him, looks at that face she knows so well, her heart fills with pride. She’s so proud that he came out to her, and so grateful that he trusted her.

You won't be on your own

She means every word. Sometimes she feels that Sokka is the baby of the family, not her. Like a baby, he’s infinitely annoying, but also infinitely lovable and funny. And like a baby, he can be so fragile sometimes, so full of frustration and tears that it scares her.

And I'll never desert you

But last night she was reminded that Sokka isn’t a fragile baby. He doesn’t have it easy, but he’s strong and resilient, and he can help himself get better.

Won't let nobody hurt you

As she finishes the song, Sokka stands up and comes to her, enveloping her in a tight hug and hiding his wet face in her sweater. Katara looks over his shoulder at the clapping students which now include Jet, Pipsqueak and Sneers, some of her brother’s old antagonists. She glares at them, and then at Zuko. Sometimes she forgets that even though they may never stop fighting each other, in the end, it’s her and Sokka against the world.

I'll stand by you

Chapter Text

Dear Journal,

My mission continues: to sabotage that Asian gnome’s group of bi-curious, doughy, misshapen teens. Any long-haired old man should know better than to challenge the great Sue Sylvester! Sue Sylvester plays dirty, and she always wins.

My two trusty mini-Sues are my eyes and ears inside that sorry excuse of a choir room, and they have supplied me with a vital piece of information: a deadly rivalry between the two main stars of the club, the bald girl and the angry watermelon. Now, Sue Sylvester couldn’t care less about the emotions of some pathetic, greasy-haired boy. But that knock-off Asian Nicholas Hoult is my path to breaking Iroh’s spirit and so breaking his club. My informants tell me that the Zuko boy is incorrigibly ambitious, and thinks every solo should be his. A trait that might have been worthy of respect, if he didn’t pair his ambition with moronic, mindless fury. As my trail of bested enemies shows, to destroy those against you requires craft – Sue Sylvester works behind the scenes, and like a giant spider pounces on those caught in her web before they can scream “Mama!”.

But, Journal, I, Sue Sylvester, can harness that moronic boy’s fury. I will bait him with something that is as sweet to him as a double cheeseburger is to an obese man. A solo.

I have already set my brilliant plan in motion. Devious as always, I used my irresistible sexual magnetism (and a light sedative) to seduce our school’s embarrassment of a principal. With the picture I took of our night together, I now hold absolute power over the running of our school. So, Journal, you are now being graced by the pen of Sue Sylvester – not only a five-time National cheerleading championship winner, but also the new director of the school musical, West Side Story.

You may be surprised – it is well known how much I loathe everything to do with the ear-splitting time waste that is musical theatre. But do not worry, Journal, for there will only be one audition held, and no performances. My sham of a show will lure in the Zuko boy, because boys like him flock to the role of Tony like bees to a lion’s carcass. Once I have him, I will twist his mind as only Sue Sylvester knows how, and destroy both him and his wretched uncle.

That, dear Journal, is my plan, unmatched in its brilliance! Imagine me, Sue Sylvester, raising into the air the trophy of my sixth national championship win, announcing my run for the presidency. And all the while, that wild-haired tub of lard will be in the crowd, crying and begging. I can already hear the applause…

Iroh is worried. He spent all weekend trying to find a solution to the glee club’s latest problem: how to give Aang a solo without Zuko getting hurt. He hasn’t found a solution yet.

If Zuko was any other kid but his nephew, he would just give the solo to Aang and let Zuko deal with it. But Zuko is not only his nephew, but his chance to get it right, to raise a child. So yes, Iroh is biassed, and he admits that if it was the right thing for Zuko he would give the boy all the solos from now until the end of time. But it isn’t - the last thing Zuko needs is this solo, especially now when it would seem like Iroh is backing down. So Iroh needs to find a way to give the solo to Aang, and the only idea he’s had so far is to announce a competition between the two boys and choose a song in which Aang will have the advantage.

An underhand move, and one that might backfire, but also a move that may help Zuko realise what he lacks as a performer. The boy keeps practising and practising, spending all day and night singing and dancing. But what he lacks is not in technique or vocal range, but in emotional range. Good singing has to come from a place of deep perception – when you find that place, you can then bring out the emotion and let it fill your whole body, embodying the song as well as singing it. Zuko doesn’t do that, and won’t listen when Iroh tries to teach him. This isn’t surprising – Iroh’s brother Ozai, for all his talent and strength, has never managed to sing from that emotional place either. Iroh has always suspected that it’s the reason Ozai never managed to make it out in the world. He and Vocal Adrenaline are talented and successful, but at the end of the day they’re just soulless dance machines. One of Iroh’s worries is that by trying to please his father, Zuko will never break out of that soulless mould.

ooooo

At lunch time Iroh is sipping his tea in the break room when Sue sits down in front of him. The coach manages, after insulting his hair, weight, height and intellect, to tell Iroh that she is directing the school musical and is planning to give the role of Tony to Zuko. Iroh doesn’t try to reason with her, as he knows Sue is not the type to back down for a few reasoned requests. Instead, he just sips his tea quietly, and thanks her for giving his nephew this opportunity. His calmness infuriates Sue, and the coach leans into his face and hisses.

“You may be calm now, old man, but wait until I get into your nephew’s pretty little head. He already despises you, doesn’t he? It won’t take long to turn him fully against a disgusting geriatric like you.”

The words sting. Iroh’s biggest fear is to have Zuko hate him, to have another child leave him. But years of Pai Sho games have given Iroh an excellent poker face, so he just continues to calmly stare at Sue. This only antagonises the coach further, and as she turns to leave she “accidentally” pushes his mug off the table, smirking.

After Sue is gone, Iroh stares despondently at the mug shards on the floor. “World’s Best Uncle” has broken up, with only “Wo”, “es” and “ncl” readable on the larger pieces. Iroh is not superstitious, but even to him this seems like a very bad omen. “I know you’re not supposed to cry over spilt tea,” he murmurs to himself, “but that’s just sad.”

At least he knows what song to use for the competition.

ooooo

“Settle down, my young artists!” he says, raising his voice so that it carries above the hubbub. The choir room feels wonderfully full. Was it really only two weeks ago that the group had a mere six members? Now they have twelve, just enough to compete at Sectionals: Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph, Zuko, Teo, Suki, Ty Lee, Mai, Jet, Pipsqueak and Sneers. The football players still seem unsure why they’re here, sitting in a tight huddle in one corner, occasionally glancing at the cheerleaders. Mai and Ty Lee, on the other hand, are laughing about something, eyes only for each other. Zuko is sitting next to Mai, but he’s stuck in his own world, staring into the air and frowning. This week, Iroh notices, Sokka is pointedly ignoring Zuko, a marked change from the previous weeks’ frequent longing looks. Instead Sokka is talking to Aang and Katara, gesticulating wildly, his friends smiling at him fondly. Suki and Teo are sitting close to those three but are only half listening to Sokka, seemingly more focused on the large art book lying open across Teo’s knees. Toph is the only one sitting truly alone, closer to Aang’s group than to the cheerleaders but still a few steps away from everyone, nodding along to some song playing on her headphones.

Iroh also worries about Toph. He’s sure all of his students have problems, and he will help all of them if offered a chance. But Toph’s problem is one that is stopping her from integrating into the choir – she won’t let anybody help her. Unlike Zuko, she doesn’t seem to mind singing backup. No, she’s okay humming in the background as long as none of the other students try to assist her. Even though she’s blind she never lets anyone else read out the lyrics for her, preferring to wait until she can listen to the recording on her own. And Iroh has to admit that she manages incredibly well by herself, moving around the school and getting through her everyday tasks without a problem. But even though she can dance and orient herself perfectly it’s still more complicated to teach her the choreography – even though she has an uncanny sense for everyone’s location and movement, she can’t see the dance moves when Iroh demonstrates them. At first he’d tried asking some of the other students to move through the dance slowly so she can feel along their body and learn the sequence that way, but Toph had strongly opposed that plan. Instead, Iroh has agreed to write down every detail of the dance sequence for her in braille, and to Toph’s credit she always learns it in one evening and dances perfectly the next day.

But it’s not really the practicalities that bother Iroh. He would happily go above and beyond to accommodate any student. It’s the fact that the New Directions is a team, and that means helping each other. He hopes that his plan for the other students this week will help Toph understand the importance of that.

“We will have two separate assignments this week,” he tells the now quiet students. It makes him so happy, standing in front of students in a choir room again. It doesn’t matter if their faces are open and eager like Katara’s, scornful like Jet’s or bored and expressionless like Mai’s. What matters is that they’re here, and that he can make this a safe space for them, a place where, at least for a few hours, they can escape their troubles.

“The first,” he continues, “is an assignment only for Aang and Zuko.” He sees his nephew’s frown deepen, and braces himself for the boy’s reaction. “By now, you know that I am a peace-loving man. But sometimes we can only get better by pushing ourselves to compete against others. So the solo assignment for Invitationals will be decided in a friendly competition – at the end of this week, both Zuko and Aang will sing ‘Something's Coming’ from the musical West Side Story, and we will all vote on the winner!”

There’s a lot of excitement at this announcement. Everyone loves a competition, especially one they can vote in. Zuko glares at him furiously, but stays silent. Iroh was counting on Zuko’s strong need to prove himself – the boy doesn’t think he should get the solo because he’s entitled to it, he thinks he needs it, and Zuko does really think that he’s the best.

Aang, on the other hand, is staring at Iroh with his mouth open, hands gripping the sides of his chair. Katara is leaning over him, whispering reassuringly. Iroh remembers that Aang doesn’t know much about music, and has probably never heard of West Side Story. It doesn’t matter – he knows Aang will still win this competition. ‘Something’s Coming’ invokes the sort of gentle and excited optimism that Aang has in buckets – and that Zuko severely lacks. So Iroh hopes that Aang will forgive him once he hears the song, and hopes even more strongly that Zuko forgives him after he loses the competition. Most of all, he hopes that by losing Zuko will realise that he’s not ready for the role of Tony and stays in the club.

Not a great plan, but the best he could come up with.

“The rest of you, don’t worry!” he tells everyone else, smiling. “Your assignment this week is also to sing a show tune, but unlike our brave boys, you can choose any song! The task is to take a solo song from a musical, and sing it together with another person as a duet. I will choose the pairs by pulling from this hat,” he adds, raising a baseball hat he’s borrowed from Zhao. “Does that sound like an acceptable plan?”

Most of the students nod, or at least look resigned. Only one person leans forward, shaking her head.

“No,” Toph says simply. “That is not an acceptable plan,” she continues, making quotation marks with her fingers around ‘acceptable’. “I don’t want to spend my afternoons working on music scores with one of these useless idiots. I can do the song alone.”

“Ah, Toph,” Iroh says gently. “I know you are a very capable singer, and I am sure you could do any song justice. But I’m afraid that the assignment is to work together and sing the song as a duet.”

Toph huffs loudly and sinks back into her seat, pushing herself backwards until the chair is balancing on its two back legs. Iroh can clearly hear her mumble something about the futility of asking for opinions when you don’t listen to the answers. He gives her a look, and then realises she can’t see his expression and just shakes his head to himself. Turning back to the rest of the choir, he places the hat onto the piano, smiles, and wiggles his fingers over the pile of paper slips.

“If there are no more questions,” he tells them, “I will now choose the pairs!”

The pieces of paper in the hat are covered in the names of the choir members, but Iroh doesn’t look at the names he pulls out. There’s no way he’s leaving something this important to chance.

“Suki and Jet!”

“Sokka and Teo!”

“Mai and Ty Lee!”

“Sneers and Pipsqueak!”

And then, finally. “Toph and Katara!”

While everyone else is reluctantly moving around to sit with their partner, Toph groans loudly. “Really?” she asks loudly. “If I have to work with someone, why can’t it be someone cool like Suki? Does it really have to be the uptight princess?”

Katara’s face is red, but when she speaks her voice is calm, if a bit tight. “I’m sorry I’m not your first choice, Toph,” she says, turning towards the girl, “but I’m sure we can work together.”

Toph just huffs again, and continues to swing back and forth on the chair. Katara waits for a response, but when Toph doesn’t say anything more she grabs her bag angrily and goes to sit next to the younger girl.

Iroh watches them, thinking. Not the best start, perhaps, but in a way the sooner that relationship comes to a head, the better. Those two girls are bound to clash, but he hopes they’ll become friends after they let out their frustrations.

Noting the girls’ heightening animosity with satisfaction, he turns to watch Suki and Jet – two wildcards he’s decided to throw together. Sometimes coaching a glee club can feel like an overly complicated game of Pai Sho.

By Monday evening Katara is desperate to grab Toph’s hair and bang the girl’s head into the wall. It feels like her blood pressure has been rising continuously over the past six hours, and any minute now she’ll just explode.

Katara has been desperately pushing ideas for the duet all afternoon, suggesting song after song, only for Toph to turn down all of them and then make no effort to suggest anything herself. Katara has tried to be nice, offering to give Toph a ride, offering to read out lyrics to her, trying to help her find her way. But even convincing her to come over to Katara’s house to work on the duet took ages, and now they’ve been sitting in Katara’s room for hours and haven’t even decided on a song yet.

Katara types furiously on her laptop, and then swivels around in her desk chair to look at the others. Toph is lying on the floor, tearing out strings from Katara’s woolly carpet as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. Aang is lying next to Appa on Katara’s bed, throwing a ball up and down above his head. He only joined because he was bored, and, well, these days Aang spends most afternoons in Katara’s room anyways. By now Katara is used to his presence, and even Appa’s loud breathing has become a soothing background noise. Sokka is over at Teo’s place working on their duet, so outside her room the house is quiet.

“How about something from Grease?” Katara suggests. “Wouldn’t ‘Beauty School Dropout’ be fun to do as two girls? Or maybe we could alternate ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’ like two sides of a breakup, not just one.”

“Those are shit songs, Katara,” Toph tells her calmly. Now that she’s torn out a large bunch of strings from the carpet, she seems intent on braiding them together.

“Well, why don’t you suggest some songs?” Katara asks, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. “I can read out the lyrics from some of them, or I can find them for you on your phone,” she adds, trying to be considerate.

“Katara, I'm fine,” Toph says. “I can sing without help.”

“Well, that's great for you,” Katara answers, trying to restrain herself from punching the smaller girl. “But we still need to finish –”

“I don't understand what's the problem here!” Toph interrupts her. “I’m here like you wanted, aren’t I?”

“Never mind,” Katara huffs angrily, turning back to her computer.

After a few more minutes of pointless searching, Katara decides to try another line of attack.

“Hey Toph,” she says, forcing her voice to be calm. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I think we're all just a little tired and getting on each other's nerves.”

“Yeah,” Toph scoffs. “You do seem pretty tired.”

Katara feels her face heating, and rage gathers in her chest. “I meant all of us,” she grits between clenched teeth.

“Look,” Toph says, bending up to sit in a crouch. “I didn't ask to be assigned this stupid duet with you! I can sing on my own.”

“That's not the point!” Katara shouts, standing up and looking down at Toph. “Ever since you joined the glee club, you've been nothing but selfish and unhelpful!”

“What?” Toph shouts, standing up as well. The top of her head still only reaches the bottom of Katara’s chin, but the look on her face is vicious. “Look here, sugar queen,” she continues, jabbing her finger into Katara’s chest. “I was completely fine before I joined the stupid glee club. I gave up my peace of mind and my standing in the school, unlike you losers who had nowhere to go but up. You need me for Regionals, so now who’s being selfish?”

"Sugar queen?!” Katara shouts. She tries to grab Toph, but the girl is already leaving the room, slamming the door behind her. “D-did you just slam the door in my face?! How can you be so infuriating?!”

By now Aang is sitting up on the bed with a worried look on his face, and Appa is whining pitifully. “Okay, okay,” Aang says awkwardly. “You both need to calm down…”

"Both?!" Katara shouts, whirling around to face Aang. She’s breathing rapidly, and she can’t seem to think of anything except how much she hates Toph. “I’m completely calm!” she shouts at Aang.

Aang swallows, and slides off the bed on the side farthest from Katara. “I can see that,” he says placatingly. “Why don’t I just go see where Toph has gone? I didn’t hear the door, so she’s probably still in the house. Yip yip, Appa,” he adds, and the dog follows him out of the room, giving Katara a wide-eyed look. Well, she’s not going to back down, and she’s definitely not going to be guilt-tripped by a dog.

When Aang, Toph and Appa come back into the room, Katara is leaning on her windowsill and looking up at the cloudless night sky. Her heartbeat has calmed down somewhat, but she’s still filled with fury. It feels like the anger has settled somewhere inside her, a cold hatred twisting her chest. She wants to, she needs to insult Toph, to get Toph to see that Katara is right.

“The stars sure are beautiful tonight,” she says mockingly, still staring out the window. “Too bad you can't see them, Toph!” she adds, turning back to glare at the other girl.

Toph looks like she wants to hit Katara, but Aang grabs her and pushes her down to sit on the bed, Appa jumping up to crouch beside her. Aang gives Katara a pointed look. “Let’s just get this duet done,” he says, resigned. “I’m tired, and I’m sure you are too.”

Katara won’t be mollified that easily. Toph had her chance, six hours of chances. So no, Katara will not back down.

“Of course,” she says coldly, gesturing at Toph, “we could've finished much earlier, if Toph didn't have such issues.”

“What?” Toph shouts again, jumping off the bed to face Katara.

“All right, all right,” Aang says quickly, trying to get between the two girls. “Everyone's exhausted! Maybe we should continue this tomorrow.”

“No,” Toph says with false sweetness. “I want to hear what Katara has to say. You think I have issues?”

“I'm just saying,” Katara answers her, raising her hands in a mocking question. “Maybe if you actually helped out earlier, we could have finished the song hours ago.” Her anger mounts with every word, and she shouts the final sentence, her face red. “And then maybe we wouldn't be in this situation!”

“You're blaming me for this?” Toph asks, trying to jab her finger into Katara’s chest.

“No!” Aang says placatingly, turning to Toph. “No, she's not blaming you.”

Katara will have none of that. “No,” she shouts, trying to shove Aang out of the way. “I am blaming her!”

“Hey,” Toph says, finally managing to shove Aang away. “I never asked you for diddly-doo-dah,” she adds, pointing a thumb at herself. “I carry my own weight. Besides, if there's anyone to blame, it's grunty over here!” she says, pointing to Appa.

Aang looks confused. “What has Appa done?” he asks.

“What has he done?” Toph asks, turning towards Aang. “Oh, nothing, only completely wiped out my hearing with his impossibly loud breathing!”

Toph is jabbing her finger into Aang’s shocked face now. “I need my hearing to get around,” she tells him, “and that blabbermouthed oaf is so loud that I’m losing my orientation! If you didn’t need to bring your useless pet with you everywhere you go then I could have heard well enough to learn all the dance moves, and we wouldn’t be in this stupid teamwork situation!”

“Appa is not useless,” Aang says, his voice cold. He grabs Toph’s finger and shoves her out of the way, stepping around her to sit on the bed and hug his dog. “He’s literally saved my life multiple times.” He isn’t shouting, but the quiet, calm way he’s speaking is almost worse. “He’s a service dog,” Aang tells Toph. “I thought you of all people would understand,” he adds, “since you’re also disabled.”

“I’m not disabled,” Toph tells Aang with venom in her tone. “I can take care of myself.”

They all stay there for a few moments, frozen in the terrible tension that has filled the room.

Finally, Toph speaks. “I’m out of here,” she says, and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her again.

Aang and Katara stare at each other for a moment, Katara’s heart still beating wildly in her chest. Then, Katara sees tears start to build up in Aang’s eyes, and it breaks her cold twist of fury. “Oh, Aang,” she says, and goes to wrap her arms around him. He leans into her, tears streaming down his face.

“I’ve never argued like that with anyone before,” he tells her. “Why did she have to say those things about Appa?”

“I don’t know Aang,” Katara tells him despondently. Guilt slowly builds up in her gut. “But I think I said some pretty mean things myself.” She winches at the thought of all the terrible things she screamed.

“I’ll apologise for those,” she tells Aang. “But I don’t think we owe Toph anything else. If she wants to be our friend, she needs to apologise too.”

Aang nods, and extracts himself from Katara’s hug. He gives Appa another squeeze, and then they both scoot up to their usual positions on the bed. Katara turns on the TV, and they spend the next hour watching a ridiculous reality show. By the end of the episode Aang is back to normal, laughing and telling jokes. Katara joins in, but something inside her still feels vulnerable and raw, like the anger scraped up her insides. She’s glad when Aang leaves, and she lies in her bed for a long time, staring sleeplessly out of the window and wondering what it would be like to not be able to see the stars.

Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter,

She’ll show them.

Toph will show them.

Don't bring around a cloud, to rain on my parade!

It’s the day after the argument, and she’s standing in front of the glee club, singing ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’. It’s a stupid song, but Toph needed to learn a show tune quickly, and this one had some lines that she thinks really express how she feels.

Who told you you're allowed, to rain on my parade?!

Last evening was humiliating. This is why Toph doesn’t have friends, this is why she doesn’t join clubs or try out for teams. People just immediately see a little blind girl and think that she’s useless, think that they need to help her. As if she doesn’t get enough of that at home, with her parents suffocating her in their concern, barely letting her shower alone. School was supposed to be her safe space, a place where she could just do what she wanted and not have anyone assume that she was weak.

I'm gonna live and live now, get what I want – I know how,

But then in comes Katara, with her stupid motherly instincts, trying to help Toph with everything. It isn’t just the song choice or the stupid assignment. Katara is constantly shoving her nose into places it doesn’t belong, innocently asking Toph if she needs help with a dance move or offering to read out the lyrics. Well, Toph doesn’t need help! She already has one coddling mother, the last thing she needs is another. She can take care of herself.

Nobody, no, nobody, is gonna rain on my parade!

When the song ends, an awkwards silence descends on the room. Toph can hear Katara’s loud, angry breaths. There’s an uncomfortable whimper from Appa, and even above the dog’s impossibly loud breathing Toph can hear the scratchy sound of dog fur being grabbed too tightly.

Aang is obviously still upset, and Toph does feel bad about that. She likes twinkletoes, after all, and she does respect Appa for what he does. But she hates being called disabled - it’s too similar to what her parents always say. “Oh, our daughter, she’s differently abled, can you please take her hand and show her the way?” Ugh. Not to mention “handicapable” – that’s the worst one, and her mother’s favourite. All of those terms are just so condescending, marking her out as someone weaker, someone who needs extra attention, who isn’t strong enough for the real world. At least “cripple” doesn’t hide behind empty platitudes, but the one time Toph tried to call herself that her mom slapped a hand on her mouth.

“Ah, Toph,” Mr. Iroh says slowly, standing up from his chair. Toph knows she didn’t follow the assignment, but it doesn’t matter. What’s the worst punishment he could give her, make her leave the club? Good riddance. She signed up to glee club to sing, not to hold hands and make pleasant with some softy loser kids.

“Thank you for that song,” the teacher continues. “That was a beautiful rendition, and you are indeed a very talented young lady! But I’m afraid it was not quite the assignment - what happened to Katara?” he asks.

“Katara,” the older girl speaks up, “had nothing to do with this.” Her voice is just as cold and angry as it was yesterday. “Trying to get Toph to even choose a song for a duet is like trying to move a brick wall.”

“Ah, but sometimes moving a wall is as easy as pushing a lever!” Iroh says happily, a twinkle in his voice. “At least if the wall is a secret door,” he adds, his laugh ringing loud in the quiet room.

“I do understand the difficulties, Toph,” he continues sympathetically. “But I am afraid that despite your lovely performance you will still have to sing the duet with Katara.”

“No,” Toph tells him. “I’m not doing a stupid duet.” There’s really not much more to say than that – Toph will simply not do the assignment. But some choice words from yesterday’s argument are still ringing in her ears, and she can’t stop herself from continuing. “I don’t know what you want from me! I never asked any of you for anything. I don’t even ask for solos, unlike some people,” she adds, emphasising the last words so everyone knows she means Zuko. “I give up my spare time to sing backup and learn your stupid dance moves, but I don’t need anyone helping me, and I certainly don’t need an overbearing mother hen trying to help me choose a song. I just showed you – I can sing on my own!”

“I understand your concerns, Toph,” Mr. Iroh says, voice still infuriatingly calm. “But a show choir is not only about solos and backup, and not just about doing the work. Music is all about give and take, about support, community. There is a reason I asked you to work in pairs, and if you are in this club you cannot avoid it.”

Well, that was simple, Toph thinks. Bye-bye glee club. What a bunch of losers.

“Okay,” she says. “I quit.”

ooooo

Toph spends the next three days trying to convince herself she made the right decision. Glee club was horrible, wasn’t it? They were all constantly showing her dance moves, or reading out the lyrics to her. Yes, they let her sing and dance and definitely didn’t restrict her like her parents do, but the extent of the coddling doesn’t matter. What matters is that of course a bunch of weak-hearted show tune loving idiots would assume that the blind girl isn’t capable of carrying her own fucking weight.

A small voice in her head reminds her that no-one actually said she couldn’t keep up, and weren’t they just being nice? No, she tells it violently. Being nice is where it starts. You let someone do one nice thing for you, and the next thing you know your mother is installing padding along all the walls “in case my beautiful little angel trips and falls”. But, the little voice continues, is suggesting songs for a mandatory duet really even being nice? Wouldn’t Katara have behaved the same with any other student?

Toph doesn’t know what to say to that. Because yes, she may have overreacted to the duet assignment. After all, a duet is really just two solo parts – Toph doesn’t have a problem singing with someone else, not if the score and choreography are provided. Katara just has a way of getting under her skin, always so considerate and motherly. Well, Sokka might let Katara cut the crust off his sandwiches, but Toph is better off by herself. She always has been, ever since baby Toph found the hole in the garden hedge and started exploring the world on her own terms.

Still, she can’t shake off the feeling of regret. Every time she passes the choir room it seems like there’s a different set of voices floating out of it, happy pairs singing harmonious show tune duets. Why do they never close the door to the choir room, a room that by definition is loud?

When she hears Suki and Jet singing “The Lady is a Tramp”, she can’t help but stop and listen. They’re both talented, and they sound good together. Even their adaptation of the idiotic song is good, their voices alternating smoothly and overlapping on just the right parts. Toph wonders how she and Katara would have sounded together, if maybe they could also have found a harmony like this. She shakes her head, reminding herself that things like that aren’t possible for her, because nothing is ever equal or harmonious when a blind girl is involved.

But once the song is over and the applause starts, Toph finds herself aching to be in the room with them, sitting on her usual chair, swinging backwards on its hind legs and clapping in an alternating rhythm just to confuse everyone and make Aang laugh. Yes, there have been some infuriatingly helpful endeavours over the past few weeks, but mostly glee club has been fun. Toph had the time of her life singing “Push It” in front of the whole student body, swinging her hips and slithering on the stage. She’s never given a shit, but it’s different to not give a shit with other people. It’s a powerful feeling, being part of a group like that. And she likes most of them. She doesn’t have any thoughts on the football players yet, but Aang is adorable, Sokka can be funny and gutsy, Suki and Teo are cool, Zuko is hilariously sulky, and Ty Lee and Mai are boss-ass bitches. Toph usually keeps to herself at school, so she isn’t used to liking people, and thinking about these kids as her friends clenches something in her chest. Listening to the happy chatter coming from the choir room, knowing that she doesn’t have anything to look forward to now except school and an oppressive home life – it makes her eyes prickle and her throat get tight. And Toph Beifong doesn’t cry. She’s never understood the point of it – why do the useless squishy balls in her face have to spill liquid when she gets sad? It makes no sense.

This is what she keeps telling herself as she reluctantly walks away from the choir room and back to her locker. Crying makes no sense. I can carry my own weight.

Still, her sour mood only gets worse by the next morning, and she snaps in history class. Aang is trying to get her attention, leaning over her desk and whispering to her when Mr. Iroh’s back is turned. Toph ignores him as long as she can, but the little idiot is persistent. His hoarse whisper joins the scratch of the chalk on the board, the rustle of pages being turned and Appa’s loud huffing, and Toph can’t take it any more. Still facing the front of the class, she shouts “Shut up!”.

There’s a sudden silence, which Aang breaks with a weak “Toph–”, before she snaps at him again. “Stop trying to talk to me, twinkletoes! I told you weeks ago I don’t want friends, and I’m not a member of your stupid glee club, so why can’t you idiots leave – me – ALONE!”

Toph immediately feels bad. Aang’s breathing sounds uneven, and she thinks he’s probably close to tears. Aang is her favourite, and she’s made him cry again, twice in a week now. The guilt saps all the anger out of her body, and she sags, dropping her head onto the table. She’s just so tired, tired of people trying to help her and be friends with her, and tired of constantly turning them away and being strong and carrying her own weight. She barely even registers Mr. Iroh’s sad sigh, and doesn’t move when he tells her to come see him after class.

ooooo

Mr. Iroh assigns her detention with him that afternoon, and she doesn’t know what to expect. Iroh really isn’t the detention-giving sort, but Toph knows that she crossed some pretty hard lines this week.

Still, the one thing she does not expect is for Mr. Iroh to welcome her warmly into the classroom and offer her a cup of tea, asking what type she’d like. Confused, she says she doesn’t know, and he happily launches into a long explanation about different types of tea.

Toph is adopted, so she doesn’t know much about China in general, and since her white parents only drink coffee she definitely doesn’t know anything about tea. When she tells Iroh, he explains that Japanese tea is different from Chinese tea, but that he can get some Chinese blends for next time.

Toph isn’t sure what he means by next time. Next detention? As far as she knows this is a one time thing. Maybe the teacher just wants to have tea with her again, but she’s not sure how she feels about that.

When the tea is ready, Iroh pours some into a small ceramic cup and hands it to her before taking care of his own serving. Toph scowls. She’s sure he’s going to talk to her about glee club now, so she tries to preempt any argument.

“I know what you're thinking,” she says angrily. “I look like I can't handle doing things by myself.”

“I wasn't thinking that,” Iroh tells her calmly, his voice kind.

“You wouldn't even let me pour my own cup of tea!”

Iroh laughs. “I poured your tea because I wanted to,” he says, “and for no other reason.”

Toph doesn’t buy that. She tries to explain. “People see me and think I'm weak,” she tells him, working to keep her voice calm. “They want to take care of me,” she adds, “but I can take care of myself, by myself!”

Iroh laughs again. “You sound like my nephew, always thinking you need to do things on your own, without anyone's support.” He places his tea cup back on the table. “There is nothing wrong with letting the people who love you help you,” he says, quiet and kind. He leaves that hanging for a moment, and then seems to realise what his words sounded like. “Not that I love you,” he adds quickly. “You’re just my student!”

Although his confusion causes Toph to snort in laughter, she can’t find the words to answer Iroh. After another sip of his tea he asks her, “Do you think other people are weak when they need help?”

That question surprises Toph. Does she? She thinks about other people in her life – does needing a service dog make Aang weak? The only way for Teo to get to the stage in the auditorium is for his chair to be carried down the stairs – does that mean he doesn’t belong there? Even Katara needs help learning new dance moves.

But she can’t help but think that it’s different for her. Because it’s not like she asks for help. Everyone just keeps on assuming that she needs help when she doesn’t. It feels violating, to be coddled in that way, to have time and attention and touch foisted upon you when all you want to do is get through life by yourself.

Toph lowers her head to the table and groans. Why is it so hard to untangle all of this? There should be a clear line somewhere that tells her what’s reasonable for her to refuse, and when she’s projecting her own insecurities on others’ actions. But to her, it all just seems reasonable. Is it wrong to refuse to do things that make you feel bad?

“I just don’t like it when people help me,” she complains, her voice muffled by the table.

Iroh hums placatingly. “I do not want you to do anything that causes you harm, Toph,” he tells her gently. “It is very good to have strong boundaries, and you should not be denied those. I just hope that you can learn to look at the people around you and see them as more than just threats to your boundaries. Collaboration and help can be respectful, when the agreement is mutual.”

Boundaries, Toph thinks. Yes, that’s what she wants. Every day, she goes home and hopes that somehow an invisible wall will appear between her and her parents, something to stop them from getting near her without her consent. That’s what she loves about school – it does really feel like she’s walking around in her own impenetrable bubble. And yes, she definitely sees other people as threats that she has to defend against, armies she has to keep out of her walls. Because that’s what people are most of the time when you’re a small blind girl. No-one grabs normal people without their consent

But she’s not sure what Iroh means by respectful help. How would any sort of help not cross her boundaries? She thinks about Aang for a moment. He’s offered to help her multiple times, but every time she refused he just agreed and moved on. What would it have been like if she'd said yes? He would probably keep asking questions every step of the way. Aang knows about boundaries, after all – he spends just as much time stopping people from petting Appa as she does keeping them away from her.

But Katara… Katara just assumes things. Toph doesn’t feel like Katara has been respectful, but maybe that was partially her own fault. She wasn’t even sure what had bothered her so much about working together on a duet – it was just a collaboration, after all! Katara hadn’t even been that bad at the start, but Toph was just afraid that even the smallest concession would open the floodgates, and Katara would then think that she could do anything she wanted. But that wasn’t quite right, was it? Katara wasn’t an idiot. If Toph helped choose a song, she probably wouldn’t assume that that meant that she could touch her or carry her things. It just felt that way. It felt that way so much that Toph could hear her own heartbeat rising at the mere thought of working with Katara.

Time to make amends, though. At least for some of it.

Toph raises her head. “I’m sorry for shouting in glee club,” she tells Iroh. “And for singing alone, even though I was awesome. I overreacted.”

She can hear Iroh give out a little breath like he’s smiling, but the coach doesn’t say a word. “I don’t want to quit glee club,” she continues, realising how true that is the moment the words come out of her mouth. She really doesn’t want to quit the club. “But,” she adds, “please don’t put me with Katara again. She’s so pushy, and I can’t take it.”

“Well,” Iroh says. “As I said a few weeks ago, it is always good to apologise! And I am very happy to hear about your return to our club, as your voice and wit have been sorely missed.”

Toph sighs in relief, but her reprieve is short lived. “But,” Iroh continues. “I cannot promise that you will not have to work with Katara. And,” he adds with a chuckle. “I think you will find that she is not really that bad. Most importantly, Katara is a big fan of clear communication. An open conversation with her could be very productive.”

Toph is sceptical, but she guesses that this is the best she’s going to get. She nods, and Iroh begins talking about tea again. They spend another hour like that, drinking tea and chatting. If you can look past the bullshit, Toph thinks, Iroh is a pretty good person to talk to.

When she stands to go, Toph can’t help but stop in the doorway. “Thank you,” she tells Iroh.

“My pleasure,” he answers. “Sharing tea with a fascinating student is one of life's true delights!”

“No,” Toph laughs. “Thank you for what you said. It helped me.” It really did, she thinks.

Aang is nervous. It’s the last day of the week, and he knows that he should be nervous about his competition with Zuko, and he is. But mostly he’s nervous because Toph has just entered the choir room. It’s still early so it’s only him and Katara sitting in the empty room, and Toph walks straight towards them.

Aang doesn’t really understand why Toph worries about being perceived as weak – he’s actually a bit jealous of how little her disability seems to affect her. At least she never falls to the ground and jerks around unconsciously. He tries not to think about it, but he’s very scared of having a seizure in school – people here would have a very different reaction than the monks’ kind indifference. Since the start of the school year, he’s been having nightmares in which he’s lying on the floor of the cafeteria, jerking and spasming in a puddle of food with a crowd of football players and cheerleaders pointing and laughing around him. At least all Toph has to do is use audio textbooks and a braille notetaker – at least she’s in control. All Aang can do is hope that Appa will predict the seizure in time for him to get to a private place.

He isn’t sure what Toph wants now. Is she back in the glee club? Has she come to shout at him some more? He tries to be understanding, because it’s just… it’s really hard to be disabled, he knows that. But there’s only so much shouting he can take.

Toph stops in front of them. It’s always hard to read her face, because her hair hangs over her eyes and she rarely looks up, but Aang thinks that she looks less defiant than usual, the lines of her mouth and eyes a bit more soft.

“I’m sorry,” she says abruptly. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you guys, and I shouldn’t have insulted Appa. You were just trying to help.”

“That’s okay, Toph!” Aang replies immediately. Relief floods his body, and he can feel a smile spreading on his face. Toph doesn’t sound very ashamed, but she also doesn’t sound reluctant – he thinks she really means it.

Katara seems to think so as well, because she also has a small smile on her face. “Thank you Toph,” she says. “And for what it’s worth – I’m also sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things to you either.”

Toph’s shoulders relax, her stiff posture melting into something more comfortable. “I don’t know, sugar queen,” she tells Katara teasingly. “It was fun to see you be mean for a change.”

Katara groans. “We just made up – could you not use that nickname?”

“But it works so well for you, sugar queen!” Toph says happily, going to sit next to Aang. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop calling you that if you stop trying to help me with things. Seriously, you’d think taking care of Sokka would be enough parenting for one person.”

Aang can feel Katara tense beside him, so he quickly squeezes her arm and turns to Toph. “Toph, you can’t just apologise and go back to being mean right away.”

Toph lets out a put-upon sigh.

“Okay, Twinkletoes,” she says. “I’m sorry Katara. But I have boundaries, and you need to respect them. I should have agreed to work on the song, but that doesn’t mean you can just help me with anything. You need to ask.”

Katara relaxes. “Okay,” she tells Toph. “It’s… it might be hard for me, because it’s just my instinct to help. But I’ll try.”

Toph leans back in her chair, stretching her arms out behind her. “Cool beans,” she says. “Well, that was more than enough talking for today,” she adds, taking her headphones out of her bag.

Aang can’t help but smile at her, even though he knows she can’t see it. Turning back around, he can see Katara is also smiling, the lines besides her eyes wrinkling with repressed laughter. Aang loves Katara’s smiles – she always grins with her whole face, her bright blue eyes radiating joy. Aang can never see Katara smile without feeling his own grin widen.

ooooo

“And now,” Mr. Iroh pronounces, “it’s time for the solo competition.”

There’s cheers all around the room, and Aang twists his hand nervously in Appa’s fur. How is he going to win against Zuko? He’d never even seen a musical before he joined the glee club, and now he has to sing a whole solo against Zuko, who has been singing in show choirs since he was a baby.

Mr. Iroh tosses a coin, and Aang goes up to start, stopping to stand before the whole group. This feels different than the duet with Katara, or even the fun solo songs they did last week. Zuko is glaring at him like he’d like nothing better than to strangle Aang, and Aang feels his throat tighten with tension. He can’t – he can’t open his mouth, and his stomach is doing weird flips, and he’s sure he’s going to puke or maybe this is the start of a seizure? Images of him spasming on the choir room floor fill his head, and all he wants to do is run away and hide somewhere no-one can find him.

But then Katara catches his eye, and smiles. Aang can’t help but smile back, and it reminds him that he knows this song. Katara helped him practise all week, and she said he’s good, that she likes how he sings it. So he takes a deep breath, and thinks of what monk Gyatso always quotes: Live every act fully, as if it were your last.

Could be… who knows…

As he sings, Aang thinks of how he felt when Monk Gyatso told him they’d be moving to Lima.

There's something due any day, I would know right away, soon as it shows…

He remembers the moment so well. He was sitting in one of the monastery’s many courtyards, enjoying one of the first warm evenings of the year, throwing a stick for Appa and watching the sparrows fly in and out of the bushes. Monk Gyatso sat down next to him on the bench, his grin wide and joyous.

It's only just out of reach, down the block, on a beach, under a tree…

After hearing the news about Lima and McKinley High, Aang just sat there. Usually his reaction to any excitement would be to run all around the monastery, telling everyone about the backflip he’d invented or the treasure that Appa had found. But this news was different, so much bigger and better than anything he’d hoped for.

Could it be? Yes, it could, something's coming, something good, if I can wait…

He felt hope filling him up then, hope he’d never let himself feel before. Hope he’d kept crushing down, telling himself that the monastery was nice, that it was enough, that he should let go of desire like the monks said. But oh, he wanted more, so much more. He wanted friends and hobbies and fun and things he couldn’t even imagine because most of all he wanted to be a kid. And now… now he was going to get it.

Something's coming, I don't know what it is, but it is gonna be great!

The long-suppressed wanting overwhelmed him, and his future felt palpable, full of promise, just around the corner.

It's only just out of reach, down the block on a beach, maybe tonight!

He puts all of that into the song, all his patience, his joy, the quiet excitement about tomorrow that is still bubbling in his chest every day.

Maybe tonight…

He’s so immersed in the song and the memories that it’s a shock when it ends and he finds himself back in the choir room being applauded by the glee club. Everyone except Zuko is clapping loudly, and Sokka and Katara are on their feet, whooping happily. Aang flushes, not quite believing this is all for him. He smiles at them shyly and then goes to sit next to his friends, who congratulate him and pat him on the back. This, Aang thinks, is so much better than anything he’d ever imagined.

Maybe tonight…

As soon as Aang starts singing, Zuko knows he’s lost. That’s not what he tells himself – he tries to think about how inexperienced Aang is, how he’s not hitting all the notes quite right, not projecting properly to the room. But it doesn’t matter, because Aang is pouring his soul out: eyes unfocused and shiny, voice trembling with emotion. In Zuko’s head he can hear his father’s voice calling the performance unprofessional, telling him that only fools mix their own emotions with music. Only perfection is important, Zuko. Emotions make you weak and distracted. You need to sing as if you feel something, but never actually feel it. That way you will always be in control.

But Zuko knows that doesn’t matter, not today. Not when this is a competition by popular vote. He tries to tell himself that they’re all imbeciles, and if they vote for Aang it’s because they have no taste. But his gut clenches as he listens to Aang, and he knows that in truth, the boy is just really, really good.

This feeling of acceptance only lasts as long as the song does. The moment the music ends and the applause starts, Zuko is angry. He’s so angry that he can barely sit there, so angry that he has to grip the sides of his chair so he doesn’t go over to try and strangle Aang. This applause should be his. Who does this boy think he is, coming in here and singing like that? How dare his uncle set up this moronic competition?

He’ll show them. He stands up so suddenly his chair clatters backwards. The applause dies down around him as he walks to the front of the room, fists clenched at his sides. He’ll show them.

ooooo

He doesn’t do well.

He’s just too angry. He can’t concentrate, and even though he hits all the notes and remembers all the words, he knows it sounds wrong. The truth is, his version has never sounded as good as Aang’s, but it’s even worse now that he’s angry. He tries hard to control his emotions, push them away like his father taught him. Think only of the music. But the quiet parts of the song sound dead and monotonous, so he lets himself go too much at the loud lines and they come out violent and filled with rage.

It’s still technically perfect, because he’s practised enough that it can’t really go wrong. If Aang hadn’t come before him, it would probably have been fine. But in contrast to Aang’s light and gentle tenor, Zuko’s baritone sounds like he’s barking, tearing through the song instead of singing it.

He doesn’t even try to wait for applause at the end. The moment the song ends, he just turns around and walks out of the door, not stopping until he reaches his car. As he drives home, he clutches the wheel like his life depends on it.

I'm so pathetic, I’m worthless, can't even sing better than a 14 year old who grew up in a monastery, no wonder dad threw me out.

He bangs his head back on the seat behind him.

No! It's uncle’s fault, he chose this song on purpose, it was all rigged, Aang went first to make me angry.

Thoughts swirl around his mind in a devastating whirlpool of anger and self hatred. He only manages to calm down when he rushes down to the basement at home, leaving the car parked haphazardly and his backpack and shoes lying messily on the hallway floor.

He has a large mirror on one of the basement walls, and he's stuck pieces of paper on it, things to remind him of his destiny. There's a set list from one of his old shows with Vocal Adrenaline, a photo of him on stage at a concert. Medals from various singing competitions, not all of them gold but enough to be proud of. Photos of famous singers, bills from his favourite musicals. And in the corner, a small photo: a man and a woman standing tall, with two small children in front of them. Zuko won’t look at that photo, not now, but he feels its presence nonetheless.

He stares at the mirror, the tension seeping out of him slowly, breaths lengthening and heart rate slowing. He can see the red tint slowly leaving the right side of his face, his mouth smoothing out from a snarl into a determined line. The anger isn’t gone, but it’s colder, tighter, and the confusion has been replaced by his usual conviction. Who cares about a stupid glee club solo? What matters is getting his honour back, and he’s not going to do that in his Uncles’ ridiculous little club, singing backup to simpering babies. No, he’ll get there on his own, by proving to his father that he’s good enough.

When he turns to grab his headphones from the tables, he notices a yellow sheet of paper. Of course! He thinks. The musical! Sue had approached him earlier that week, saying that she’d watched some videos of him singing in Vocal Adrenaline and that she would take him for the role of tony without an audition, but only if he quit the glee club. He’d tried to argue, but Sue had been adamant that she couldn’t allow her stars to be distracted. So Zuko rejected her, certain he would get a solo in glee club, that winning competitions with the show choir was a surer way back to his father than a school musical.

But now he smiles, a plan forming as he approaches the table. He lifts up the yellow paper advertising “William Mckinley High presents: West Side Story”, and sticks it on the mirror next to his old set list. He can sing “Something’s Coming” to an audience that appreciates him. That’ll show them.

ooooo

By the time Iroh gets home, Zuko is calm and practising his usual dance routine with only a little more anger than usual. He closes his eyes when he hears the front door open, hoping his uncle will just leave him alone. No such luck.

“Are you alright, Oi?”

Ugh. Zuko turns to face his Uncle, face impassive.

“Yes.”

“I am sorry if today did not go the way you wanted it to,” Iroh says gently, his face full of compassion. Zuko looks away, unable to bear his uncle’s pity.

“It was fine.”

His uncle is quiet. “We held the vote after you left,” he continues after a short while. “I am afraid that young Aang won with an overwhelming majority.”

Rage flares in Zuko at those words, at overwhelming, at the fond way Iroh says young Aang. His uncle isn’t allowed to talk about other students this way: that fondness should be reserved for Zuko and only Zuko.

He reminds himself of his honour, of the musical, and remembers all the insults his father and Azula have heaped on Iroh. He’s just an old man, he doesn’t matter, only your destiny matters.

“Good for him,” Zuko says bitterly, turning back to face the mirror. “I’ll be busy anyways.”

“Busy?” Iroh asks him, his voice cautious.

“Sue has asked me personally to play the lead in the school musical,” he says, letting some vindictive glee into his voice. “So I’m quitting the glee club.”

“Zuko… are you sure that’s a good idea? Sue isn’t known for her reliability. I suspect she’s planning something.”

Zuko can’t believe how cold his uncle is. He whirls around again, stepping closer to his uncle and shouting in his face.

“Why do you have to meddle in everything? Why can’t you just be happy that someone wants me?”

“I want you! Kiitekure!” Iroh shouts back at him, leaning towards Zuko. “Sue is manipulating you, just like your father used to – you need to learn to see through tricks like that!”

“Don’t speak about my father!” Zuko shouts, spit flying out of his mouth. “You don’t know anything!”

“Zuko,” Iroh says, calmer now. He reaches his hand out to touch Zuko’s shoulder, but the boy steps back, disgusted. “I only meant that with Sue, like in our family, things are not always what they seem.”

“I think you are exactly what you seem,” Zuko spits at him, cold rage burning in his gut. “A lazy, mistrustful, shallow old man who's always been jealous of his brother!”

Zuko can see the colour drain out of his uncle’s face, and he knows he’s gone too far. But the anger is still gripping his muscles and twisting his insides, so he doesn’t do anything, just stares back. He sees the old man’s face transform slowly from shock into sadness, his usually cheerful features drooping into a look of such sorrow that Zuko has to turn his gaze away.

“I forgive you.”

Zuko still can’t look at his uncle. He can’t face those words, that simple, unconditional forgiveness.

“If you need anything,” Iroh continues, voice unbearably sad. “I will be in the kitchen.”

Zuko stares at the wall, unable to move or speak. He listens to his uncle’s slow steps going up the stairs, the creak of the kitchen door and the jingle of fine china cups. After a few more moments, he walks up the steps himself, passing the kitchen as quietly as he can and going up the stairs to his own room. There he locks the door and sinks down to the floor with his back to it.

He looks around his room, this place that has been his home for the past two years, his uncle’s presence showing in every little trinket and blanket and half-drunk mug of tea. His gaze catches on a framed photo on his desk which Iroh forced him to pose for and then framed for him: a stupid image of their two faces shoved into a large wooden cutout of a cat and a dog. Staring at Iroh’s sunny smile and his own grumpy smirk looking at him out of painted ears and whiskers, Zuko starts to cry.

Chapter Text

“Good afternoon, my young students!”

Jet holds back a groan. He has actually enjoyed his first week in glee club, but Iroh is quickly getting on his nerves. It’s that boundless optimism, coupled with one too many cryptic sayings and an unhealthy obsession with tea. You’d think his nephew storming out of the room in a rage would at least slow the old man down, but no, here he is, after what must have been a very uncomfortable weekend, smiling widely and stroking his beard.

“I was very happy to see all of you getting to know each other in pairs last week,” Iroh continues. “After all, show choir is about working together!” He winks at them, and Jet wonders how Toph and Katara’s fight fit into the old man’s idea of getting to know each other.

“This week we will be continuing on the same wonderful theme.” Iroh turns back to the whiteboard and writes one word on it, the blue marker squeaking as he pulls it along the faded grey surface. “Hello!” he exclaims, turning back to them. “What a powerful word. After all, even a simple hello and a smile can change someone’s day, and sometimes change lives!”

Jet can’t help it. He puts his head in his hands. There’s only so much optimism a guy like him can take.

When he looks up Iroh seems to be waiting for someone to speak up, and Jet is very grateful when Sokka raises his hand.

“Sooo…” the boy says, his voice filled with barely contained irritation. “We’re singing introduction songs? Great.”

“Almost, Sokka!” Iroh tells him, a twinkle in his eye. A goddam twinkle. “We will be singing songs that have ‘Hello’ in their name,” he explains. “Everyone will have the opportunity to prepare some solo songs, and we will also work together on a choreography for ‘Hello, Goodbye’ by the wonderful Beatles and perform it on stage at the end of the week. Aang will be busy with me, working on his solo for Invitationals, so in this song we will split up the lines between everyone.”

Jet lifts his head up at that. It’s unquestionable that if the King deigns to join a show choir, he deserves to sing on stage. It rankled him to be left out of last weeks’ solo sing-off, and a shared song is an opportunity to showcase his talent.

“In general,” Iroh continues, handing around the score for “Hello, goodbye”. “In every competition we will always have some songs where many of you sing together. After all, a forest is only as strong as the frailest of its trees!”

There’s a general groan at that, but it's good natured. Looking around, everyone seems happy with Iroh’s plan. They like him, Jet thinks. Even Pipsqueak and Sneers are smiling, excited for a chance to sing on stage.

He wonders if Iroh had originally planned to share songs in this way, or if his decision was motivated by Zuko’s antrics. If Iroh wishes to lure his nephew back with one line in a shared song, Jet hopes he’s ready to be disappointed. Zuko will settle for nothing less than a full solo, and he’s too impulsive and impatient to play the long game like Jet. Jet knows how to be charming, how to get what he wants by planning and manipulating. Unlike Zuko, he knows that it pays off to be nice to others, even if some of them are losers or eccentric old men.

There are perks to the glee club, though – the girls. Mai is taken and Toph is annoying, but Katara is very pretty, and of course Jet’s hooked up with Ty Lee many times. And he really can’t believe he’s never noticed Suki before – he thought he’d gone through all the hot girls in junior year. But although Suki’s goth look is intimidating from far away, Jet realised during last week’s duet that up close he quite likes all the black lace and heavy makeup. Suki seemed completely unswayed by his charms and popularity, and instead ordered him about and laughed at his mistakes. Jet found himself doing everything she told him to, and now he can’t take his eyes off the silkiness of her short brown hair or the softness of her purple-painted lips.

Iroh has given them time to discuss songs and the choir has broken into smaller groups. Jet is trying to convince Pipsqueak not to do a Lionel Ritchie song, but he can’t help glancing up every few minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of Suki. She, however, is deep in discussion with Teo, and every time she smiles at her friend Jet feels envy flare in his belly. Is this really happening to him? Getting envious of a cripple in a wheelchair?

The next time he looks up, Sokka and Katara are arguing, their voices so loud that he can hear what they’re saying from the other side of the choir room.

“What do you mean, I wouldn’t be able to make a robot? You make a new one every week in robotics club!”

“Well,” Sokka tells his sister. “You’re a girl though. Girls aren’t good at that sort of thing.”

This of course triggers a new rant from Katara. Looking past the angry girl Jet can’t help but check Suki’s reaction, and notes that she’s glaring at Sokka with a frightening amount of cold fury. Before he can stop himself, Jet stands up and walks around the rest of the choir to get to where the siblings are arguing.

“You know,” he says, looming over Sokka and cutting off his reply to Katara. “My friend Smellerbee is in robotics club, and she’s a girl.”

He won’t look at Suki, but he can see gratitude in Katara’s soft smile and anger in Sokka’s narrowed blue eyes.

“Well–” Sokka starts. “Well, yes. But Smellerbee isn’t like – she… she, well, she’s not a very girly girl, is she?”

This is true. With her short hair and skinny build, Smellerbee is often mistaken for a boy, and Jet knows his friend encourages that response by never wearing anything except jeans and ratty band t-shirts. Still, if he wants to impress Suki he needs to argue with Sokka, not agree with him.

“And?” he asks, putting as much disdain into his voice as he can.

“I…” Sokka turns back to his sister, flustered. “I know some girls can be good at that stuff, but you’re… you’re a girly girl, Katara. You wear dresses and makeup and your room is pink. You’re not the sort of girl who’s good with robots.”

Jet has one moment to enjoy the truly shocked expression on Katara’s face before she bursts out shouting again, asking Sokka where he even finds the brain cells to be such an enormous dickhead. Jet has to give it to her, the girl is good at insulting her brother, but he’s too busy watching Suki to really pay attention. Suki hasn’t said anything, but her expression is still furious, and he notices that she’s grasping the handle of Teo’s wheelchair so tightly that her knuckles are white. Huh.

Unfortunately, Mr. Iroh chooses that moment to come and break up the fight. Everyone goes back to their original seats except Sokka, who goes to sit with Aang in the corner. The girls are giving him dirty looks, and he’s visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting with the hairband on his wrist. Good, Jet thinks. After the whole football debacle, Sokka needs to be taken down a few pegs.

There’s only a few minutes left of the practice, but he can’t help glancing back at Suki again. She looks lost in thought, staring at the wall and tapping her pen against her lips in a way that really shouldn't be so distracting. This is getting out of hand, Jet thinks. So there’s nothing to it – he’ll just sleep with her. That always works.

ooooo

He waits outside the choir room after the practice ends, and intercepts Suki as she walks out. She still has the same distracted look on her face, but she stops and turns to Jet when he calls her name.

“Hey, Suki,” he says, giving her his best shit-eating grin.

“Hi,” Suki answers absentmindedly. She keeps glancing past his shoulder, and Jet has to stop himself from turning to see what’s there.

“So,” he tells her, raising one eyebrow in the slow arc that makes all the girls go crazy. “It was fun singing that song together last week.”

When she just nods, not answering, he feels a spike of irritation.

“I was thinking,” he tries again, moving a little bit closer to Suki. “That we could have dinner sometime this week.”

There. A proper date invitation from King Jet himself – something that no girl at Mckinley High has ever refused before.

“That’s nice,” Suki tells him, still glancing past his shoulder.

Jet grits his teeth. “I asked,” he says, working to smooth his voice back to its usual honeyed tones. “If you want to go on a date with me.”

Suki’s eyes dart back to his, but they’ve still got a faraway look in them, like she’s still not quite listening.

“Oh, sorry, Jet,” she says, her voice only half there. “I’m busy this week.” She gives him a quick pat on the arm. “I have to go now, but maybe another time, hmm?” And then she’s gone, walking past him quickly.

Jet looks around then, but all he can see is the empty corridor and Suki walking out of the main doors at the end of it.

For a few moments he just stands there. Jet can’t believe what just happened. He got rejected. He, Jet, king of this school and conqueror of girls, got rejected by a loser emo! And not just rejected, but rejected by a girl who wasn’t even paying attention to him, who just said I’m busy this week, as if an offer to go out with a guy like Jet was a regular occurrence in her life. Who does Suki think she is? What gives her–

“Hey Jet!” He’s snapped out of his rage by a soft and cheerful voice. Turning around, he quickly hides his anger, plastering his usual cheeky smile back on his face.

“Heeey Katara,” he tells the younger girl, filling those two words with as much innuendo as he can.

Katara blushes, her dark cheeks filling with a lovely shade of pink. She turns her head down slightly and looks up at him, long lashes framing her bright blue eyes. Yes, Jet thinks. This is how girls should behave around him.

“I just wanted to say thank you, Jet, for standing up for me earlier today.”

Jet is still filled with the need to do something, anything to show Suki that she made a mistake and that he’s still in control. So he slowly drags his gaze over Katara’s face, hovering for a moment over her lips before looking into her eyes. He raises his eyebrow again, and quirks up the corner of his mouth. “It was nothing,” he says, still using his most flirtatious voice. “I just can’t stand by while someone talks about women like that.”

Katara is visibly flustered now, nervously twirling her braids around her finger.

“Well,” she says, stumbling over her words. “Tha– thank you, any– anyways. I, uh, I have to go, but I guess I’ll… well I’ll see you on Wednesday for glee club? ”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jet tells her, smiling widely. As Katara turns to go back to her locker, Jet starts forming a plan. Yes, it shouldn’t be too hard to date Katara. Maybe not hook up with her – she seems the sort to need an “emotional connection”. No, he doesn’t need to sleep with her. But if they go on a few dates that should be enough to show Suki who’s in charge, shouldn’t it?

All he needs to finish his seduction is a good love song.

Suki is furious.

Girls aren’t good at that sort of thing.

You’re not the sort of girl who’s good with robots.

Sometimes she forgets how idiotic guys can be. Teo agrees with her on most things, so it’s too easy to forget how the rest of the world thinks. Girls can’t make robots… what bullshit. She’ll show him.

Suki knows that the only way to get past a thick skull like Sokka’s is action, so she lets Katara do the shouting, and comes up with a plan.

Despite Jet holding her up, she manages to catch up to the mechanist outside the doors of the school, and he’s happy for her to join the robotics club for a few days. After a few more minutes updating him on her mother’s work and her father’s health, she drives home, thinking about her outfit for tomorrow. Something girly.

When she strides into Robotics club the next day, Suki knows she looks great. She chose her favourite short black dress, which has a corset front and lace at the seams. She’s also wearing purple lacy stockings, black combat boots and purple lace gloves. She has three silver necklaces tangling together on the front of her dress, and each of her ears is adorned by multiple silver studs. Her hands are sadly ring-free – the heavy silver rings she usually wears would limit her movement too much today. Still, it’s an impressive outfit, and while it’s not a classically girly look no-one can say that she isn’t feminine – especially if they see how this dress makes her boobs look.

Sokka looks up when she walks in, and stares, open mouthed. The Robotics club meets in the physics lab, so they’re all sitting around tall tables, instruments pushed to the side to make room for cables, motors, screws, batteries and all the rest of the robotics paraphernalia. There are a few old laptops on one of the empty tables, and the others are covered by finished robots, strange blocky forms with wheels and arms and antenna. The lab, like everything at McKinley, is old and greying, paint peeling off the walls and stains and burns covering the tables. All the robotics equipment looks brand new, though – if principal Kuei can pay thousands of dollars for a private Jet to fly Sue’s cheerios, he can certainly allocate some money to the award-winning Robotics club.

It’s all such a familiar sight, and even though it’s been ages since she’s touched a board or a wheel Suki feels her fingers itching to grab some of the pieces and build. She has a mission, though, so she goes to sit behind one of the tables, making sure to take the seat on the other side of the aisle from Sokka. The boy is chatting with another guy she doesn't know, so she turns to talk to Smellerbee and Longshot at the table behind her.

The mechanist arrives 15 minutes late, tie hanging loose and papers spilling out of the pile of folders in his arms. Suki watches him fondly as he scrambles after the documents floating to the floor. He can be a bit strange, but he’s a good father to Teo, and a good physics teacher. When she was small she was always scared by his wild, tufty hair and invariably burnt eyebrows. But now she knows it’s all just a product of his absentminded genius, a genius he put to the side to take care of Teo.

Once he’s finished gathering all his fallen papers, the mechanist pushes his glasses back up his nose and smiles at the students.

“Suki!” he exclaims. “Good of you to join us, my girl. Everyone, this talented young lady is just visiting us for a few days, but I’m sure she’ll settle right in.”

Suki looks around the rest of the class. Except for Smellerbee, they’re all boys, and she’s met with a mix of angry and excited stares, many of which are directed at her bosom. Suki gives them all a wide smile, and turns back to the desk in front of her, already thinking of how the components she sees could fit together. It was always her favourite part, this bit before, where you can look at a few pieces of metal and rubber and imagine what they could become.

The mechanist explains that they have been learning to use the Arduino Uno boards, and the task this week is to build a light tracking robot using the provided sensors. Easy peasy, Suki smiles to herself.

Once the mechanist tells them to start working, Suki turns to Sokka. The boy is looking at her suspiciously, obviously wondering what she’s doing in this room.

“It’s all so cool! How long have you been in the club?” she asks him, keeping her voice soft and wondering.

Sokka puffs his chest out, mollified by her tone. “Two years,” he tells her. “And I’m the best in the club.”

Suki hears a soft snort behind her that may have come from Smellerbee, but she ignores it and bats her eyes at Sokka. “Wow!” she exclaims. “That’s amazing. And you know how to use all of these things?”

“Of course,” he tells her, cocksure and loud. “I’m sure all of this must be very confusing for you,” he adds. “I can help you if you need.”

Suki tilts her head down and looks up at him, making her eyes big and wondering. She’s not sure if Sokka is actually attracted to girls, but she knows that performative masculinity like his can’t resist a damsel in distress, whatever his sexuality.

“Thank you,” she whispers. She hears another snigger from behind her. Yes, she’s laying it on thick, but it seems to work just fine on Sokka, who’s smiling at her in a way that he must think is graceful and paternalistic. “Could you tell me what the coach meant by ‘light sensor’?”

“Ah,” Sokka says. He’s confused for a moment, but then pastes the confident look back on. “Well, it’s, uh, it’s in the name,” he tells her. “It’s something you can add to your robot so that it senses light. They… uh, they take… they take the energy from light, photons, you know, and they make it into a signal. So you can integrate it into the circuit, you know?”

Just a little bit more… Suki thinks. “Oh, wow! How do they do that though?”

“Well…” Sokka is looking a bit panicky now. “You see this?” He grabs a small DFRobot light sensor off the table in front of him and shows it to her. “It converts – it, ugh, converts light to electricity. To electricity, yeah. So the robot can know where the strongest light source is.”

Suki resists the urge to correct him. What he's described is a photovoltaic cell, and Suki knows for sure the DFRobot is a photoresistor. Instead, she just nods, thanks him and turns back to her table, hiding her grin. She hasn’t had this much fun in ages.

ooooo

The afternoon passes by quickly. Suki works on her robot, glad that assembly and programming is as natural to her now as it was three years ago. Once in a while she asks Sokka a question, and tries not to laugh at his answer. It’s not that he’s bad, per say. He’s actually pretty competent. But all his answers are given with such an overconfident bluster that it’s hard not to find him ridiculous, and judging by the sniggers she keeps hearing behind her, Smellerbee and Longshot agree with her.

“Okay, kids!” The mechanist tells them when it starts getting late. “That’s enough for today.”

Suki types a final line into the old laptop she’s working on. Next to it sits a perfect robot, programmed and ready to go. She gives it one last look, checks that all the components are aligned and the wires go where they need to. All good.

“I’m finished!” she tells the mechanist brightly. He doesn’t look surprised – he’s seen her win enough competitions to know that a simple light tracking robot would not be a challenge. When he nods at her she flicks the switch on, and the robot starts moving. She uses the light from her phone to guide it around the table, checking the smoothness and reaction time of its movement. Satisfied, she turns it off, and raises her head to look around the room.

The only student that doesn’t look shocked is Smellerbee, who’s smiling at her with admiration. Sokka’s mouth is actually hanging open, a drop of spit stretching down from his top lip. The rest of the tables are still covered in parts and unfinished robots, and Suki just smiles at them, noting with satisfaction that no-one is looking at her chest any more. It’s abysmal that this is what it takes for men to look at her face, but it’s still gratifying when she manages it.

“What–” Sokka shouts, pointing at her robot and shaking his head. “How did you do that?”

“The usual way,” she tells him, letting her voice return to its usual confidence. Really – you’d think that after three weeks in the same choir a boy would know when she’s pretending to be weak. “I built a circuit board, I connected the components and sensors to the circuit, I tested the connections, and then I programmed the instructions. Easy.”

“But!” he exclaims. “You – I, how did you do it so fast?”

The mechanist choughs lightly, and they all turn to look at him. “Ah,” he says, looking slightly embarrassed. “Suki, my dear, it seems that these children don’t know who you are?”

“Nope,” she tells him brightly.

“Well, uh, Sokka,” the teacher continues, pulling on his moustache absently. “Like I said, Suki here is a very talented young lady. From the age of nine to thirteen she was one of the Kyoshi Warriors, and won many robotics competitions. She takes after her mother, you know, who is a brilliant engineer at Kyoshi factory and a great friend of mine.”

Sokka turns back to Suki, eyes even wider than before. Suki can feel everyone’s eyes on her again, and she knows why. Kyoshi factory is the biggest employer in the area, and the Kyoshi Warriors are the members of its elite after-school club. Teo and Suki spent a lot of time at that club when they were younger, tinkering and laughing for long afternoons in labs not too different from this one, if a bit newer and sleeker.

Sokka’s mouth is still hanging open, so Suki just starts packing her bag. Her movement seems to release the tension in the room and everyone else starts packing too, putting away their unfinished projects into boxes and returning the normal physics implements to their places on the tables. Smellerbee gives Suki a fist bump as she walks out of the room and Longshot pats her shoulder, a smile gracing the dark face beneath his baseball cap.

As Suki stands to head out of the room, someone catches her arm. She turns to see Sokka looking at her, a frown creasing his brow. She expected him to be angry, but he just looks confused, and a bit embarrassed.

“So you were just pretending?” he asks her, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “You knew all the answers?”

“Yes,” she tells him simply. She’s not ashamed of what she did, not after that argument in the choir room yesterday. “You said girly girls couldn’t make robots, so I thought I’d prove you wrong.”

He nods, thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she tells him, expecting a question about her mother and whether it was favouritism that got her to Kyoshi.

“Why did you stop being a Kyoshi Warrior?”

It’s Suki's turn to stare at Sokka now. “Well,” she tells him. “Teo and I – Teo was also a Warrior, you know – we decided that we want to change the world. And before you tell me, yes, I know technology can change the world. But we want to change how people think, and you can only do that with ideas. Being a Warrior was fun, but it took up a lot of time, so we stopped.”

Sokka is frowning so hard that the top of his nose is creased. “Okay,” he says slowly, tapping his finger against his chin. “I can see that. Thanks.” He gives her a tentative smile, and walks past her, leaving the room without another word.

Well, Suki thinks. That wasn’t quite an apology, or a promise to change his ways, but it wasn’t a bad reaction either. Maybe there’s more to Sokka than she’d thought.

Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name?

Wow, Katara thinks. Jet is a really good singer.

Hello, I love you, let me jump in your game.

He’s standing in front of the glee club on Wednesday afternoon, all height and lean muscle. His hair is as stylishly messy as usual, falling to his shoulders in dark waves.

She's walking down the street, blind to every eye she meets

Sneers and Pipsqueak are backing him up, but Katara can’t look anywhere but at Jet. His dark eyes are intense and he’s looking right at her, singing the song to her. At first she thought it was just an accident, but no, it’s been minutes now and his gaze hasn’t left her for a moment.

Do you think you'll be the guy, to make the queen of the angels sigh?

It’s overwhelming, being looked at like that. No guy has ever paid attention to Katara, not like that, not someone like Jet. He’s the coolest guy in school, the one all the girls whisper about. Katara hadn’t spared him much thought before this week, but after the way he supported her against Sokka… Well, it was hard not to.

Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello, Hello

Oh, gosh, Jet is actually walking towards her now.

I want you

He’s on one knee in front of her, still singing, his dark eyes still trained on her, and Katara’s sure she’s going to faint. She knows she isn’t reacting right, she should be smiling, or winking at him, doing something, but all she can do is just stare, shocked, and feel the blush spread over her cheeks and neck and everywhere.

Hello

Jet stands back up and ends the song with a flourish. He puts the unlit cigarette back into his mouth and smiles at Katara, his mouth curling up on one side in a way that’s… well.

Everyone is clapping and Iroh is saying something, congratulating Jet on a great song choice, commenting on the delivery. Katara isn’t listening because Jet is still looking at her, and her brain has apparently forgotten how to think.

Could it be? Could it really be that a boy likes her? And not just any boy, the most popular boy in school, someone who’s handsome and charming and oh, so talented? It couldn’t, right?

Katara is still in such a daze after practice that she barely answers when Aang tries to ask her something. She’s trying to make herself listen to what Aang is saying when Jet walks over to them and leans on Katara’s locker.

“Hey, Aang,” Jet says lightly. “Could you give us a moment?”

“Sure, Jet,” Aang says, his voice tight with anger. Katara glances at him, surprised, but Aang is glaring at Jet and won’t meet her eye.

“Aang?” she asks, but the younger boy is already gone, striding quickly down the corridor. Katara worriedly wonders if she should follow him.

“Hey, Katara,” Jet says, and she slowly turns back to him. She’s immediately hit by the strength of that dark gaze again, and her worry for Aang fades behind the rapid beating of her heart.

“Hey, Jet,” she says shyly, feeling the blush spread on her cheeks again.

“Did you like my song?” Jet asks her, his voice low.

“Oh–” Katara starts, embarrassed. “Umm, yes, of course, it was–” she tries to find a good way to put it that isn’t it was so incredible that my brain refused to believe it was happening. “You were really good.”

Jet smiles at her, the cigarette dipping out of his mouth slightly and catching on his lower lip. “Good,” he tells her. “I sang it for you.”

Katara doesn’t know what to say to that, so she looks down at the floor and hopes the loose hairs around her face will cover her spreading blush.

Suddenly, a strong finger lifts her chin up, and she finds herself looking into Jet’s intense dark eyes again. “Katara,” he says, letting go of her face. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

This has to be a dream, Katara thinks. There’s no way Jet just asked her to go on a date with him.

After a few moments of silence, Jet quirks up one of his eyebrows, and Katara realises she has to answer.

“Yes!” she shouts. “Oh, sorry,” she adds more quietly, trying to gain back her composure. “Yes, yes of course, I’d love that.”

Jet smiles as if she didn’t just babble incoherently.

“Great,” he says. “Is it ok if I pick you up on Friday after school?”

Katara nods mutely, unwilling to spill another torrent of words about just how ok a date on Friday would be.

This is not a good week for Sokka. As if it wasn’t enough to be humiliated by Suki, now Katara has a date with Jet of all people. Jet, who only two weeks ago called Sokka a lady, accused him of ogling his dick and then told him to go crying to his mother.

“Katara, Jet is a thug! You can’t date him.”

They’re in the pickup on the way home, and Sokka is trying very hard not to pull over and shake Katara.

“What?” Katara shouts, angry. “No, he’s not.”

“He bullies people, Katara!” Sokka shouts back at her. “He bullies me.”

“He’s not a bully, Sokka. Just because he’s popular doesn’t mean he’s a bully, he’s actually really nice!”

“Yes, he’s nice because he has his little group of sidekicks to do all the dirty work for him!”

Katara crosses her arms and turns away from him, pointedly looking out of the window. “You’re just angry because he supported me on Monday,” she says, her voice high and defiant. “You can’t stomach the fact that girls like guys who respect them.”

“Katara,” Sokka says, trying to switch tactics. “Jet doesn’t respect girls. I know him, I have classes with him. He’s dated basically every girl in our year, and regularly hooks up with half of them! He’s not a good guy!”

Katara turns back to him, face livid with rage. “You’re just jealous because you can’t have Zuko!” She shouts. “Well, guess what, someone actually wants me, and I’m not going to let you and your issues stop me.”

Sokka sucks in a sharp breath. “Okay,” he mutters back at her, raising one of his hands off the wheel and pushing her face away. “What do I care, I’m not your older brother or anything, am I?” He breathes in and out, and rests his hand back on the wheel, trying to calm down. “Just don’t come running to me when he cheats on you.”

Katara huffs angrily but doesn’t respond. They drive the rest of the way home in silence and spend the evening in their separate rooms, exchanging nothing more than a “dinner’s ready” or “pass the salt, please” for the rest of the day.

ooooo

Lying in his bed, Sokka feels his thoughts overwhelm him. The events of the last few days replay themselves in his mind, over and over.

Girls are not good at that sort of thing.

I’m sure all of this must be very confusing for you.

Suki here is a very talented young lady.

You said girly girls couldn’t make robots, so I thought I’d prove you wrong.

You’re just jealous because you can’t have Zuko!

Aaaw, the itty little girl is crying, isn’t she? Why don’t you run to your mummy, little girl?

Sokka groans in frustration and turns over, hiding his face in his pillow. He just feels so helpless. He tries so hard to be the man of the house, like his father told him to, but it never seems to work. Katara doesn’t listen to him, and when he thinks he’s finally being a man it turns out he’s just being tricked and the girl is much better than him.

After his confession to Katara two weeks ago, he tried to tell himself that being gay didn’t matter. He’s pretty sure he’s also attracted to girls, so he’s not even really gay, is he? Just a normal guy that likes looking at pictures of naked men while touching himself and is unhealthily obsessed with his hot classmate. Nothing to see here, dad! It’s possible to be a proper manly man even if he likes other men – he doesn’t know much about gay culture, but there’s definitely some gay men that are still manly, although that option seems to entail a lot of body hair. He decided that he didn't need to give up all his responsibilities as a man just because of who he’s attracted to.

But now, staring at the crack in his ceiling and hugging his pillow to his chest, he wonders if that’s really how it works. He prides himself on being a logical guy, and when so many things you believe turn out to be wrong, logic dictates that you think harder about everything else, right?

So, Suki is amazing at robotics, and she’s pretty and wears dresses and makeup. Which means he was wrong to tell Katara that girly girls couldn’t be good at engineering. But what if Suki is just the exception? The robotics club is still almost exclusively male, and that must mean that girls don’t want to join. What other reason would they have to not join except that they’re not good at it, or not naturally inclined to engineering?

He thinks of the stares that Suki got when she walked into the lab. Some of the guys were practically drooling over her. He squirms, adjusting the pillow in his arms and biting his lips. He himself immediately doubted her, treating her like a complete novice without asking if she had any experience.

Uncomfortably, this reminds him of his own various attempts to join clubs at the school. He remembers when he tried to join the debate club two years ago, and everyone seemed so excited to have a “Native American representative”. They kept staring at him, asking him if he lived in a Teepee and telling him they were part Cherokee. When they staged a debate on Tribal sovereignty he had to sit there awkwardly while a group of rich white students in polo shirts discussed his people’s autonomy as if it was just an enjoyable but abstract question. And while that wasn’t quite the same as getting your breasts stared at, he has to admit that he could see why a girl like Suki might not want to join the robotics club.

Why were things like this so hard? Why did people keep telling him contradicting things? Why couldn’t it all just be simple?

Well, suck it up, he told himself. Life isn’t easy just because you want it to be.

Mr. Iroh’s voice drifts through his head.

It is usually best to admit mistakes when they occur, and to seek to restore honour.

Ugh. He won’t apologise to Katara, because he really does think Jet is bad news. But he does have to apologise to Suki. Once she’s forgiven him, though, maybe he can ask her to help him with robotics.

ooooo

“Hey, Suki, do you have a moment?”

It’s the end of the day, and the students are slowly leaving the choir room. Toph performed “Highway to Hell” with backup from Mai, Ty Lee, Suki and Teo, and Iroh is still trying to explain to her that no, “Hell” was not close enough to “Hello”, and yes, she really did need to follow the assignments to the letter.

Sokka spent the lesson gathering his strength, and now Suki is standing in front of him, waiting for him to speak.

“I… ugh,” he starts awkwardly. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For what I said on Monday, and for how I treated you in robotics.”

“Good to hear that, Sokka,” Suki tells him calmly, turning to leave.

“No– wait,” Sokka says, grabbing her arm. He lets go quickly when she turns, and steps backwards to give her space. “I do mean it,” he continues. “And.. well, could you teach me how you did it so fast?” he blurts out.

For a moment, Suki looks shocked, her black-rimmed eyes wide. Then her purple lips spread in a brilliant smile. “Of course!” she answers. “If you don’t mind being taught by a girly girl?”

Sokka looks away, embarrassed. “No,” he says, “Of course not. I was… ugh, I was wrong. Of course girls can make robots, I was stupid to think they couldn’t.”

“Yes, you were wrong,” she tells him roughly. Sokka blinks at the floor, his face hot. “But,” Suki continued more gently. “You weren’t stupid – you were just following what most people think. I’m glad that you’re clever enough to realise that you were wrong.”

Sokka smiles up at her, grateful. They arrange to meet up next Tuesday in the lab to work on coding, and Suki waves at him as she leaves.

Looking around, Sokka sees that Toph is still in the room, packing up her bag and muttering to herself angrily. Because of their argument yesterday Gran Gran drove Katara to school today, and he thinks of the free seat in the pickup.

“Do you need a ride?”

Toph stops, and stares suspiciously at her bag. “Did Katara make you help me?” she asks threateningly.

“No,” Sokka says, laughing nervously. Toph can be really scary. “Katara and I aren’t speaking right now actually. So I have a free space, and it’s always nicer to drive with someone.”

Toph still looks uncertain. “Why did you and sweetness argue?”

Sokka frowns, his good mood fading as he thinks of Jet. “I tried to tell her that Jet is a bully and that dating him is a mistake. She didn’t agree.”

“Ha,” Toph says happily. “You’re right, sock-boy. Dating is always a mistake. I really don’t know what people see in all that romance stuff, it just makes you weak.”

Sokka hums in agreement, trying not to think of Zuko. “So?” he asks her.

“Okay,” Toph says after another moment of silence. “I’m coming with you, but only because you obviously can’t be left alone and anything is better than being driven at ten miles an hour by my mother.”

Sokka tries to tell her that actually, he’s much older than her and so she’s the one who shouldn’t be left alone, and they bicker about it all the way to the car. Then Toph puts on an ACDC song and explains to him why her cover was better than he original, and Iroh is an idiot for not appreciating her talents. Sokka doesn’t agree, and they argue about that first, and then continue to debate whether Back in Black or Highway to Hell was the band’s best album.

By the time they reach the top of the hill in the Beifongs’ fancy suburb, Sokka is sad the ride is over. Toph jumps out of the car and sighs heavily before waving to him above her head and walking down the driveway. It’s the fanciest driveway Sokka has ever seen – the Beifong house looks more like a mansion than a house, all columns and turrets and decorative bushes. There are multiple expensive cars parked inside the wrought iron gate, and he sees Toph kicking the licence plates one by one as she passes them. The gesture makes him laugh, and he shakes his head as he reverses further down the street and drives back to his own modest suburb. Things are looking up.

“So, Ty Lee. Report.”

Ty Lee risks a glance at Sue. The coach’s aura is especially dark today, and she’s leaning backwards in her chair, playing with some metal contraption Ty Lee hopes is just a grip strengthener.

“I think Iroh is sad that Zuko left, but otherwise everything is going well – he’s organised Invitationals for the end of the month. We don’t have enough members for Sectionals, but there’s still time to get one more person. Everyone really likes each other, and they’re all so talented! Aang is a very strong lead. Oh, and he has a lot of chemistry with Katara, who’s also so good, and so pretty.”

She smiles at Sue, but the coach just glares back. “Save me from your pathetic simpering,” she tells Ty Lee. Standing up, the coach turns to the trophy cabinet and clasps her hand behind her back.

“So,” she says. “That infernal bouncing ball of a man apparently has some spine after all. The English language lacks the requisite words to express just how much I dislike that Iroh. Still,” she adds thoughtfully, “perhaps it isn’t him we need to break, but the morale of his group of prancing cabbage patch kids.”

Suddenly, she turns back towards Ty Lee, and leans forward until her face is inches away from the cheerleader’s. Ty Lee draws in a sharp breath, but manages to stay in place. It’s not the first time she’s experienced Sue’s intimidation techniques, and Ty Lee’s chakras are balanced today so she’s as stable as a deep-rooted tree.

“Good, you’re strong,” Sue says, tilting her head to the side. “Another little Asian Sue.” The coach leans back, lifts her leg onto the table and bends down until she touches her toes.

“So tell me, mini-me,” she looks up at Ty Lee. “What are the weak points of that ridiculous excuse for a club?”

Ty Lee thinks for a moment. Everyone is so nice, and singing is so fun – she loved doing “Highway to Hell” with Toph yesterday, and she’s very excited about doing “Hello, Goodbye” in the auditorium. Weak points… Okay, who doesn’t like each other? Katara and Toph, but they’re at least civil now. Maybe some romantic tension? Zuko is gone, so there’s no worry on that front, but maybe…

“Earlier today,” she tells Sue, “we had to change the choreography for tomorrow, because Katara and Jet have started dating. That’s probably not going to last long, because Jet was over at my place only yesterday. But I think Aang is really jealous, because he was supposed to dance with Katara and his aura flared when Jet asked to change the choreography. I think Aang is definitely a Libra, and it’s really not a good time for him right now, poor cutie! He looked so sad I volunteered to dance with him instead of Katara.”

Sue smiles at Ty Lee, her blue eyes sparkling viciously. Ty Lee is reminded of a predator smelling blood.

“Well, well,” the coach says. “A pathetic little love triangle. How convenient. You, Asian Sue, will be my viper in the nest.” Lifting her leg off the desk, she grabs a tomato off the side table where she keeps her smoothie ingredients. Grinning at Ty Lee, she lifts the knife with her other hand and stabs it into the tomato. “You have already infiltrated the love triangle, first by sleeping with that cigarette chewing brute, and now by volunteering to dance with the child-sized Buddha. You will continue to ingratiate yourself to both of them,” she says, twisting the knife into the tomato. “And then, you will burst that triangle apart!” Sue tears the knife out of the tomato in a sharp arc, bursting the plump red fruit and spraying juice and seeds all over Ty Lee’s face.

Wiping her face with her sleeve, Ty Lee just nods, unwilling to get tomato juice in her mouth.

Dropping the knife and mutilated fruit back onto the table, Sue drops into her desk chair with a happy sigh. “By this time next week, that club will be a wreck of broken hearts and distracted minds, and I will finally have my peace,” she says, spinning around to look at her trophies again. “Dismissed!”

ooooo

Ty Lee approaches her mission like she does everything in life – with a smile. It’s not very hard, since she’s already sleeping with Jet, and Aang is cute. So she shoots Jet a flirty text message before entering the auditorium, and goes to dance with Aang, making sure to wink at him provocatively.

You say yes, I say no

Aang is a bit awkward at first, unwilling to get too close to her. But Ty Lee is a very talented dancer, and as she guides him along they find a good rhythm.

You say stop and I say go go go

They’re all on the stage in the auditorium, dressed in very cute black and white clothes. The dance is simple, just a lot of moving around the stage with the girls twirling around the boys. Ty Lee touches Aang at every opportunity she gets, and lingers in his arms when she can. She doesn’t have many singing parts, so she focuses on the dance and smiles at the boy whenever they look at each other.

You say goodbye and I say hello

She can feel eyes on them as they dance, and she catches Katara glaring more than once. When she stays in Aang's arms at the end of one practice dance Jet also seems unhappy, but most of his glances are directed at how Suki is twirling around Teo’s wheelchair. Ty Lee decides that the love web is definitely bigger than a triangle, but she can’t remember what shape has five corners.

I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello

Next to her, Aang still glares at Katara and Jet once in a while, but Ty Lee is getting better at distracting him. When they’re not dancing she shows him pictures of her cat, tells him he’s an amazing singer and asks him about Appa. She laughs loudly when he tells a joke about life at the monastery, and puts her hand on his arm when he tells her how lonely it was.

Hello, hello

After the dance, she asks Aang to walk with her to the parking lot. He points one longing look in the direction of Jet and Katara and then squares his shoulders and agrees to go with her. When they reach her car, Ty Lee puts her hand on Aang’s arm again and asks him out on a date. He seems surprised, but agrees after a moment of hesitation. She types her number into his phone and waves him off with her widest smile.

Why why why why why why do you say goodbye?

She waits for Mai in the car, and when her friend joins her they drive back to Mai’s for their usual study session. Ty Lee chatters happily, describing Sue’s plan and her own progress, but her friend doesn’t reply, quiet even by her own recalcitrant standards. The only thing Mai says all evening is in reply to Ty Lee’s description of the complicated love web she’s weaving.

“I think it might be a hexagon, actually,” Mai tells Ty Lee, looking at her friend with an unreadable expression.

In bed that evening Ty Lee looks up hexagons, which apparently have six edges. She racks her brains on who the sixth person might be, but she can’t think of anyone. Mai must have gotten the terms confused, she tells herself. And anyways, who cares what it’s called as long as it gets the job done?

Chapter Text

BEEP

BEEP

Jet slams his hand into his alarm clock, knocking it off the bedside table. It continues beeping on the carpet so he groans and gets up, leaning down to reach the floor. Once the alarm stops he flops back on the bed and continues glaring at the ceiling.

He knows he has about five minutes before his mom comes to knock on his door, but he can’t bring himself to get out of bed. Once he does he’ll have to go downstairs and sit at the fancy kitchen counter and be nice to John. Jet doesn’t want to be nice to John, it’s the last thing he wants to do, but his mom had another long chat with him over the weekend and wrung out a promise that he’ll at least be pleasant. But he just knows that the minute he sees John’s pale bespectacled face and tentative smile his anger will take over and he won’t be able to hold back.

It’s just so wrong, living here. It’s been a year, but Jet still hasn’t gotten used to his new room. He can’t even stare at the ceiling without missing the yellowing wallpaper and hairline cracks that lined his old room’s walls. He knows that objectively this new house is nice – it has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large modern kitchen, a beautifully furnished living room and a well kept yard. But it’s not their house, it’s John’s house. He misses the tiny one bedroom he grew up in, where the walls were covered with mould and nothing worked. Every time the boiler wouldn’t start or the shelves fell down he would fix it, and his mother would hug him and say, “What would I do without you, Jet?” She hasn’t said that once in the past year, not since the day she’d told him they were moving in with John, a shiny new engagement ring taunting him from her index finger.

“Jet!” There’s a knock on his door. “Sóc, breakfast is ready.”

“Just a minute, mom!” Jet shouts back. Dragging himself out of bed, he stretches and puts on ripped jeans and a tight grey t-shirt. A little jel in his hair and a cigarette in his pocket, and he’s ready, grabbing his backpack and walking downstairs.

John and his mom are in the kitchen, chatting quietly. There’s a half-eaten pile of pancakes on the counter beside them, and an empty plate is waiting for Jet at his usual seat. His mom starts coughing as he sits down, and Jet glances up at her, worried. Years of exposure to harsh cleaning chemicals have ruined her lungs, and her dry coughs were a constant of Jet’s childhood. It’s gotten worse over the past year, though, as if her body is reacting to her freedom by finally letting go.

Before Jet can say anything, John leans forward and offers Kim a tissue, rubbing her back gently as she coughs. She gives him a grateful smile, and Jet grits his teeth through the usual wave of anger and jealousy. He needs to be nice to John, but it’s so hard, sitting here in the brightly lit kitchen, staring at his stepfather’s clean button-down and black-framed glasses. Everything about the tidy little man screams accountant, and as far as Jet understands it that’s what he is, even if it’s called something fancy like “asset manager”.

His mother leaves the table to get her cough medicine, and Jet chomps down his pancakes, barely tasting them in his hurry to get away from John. He isn’t fast enough though, and his stepfather smiles at him tentatively. “I heard from Kim that you joined the school’s glee club?”

Jet bristles at John’s fatherly tone. Who does this guy think he is? Isn’t it obvious that Jet doesn’t like him, doesn’t need him?

He just grunts in answer, trying to stuff as much food in his mouth as he can.

“Jet…” John says awkwardly. Jet looks up at him, and notes with annoyance that the man looks sad. “I know we have our differences,” John continues, “but I love your mother, and I think you do too. And you can see that it’s good for her, can’t you? Being here? She can rest now, and get the right healthcare, and god knows what the mould in your old hovel was doing to her lungs.” Jet glares at him. “I just…” John continues. “I just hope that you can enjoy the freedom too, now that you don’t have to work after school, and you can join things like the glee club. Isn’t that good?”

“We were fine before you showed up,” Jet spits at him, barely holding himself back from getting up and smashing that arrogant man’s pristine face. “I took care of her. We don’t need you.”

He stands up before John can answer, his knife and fork clattering loudly as he drops them on his half-full plate. Jet marches out of the door without saying goodbye to either of them, and doesn’t stop until he’s sitting in his beat-up old car. He takes a big breath, letting the musty smell of cigarette smoke and oil fill his senses. At least the car is still his – he hasn’t let John buy him a new one, no matter how many times the man tuts over the danger of driving such an old vehicle.

ooooo

At school, he can’t seem to focus on anything. All he can think of is John’s soft voice saying you can see that it’s good for her, can’t you? and the grateful way his mom looked at her new husband. He needs to do something, he decides. He needs to show John who’s the boss.

All he wants to do is sit down somewhere and plan his revenge, but unfortunately he needs to spend time with Katara, at least until he finds a way to dump her. Suki didn’t even look their way once last week, despite Jet’s best effort to flaunt his new relationship. And while their Friday evening date was fine, it became obvious pretty quickly that he and Katara have nothing in common. Jet is tired of pretending to like her, especially when he sees no point to it if it isn't making Suki jealous.

“They’re so annoying!” Katara tells him, and he nods for her to continue, trying to tune back into their conversation.

“I don’t understand,” she says, “why can no-one take the safety instructions seriously. Chemicals can be dangerous, but instead of waiting patiently everyone just crowds around me and I can barely even see the labels on the bottles.”

Chemicals can be dangerous. Katara is the chemistry class monitor, he realises, which means that she has the key to the supply cabinet. A plan starts forming in his mind, and he barely suppresses a grin.

“That’s terrible,” he tells Katara. Leaning sideways on the locker beside him, he puts his hand on her shoulder reassuringly and she smiles at him shyly. “I can understand why they made you monitor, though,” he says, winking at her. “I’d trust you with my danger any day.”

She blushes, and he ploughs on, excited. “I was thinking, though,” he leans closer towards her, the cigarette twisting in his mouth. “You could help me with something.” Her eyes widen in surprise. “You know I told you that I don’t get on with my stepfather? Well, I’d really like to get to know him, but it’s hard. He works a lot, and at home he spends so much time with his own interests.” He frowns, letting a little bit of his true frustration show on his face. The best lies always have some truth at their core. “But I was thinking – he loves chemistry. His first degree is in chemistry actually, and he’s always telling me there’s nothing better than a cool chemistry project.”

Katara nods and Jet continues, smiling at her disarmingly. “I thought that I could do a small chemistry project at home to bond with him – maybe grow some crystals, you know. But, well, I couldn’t really buy any materials without him knowing, right? And it only takes a little bit of copper sulphate or potassium ferricyanide to grow some beautiful ones, so I thought you could help me get them.”

Katara narrows her eyes at him. “Why can’t you just use sugar or salt?” she asks him sceptically. He shakes his head. “It’s not the same – those are too fragile, and I want to make him something that lasts. Plus, if I use household stuff he won’t be as impressed, and I really want him to think well of me.”

Katara is uncertain, biting her lower lip and looking at him carefully. He makes sure his face only shows innocent excitement, and slides his hand slowly from her shoulder to her elbow.

“Please, Katara,” he says softly. “It would mean so much to me to be able to do this. You can come with me to make sure I take only the right stuff,” he adds, hoping she won’t need to.

Katara looks at him for another long moment and then relents, a small smile quirking her lips. “Okay,” she tells him. “But I can’t come with you today, and tomorrow Aang and I are working on some dance moves.” She frowns. “And on Wednesday I agreed to help Sokka with Gran Gran’s birthday present… maybe on Thursday?”

Jet smiles at her. “Thank you, Katara,” he says, “you really are the best.” She blushes. “But I want to start growing the crystals as soon as I can, and John’s has some days off later this week, so he’d notice if I was cooking stuff in the kitchen. Maybe you can just give me the key tomorrow and I’ll return it on Thursday morning?”

“I don’t know…” Katara hesitates. “I’m really not supposed to give anyone the key.”

“Come on, Katara,” Jet tells her fondly. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and points at his chest. “It’s just me. Don’t you trust me? What would I even do with the key except get some ingredients?” He moves his hand to ruffle her hair, and she ducks, laughing.

“Okay, okay,” she says, breathless. “I’ll give you the key. But you have to be really careful,” she adds, “and only get a little bit of everything, maybe from multiple bottles, okay? So that it doesn’t look like anything’s missing.”

Jet winks at her again. “No problem at all,” he says, genuinely happily. “Anything for you.” He pulls Katara into his side for a hug and she laughs again, smiling up at him and blushing.

As soon as Katara has left for her history class Jet puts the cigarette back in his mouth, takes out his phone and messages his friends – they have a prank to pull.

This week is going well for Sokka so far. They’re working on dance moves in glee club, so he’s in his element, and he’s even reached a sort of fragile peace with Katara. He doesn't mention Jet, she doesn’t mention Zuko, and everything works.

They’re walking through the parking lot to get to the pickup on Wednesday afternoon when Sokka realises he left his coat in the choir room.

“Be quick,” Katara tells him. “We don’t have long before Gran Gran gets back from poker.”

He nods at his sister and rushes back into the school, slowing down as he passes the teachers’ offices. On his way back from the choir room he takes another corridor, and stops when he hears hushed voices coming out of the chemistry lab. He can’t quite make out what they’re saying, and he’s ready to move on when someone says, “Jet, no!” and is then shushed by the others.

Curious, Sokka tiptoes towards the door. It’s unlocked, and he pushes it open a few inches and peeks into the room.

There are three figures huddled around a door at the other side of the room – the door to the supply closet, he realises. He can hear them better now that the door’s open, and he recognises the voices as those of Jet and Smellerbee. Judging by the outline of a baseball hat on the third person’s head, that must be Longshot.

“It’s not a big deal, Smellerbee.”

“Yes, it is Jet! It’s illegal, and dangerous. And I don’t understand why you need to do it.”

“I told you, he needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Okay, maybe, but why does it have to be like this? You could get in serious trouble.”

“You have to take risks sometimes. I need to do this.”

“But a Molotov cocktail, Jet?” Sokka frowns and leans a bit closer to the door. “Do you even have the right stuff for it here?”

There’s a loud clicking sound, and then Jet says smugly. “Sulphur trioxide, chlorosulfonic acid… all here. I know what I’m doing, Smellerbee. And anyways, if I get caught I can just say that I don’t even have access to the cabinet. Everyone will just blame Katara.”

Sokka gasps, and as the voices stop he realises that it must have been loud enough to hear on the other side of the room. Before he can decide what to do, a hand is grabbing his shirt roughly and pulling him into the lab. He only has a moment to register Jet’s furious face before he’s being shoved into a wall, his breath escaping in a painful huff.

“What did you hear?” Jet sounds unhinged, voice angry and wild. Smellerbee is standing behind him, frowning and glancing at the door. Sokka can’t see where Longshot has gone.

“What did you hear?” Jet asks again, shaking him slightly.

“No-nothing,” Sokka coughs, struggling to find his breath.

“Don’t lie to me,” Jet spits in his face.

“Well, o–okay,” Sokka says shakily, trying to gather his courage. Jet is too strong for him, pushing him into the wall again when Sokka flails his arms and tries to get free. “I heard you’re going to use a mo–molotov cocktail.”

Jet shoves him into the wall again, and Sokka coughs again. “It’s stupid,” he tells Jet angrily, trying to ignore the pain in his back. “What would you even use that for?”

“None of your business,” Jet hisses at him, the cigarette dancing on his lips. Sokka tries to say something more, but Jet shakes him before he can get the first word out. “You–” Jet adds, pushing a finger into Sokka’s chest. “Are not going to say a word about this to anyone, do you understand? Especially not your gullible little sister.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he spits at Jet, hoping he doesn’t sound as scared as he feels.

“Oh,” Jet says, the crazy note back in his voice. “But I can. You think your life in this school was bad before now? If you say anything, I will make it hell, do you understand? You will not walk through a corridor without a slushie hitting you, or stand by a locker without being pushed into it. You will not get away with any more faggy dances, and you will especially not get away with ogling guys in the locker room.” Jet laughs, the sound raw and broken. “And who’s going to stop me, eh?”

“I will.”

Sokka looks up and feels relief flood his body. Katara is standing in the doorway beside Longshot, her face twisted in fury. Sokka isn’t sure he’s ever seen her this angry.

“Let him go, Jet,” she says, her voice deceptively calm. Sokka knows that calm, knows that it's the calm before the storm, the lull before the shit hits the fan.

Jet doesn’t know, though, and he smiles at her, letting go of Sokka and stepping away from him.

“Katara!” he exclaims, his voice back to its usual charming smoothness. “Sokka and I were just having a little friendly argument, weren’t we?” He looks back at Sokka meaningfully, nodding towards Katara. Sokka wants to tell him to go fuck himself, but the moment Jet let go of him he folded forwards, and now he’s gasping and coughing.

“It didn’t sound friendly to me,” Katara says, walking towards them slowly. “And I heard quite a lot of it.”

Even in the dim lighting Sokka can see Jet pale. “Katara…”

“No, Jet,” Katara says, the anger leaking through the calm in her voice now. “I think you’ve said enough.”

She turns towards Sokka when she reaches him, and grabs his face to check that he’s ok. Sokka nods at her, and he can see relief flicker in her eyes before they return to a determined icy blue.

“Give me back the key,” she tells Jet, not even looking at him as she points her hand, palm up, towards him.

“Katara…”

“I don’t care what you have to say for yourself!” she shouts, whirling towards Jet. “You abused my trust and beat up my brother. I don’t even want to know what you were planning to do with those chemicals,” she points towards the bottles standing on the desk near the supply closet, “but it couldn’t have been anything good. So you will give me that key and thank whatever gods you pray to that I’m not taking you straight to principal Kuei.”

Jet stares at her for a moment, and then hands her the key without a word. Palming the key, Katara takes the bottles from the table and locks everything up in the cupboard. Without looking at Jet, she turns back towards Sokka, threading her arm under his and helping him stand up straight. They walk towards the door, both of them breathing heavily. At the doorway, Katara turns back towards Jet.

“Oh, and if it wasn’t obvious, we’re over,” she says, the cold fury of her voice broken by a desperate sob.

As they leave, Sokka sneaks one last look at Jet over his shoulder. The boy looks shocked, his face pale and his eyes wide. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jet look so vulnerable, and it gives him a certain satisfaction to know that even bullies can be shocked sometimes.

Katara is silent on the way to the car. Once they reach the pickup, she offers to drive, but Sokka tells her that he can do it – the coughing was mostly just shock, and he isn’t seriously hurt. She nods quietly and climbs meekly into her seat.

They sit in silence for a few moments, Sokka reluctant to start the engine. Suddenly, Katara bursts into tears. Her sobs are heart-wrenching, splitting the quiet evening air like sirens in the night. Sokka doesn’t know what to do, so after a moment he reaches across the cab to pat her back awkwardly.

Katara looks up at him then, her face wet and eyes brimming with tears. “You were right, Sokka,” She says. “You can say ‘I told you so’.”

Sokka shakes his head. “Never,” he tells her. “It wasn’t your fault. I, I shouldn’t have interfered.”

“I knew he was a bully,” Katara says weakly. “But… he was so nice to me, and no-one has ever looked at me that way or sung me a love song. And all that time,” she chokes, “all that time he was ju–just using me!”

She starts crying in earnest then, gasping for air and bowing her head between her knees. Sokka’s heart aches, and he leans forward, pulling Katara up and into his arms. They hug awkwardly, the scene a mirror of another evening last month.

Sokka waits until Katara’s sobs quiet, and then lets her go, leaning back in his seat.

“Well,” he tells her. “You’re rid of him now, at least. And,” he adds, “I know just what you need to do to get back at him.”

Katara raises her hand. “Mr. Iroh, is it okay if I sing a song before we start practising the dance moves today?”

“Of course, Katara,” the teacher smiles. “Go ahead.”

At the front of the class, Katara closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and shutting out the curious eyes of her fellow choir members.

I wake up every evening, with a big smile on my face, and it never feels out of place

Starting to sing, Katara opens her eyes and looks right at Jet.

And you're still probably working, at a nine to five pace, I wonder how bad that tastes

She walks towards the front row of chairs, skirting around Pipsqueak’s chair so she can stand behind Jet as she reaches the chorus.

When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell

Out of the corner of her eye she can see some of the choir looks confused, but most of her attention is focused on Jet as she circles his chair. He isn’t moving, sitting straight and staring ahead, shoulders tensed.

Now where's your picket fence, love? And where's that shiny car? And did it ever get you far?

Turning away from Jet, she starts walking around the other choir members, singing first to Toph, and then Teo and Mai. They all look startled, unsure what is happening, but she hears some voices join her in backing vocals. She walks back to the centre of the room, looking at Jet and singing the lines right to him.

You never seemed so tense, love, I've never seen you fall so hard, Do you know where you are?

He’s still staring straight ahead, lips thin and hands clenched, and Katara feels her smile widen as she reaches the next chorus.

When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell

The choir members are getting more enthusiastic now, joining her in the chorus, clapping and laughing.

And truth be told, I miss you, and truth be told, I'm lying

The next chorus is even louder. Suki and Teo join her at the front, facing her as she sings and walks backwards. The room is filling up with an infectious energy, and Katara is losing herself in the song and barely thinking about Jet anymore.

Now you'll never see, what you've done to me

At the you in the next line she points to Sokka, who’s sitting in the back row and clapping. He laughs and jumps down to join her, spinning around as she sings to him.

And here's all your lies, you can't look me in the eyes, with the sad, sad look, that you wear so well

Still smiling widely she moves back towards Jet, making sure that the word lies is directed right at him. Jet is still staring ahead, and she wants to laugh when she realises how well the lyrics fit him.

When you find a man that's worth a damn and treats you well, then he's a fool, you're just as well, hope it gives you hell

All of the students except Jet are on the floor now, dancing with each other, clapping, pointing and belting out the chorus. Sokka pushes Katara down into a chair, and everyone else crowds around her in a circle, laughing as they sing.

When you hear this song and you sing along, but you never tell, then you're the fool, I'm just as well, hope it gives you hell

Sokka pushes Katara’s chair forwards and then offers her a hand, helping her to stand up on the chair for the final chorus. Singing to the rest of the choir, Katara can’t remember the last time she felt like this, free and giddy and happy. It’s nothing like the excitement she felt for her date with Jet, full of self-doubt and gratitude. This emotion is clean and clear – here is something she’s good at, something that feels great, something that brings her closer to everyone around her.

When you hear this song, I hope that it will give you hell

No-one seems to care that Jet is still sitting sulkily in his chair, pretending to ignore the song, not even Pipsqueak and Sneers. Katara knows they’ll all just continue to like Jet once the song is over, because Jet is popular and she’s a nobody. But right now, that doesn’t matter – all that matters is that despite hurting her he didn’t break her. And here she is, telling him just how she feels and embarrassing him in front of the whole choir.

You can sing along, I hope that it will treat you well

She sits down on the chair as she hits the last note alone, crossing her legs and pointedly not looking at Jet. Everyone is laughing as they return to their seats, and Katara feels cleansed, like she can move forward now and forget. He hurt her, she embarrassed him, and that’s it – she’s not going to let Jet take up space in life anymore. He’s not worth it.

Aang rushes out of the choir room after practice ends and catches up with Katara at her locker.

“That song was great, Katara!” he tells her happily. And the song was very fun, but he actually liked it all the more because it seemed to be directed at Jet. Aang would die of shame if anyone ever sang something like that to him, but he thoroughly enjoyed seeing Jet humiliated by Katara.

“Thank, Aang,” Katara smiles at him. She’s been distant in the last week or so. At first she was just hanging around Jet all the time, but yesterday she just didn’t speak to anyone, wandering around school with a gloomy look. Aang is glad to see her smiling, back to her normal self again.

“Can I –” he starts, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as Katara puts some books in her locker. “Did something happen with Jet?”

Katara’s smile disappears, and she frowns, her blue eyes cold and angry. “Yes,” she says.

Worried he overstepped, Aang quickly says, “you – you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, of course, it’s none of my business.”

Katara gives him a small smile, and shakes her head. “No, Aang, it’s okay, I can tell you. But it’s a long story – do you want to come back to my place and study together?”

“Yes!” Aang shouts immediately, bouncing with excitement. He hasn’t seen Katara outside school since she started dating Jet, and even though it’s only been a week he’s missed her.

ooooo

“He did what?”

Katara nods sadly, and looks down at the floor. She just told him all about Jet’s betrayal, and Aang can’t believe anyone would be so selfish. Why would he lie to Katara like that just days after they started dating? Even if Jet had gotten away with taking the ingredients, people would have noticed the bottles were missing and Katara would have been blamed.

Katara then explains how Jet threatened Sokka, and for a moment Aang is filled with a mindless fury. He wants to go find Jet and – and do something. Aang isn’t good at violence, or even anger, but he finds himself wracking his brains for a punishment that would be bad enough to suit Jet.

“I’m going to kill him,” he tells Katara. They’re in Katara’s bedroom, sitting in their usual positions, Katara curled up in her desk chair and Aang sitting cross legged on the bed with Appa beside him.

Katara gives a small laugh, and shakes her head. “You don’t need to,” she says. “No–” she adds when Aang starts saying something. “You really don’t. The song today was Sokka’s suggestion for revenge, and it worked.”

“But it’s just a little embarrassment,” Aang tells her plaintively, even though an hour ago he couldn’t imagine anything worse than being embarrassed like that in the choir room.

“Maybe,” Katara says. “But it isn’t really about Jet. It’s about me, and how I feel. If I make it all about him I’ve already lost. And I did, for two days I just obsessed over how terrible he is and how much I hate him and how I could be so stupid.”

“You’re not stu–” Aang starts, but Katara raises her hand to stop him. “I know,” she says, smiling. “It’s just what I was thinking yesterday, and even this morning.” She takes a deep breath, swinging her desk chair around in a circle. “But singing that song… it made me feel so good! I felt in control, and like everyone was on my side, and it didn’t matter what Jet did because he was just a little boy sulking in his chair.”

Aang can’t help but laugh at that. “He did look very sulky,” he tells Katara teasingly. “Sort of hunched up with his arms crossed.”

“Exactly,” Katara smiles back at him. “Why should I care about the antics of a small, sulky boy?” Aang laughs again. “Nothing bad happened – at least nothing permanent,” she adds when she sees Aang frown. “And now we all know what a jerk he is, and we can just ignore him.”

Aang still isn’t satisfied, but he can see that Katara wants to drop the matter, so he just nods. Katara swings her chair around again, and when she’s back facing she seems to think of something.

“Oh!” she says. “How did your date with Ty Lee go?”

Aang’s mood sours immediately. Part of that is remembering the terrible afternoon he spent with Ty Lee at Breadsticks, but part of it is also the untainted supportive interest in Katara’s voice. He knows that she’s been through a lot this week, but is it wrong to want her to be just a little bit jealous?

“It wasn’t great,” he says diplomatically.

“From you, Aang,” Katara laughs, “that’s basically a deadly admonition.”

“Well…” he starts cautiously. “I’m sure Ty Lee is nice, and she is very pretty.” He checks Katara’s face, but her expression is unfortunately still devoid of any hint of jealousy. “But,” he continues, “we don’t have anything in common. It wasn’t too bad in the beginning, but then she started asking me about Buddhism and the monastery. She seemed sure that I would know all about star signs and chakras and yoga, and when I told her that wasn’t what Buddhism was about she just didn’t listen. Like, I’m not a monk or anything, but the monks did teach me a lot, and the stuff Ty Lee was talking about wasn’t at all related to any of their spiritual teachings. She kept commenting on my aura, and asking what crystals we used in the monastery and wasn’t it just so healing to be spiritual like me.”

Katara is looking at him sympathetically, so he continues, the words flowing out on their own. He usually doesn’t tell anyone about his beliefs because they’re, well, they’re private. And it’s not like he’s even that traditional – monk Gyatso always said that the robes and the statues and the incense were all just window dressing, and that that real faith was “in here”, the words usually accompanied by a sharp stab to the sternum.

“My spirituality it’s… it’s about how you live your life, how to be a good person,” he tells Katara. “But Ty Lee was just so materialistic, she kept talking about all the great things that her spirituality has done for her and how she definitely was good in her past lives because she has amazing Karma – and it’s just the opposite of everything that I was taught. I don’t mind her not agreeing with my values, but she was talking about my faith and twisting it, and it actually made me feel bad.”

Bad was an understatement – Aang had been horrified. After that disastrous date he’d had a long conversation with Monk Gyatso, who told him that unfortunately Ty Lee’s attitude was quite common, and that the monastery often has to deal with people like her. And he does understand that it’s not their fault, not really, that Ty Lee is probably just believing things she reads in magazines. But during the date he had barely been able to speak, only stare, horrified, and drown under Ty Lee’s cheerful monologue.

“That’s terrible, Aang,” Katara tells him once he’s finished. “I do get it, though,” she adds. “When you’re Native American, people always want to ask you about their spirit animal, or show you their dream catcher. It just… it always makes me feel so powerless, like if we can’t even keep this part of our culture to ourselves, how can we survive?”

Aang stares at her. He hadn’t even thought of that – it wasn’t really the same for him. Ty Lee’s chatter had been painful, yes, but he’d had a whole childhood in the monastery behind him, and half a billion people supporting him all over the world. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, to be attacked in every possible way and then have your culture stolen and twisted on top of that.

“I’m sorry too, Katara,” he says, leaning forward to grab her hand. “People can be terrible sometimes.”

Katara gives a quick laugh, squeezing his hand. “Yes, I think that’s the main conclusion this afternoon. People are terrible sometimes.”

“Some people are terrible sometimes,” Aang corrects, looking into her bright blue eyes. “You’re never terrible.”

Katara smiles at him, but turns away quickly to open her laptop. Before the bright light of the monitor turns on, Aang swears he can see a blush spreading on her cheeks.

Chapter Text

“Good afternoon, dear students!”

As the group of teenagers in front of him settle down and stop talking, Iroh absently pulls on his beard. It’s still strange, coaching glee club without Zuko in the room. They’ve kept a sort of tense stalemate over the last two weeks, going through the motions of their relationship without interacting in any meaningful way. If the musical has progressed past casting Zuko, Iroh hasn’t heard about it. He’s worried sick about his nephew, of course, but what can he do?

“As you know,” he tells the choir, “later this week we will be performing alongside our competition for Sectionals in a friendly Invitationals show here at McKinley. This is not a real competition, so there will be no winners or losers – sometimes I think all competitions should be like that!” Toph scoffs, and Iroh is lost for a moment, waiting for Zuko’s matching grunt before realising he needs to move on. “The teams joining us are the girls of the Jane Addams Academy, and the boys of the Rough Rhinos, who apparently sing only heavy metal. I hope that you will give the girls an especially warm welcome, as the academy is a school for first offenders – we all have different paths to lead in life, but theirs is harder than most.”

There’s a few smirks and sniggers around the room. This dismissal is exactly why Iroh decided to arrange Invitationals – he doesn’t want the students to underestimate their competition. Whilst heavy metal is limiting, Iroh knows the Rough Rhinos director, Ogodei, is very good at his job. The girls are more of a wild card, but when Iroh met with their coach, Jane, he was very impressed by her dedication.

“You have all been working very hard the past few weeks,” he tells the club, “and I have every confidence in a successful performance. As we discussed, we will first have Toph leading us into ‘ABC’, and then ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’ with Aang in the lead.” Both of these songs are favourites of Iroh’s from his childhood, timeless classics. More importantly, they’re both on the principal’s list, and most people in the choir liked them despite their age. “You have already learnt most of the choreography last week, so we have plenty of time this week to work on the songs! The auditorium is still booked for the musical this afternoon, but from tomorrow we will practise our performance on the stage.”

He hands the scores around and the students grab them with excitement, turning to each other to chat and speculate on the other performances. Toph is already humming along to the songs on her ipod, and Sokka is spinning around to demonstrate a dance move to Aang. This Friday will be the first time on a stage for many of them, and there’s palpable tension in the air. Another reason to have Invitationals – if one or two of them succumb to first-time nerves, no harm will be done.

After a productive few hours of singing the students start packing up and leaving. Iroh gestures to Aang, and the boy approaches him with a bounce in his step. Appa comes with him, of course, like a loud and smelly shadow.

“Are you excited for the performance, young Aang?”

“Yes Mr Iroh!” Aang tells him happily. “Thank you for giving me the solo.”

“You won that solo fairly,” Iroh reminds him, amused to see a blush spread on the small boy’s cheeks.

“But Aang,” he continues. “I want to ask you about Appa. Your medical history is your own,” he adds, seeing the panicked look on Aang’s face. “But I am not sure if we can have Appa on stage during a performance. Is it acceptable for him to stay in the wings?”

Aang looks down at the floor, biting his lip and twisting his hands. A sliver of worry worms itself into Iroh’s heart. Service dogs are used for many conditions, and the presence of a dog does not mean that Aang is in danger on the stage – Appa could be there for psychiatric support or for allergy detection. But if the dog really cannot leave Aang’s side, that could point towards something more serious.

“Aang?” Iroh asks. “Is there maybe something you would like to tell me?”

Aang looks up quickly, his eyes wide. “No!” he tells Iroh. “Appa doesn’t need to be on stage, it’s fine.” He shakes his head jerkily. “I just… I like having him around, and I’m nervous. But I’ll be fine.”

Iroh is not convinced, but nervousness would explain Aang’s earlier reticence. He gives the boy a smile and a quick pat on the shoulder. Hopefully Aang will trust him with the truth before anything serious happens.

Aang isn’t sure why he lied to Mr. Iroh. The coach is so nice – he probably wouldn't make a big deal of it. But he might take away Aang’s solo, and Aang really wants this solo. He wants to be at the front of that stage, he wants to sing with Katara, he wants to do something exciting, something that is the opposite of his quiet life at the monastery. And it probably will be fine – Aang doesn’t have seizures very often, so it’s unlikely he’ll have one this week, right?

The thing is, the dog really should be on that stage with him. Appa is a seizure response dog, and Aang could really hurt himself if the dog can’t get to him in time. No doctor would ever let him participate in something as chaotic as an on-stage performance without Appa by his side. But Aang has never been good at thinking things through, and now it’s too late. He’ll just have to breathe, practise his meditation and survive this week. It will all be worth it to stand on that stage and sing with Katara, after all.

Aang decides to visit the auditorium, hoping that the distance between the wings and the centre will seem smaller in person. He stops at the door of the room, though, because the stage isn’t empty – Zuko is there, going through some complicated dance sequence. As Aang watches, Zuko stumbles, grabs the chair next to him and shouts in frustration. The older boy tears at his hair before starting to sing, and Aang recognises the lines from “Something’s Coming”.

Zuko still hasn’t really understood the song, he thinks. Before Aang can decide whether to leave or stay, Zuko’s eyes catch on him and the older boy stops singing, staring at the shadowy doorway.

“Who’s there?” he barks angrily. “Uncle, if it’s you, I’m not falling for any more of your tricks!”

Unsure what to do, Aang murmurs a quiet “yip, yip” to Appa and slowly walks down the stairs. When he gets low enough for the stage lights to illuminate Appa, he can see Zuko’s frown flicker into a disappointed pout before settling back into anger. “It’s just me,” Aang says.

“Oh, yes,” Zuko says bitterly. “The wonder boy.”

“What do you mean?” Aang asks carefully, wary of Zuko’s temper. He stops at the last row of chairs and digs his hand into Appa’s fur, staring up at the other boy. Zuko sighs and sits down at the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the side. He looks tired, and for a moment Aang feels a pang of pity for the boy. He can see why Sokka won’t give up on Zuko – yes, he’s a bully, but it is quite clear that the person he’s hurting most is himself.

“You’re like my sister,” Zuko tells him tiredly. “Everything comes easily to her. My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born.” He looks up at Aang, black shadows ringing his fierce golden eyes. “I don't want luck,” he says, leaning forward. “I don't need it. I've always had to struggle and fight and that's made me strong, that's made me who I am." He stands up, looming over Aang.

Aang considers that statement. “The monks always said that suffering comes from the difference between how we view the world and how it really is,” he tells Zuko. “I think they’d say that struggling makes you just as weak as it makes you strong.”

Zuko scoffs at him. “You and your stupid monks,” he says mockingly. “Go talk to them then, if you like them so much. Why are you even here? Are you spying on me?” he asks, voice rising. “Do you want to take this from me too?”

Sad, Aang shakes his head. “You could just come back to glee club,” he tells Zuko. “We could use your help at Invitationals”.

“What?” Zuko spits. “So you can all gang up on me like last time?”

Sighing, Aang turns and walks up the stairs without another word, Appa trotting up beside him. Zuko’s shout of “yeah, you just run like the coward you are!” follows him out of the door.

ooooo

By Friday Aang has forgotten Zuko completely. His head is full of song lyrics and dance moves, and he finds himself dancing around the bathroom as he brushes his teeth and mumbling “at her feet was a foot-loose man” as he soaps himself in the shower. He’s still humming at breakfast, and Monk Gyatso gives him a long look before forcing him to sit down and meditate. Later, they go over breathing exercises in the car, and by the time Gyatso wishes him good luck in the parking lot Aang feels a lot calmer.

The anxiety returns in full force when the last bell of the day rings. He walks down the hallway in a daze, and finds himself in the dressing room behind the stage without quite knowing how he got there. The rest of the choir are rushing around him, admiring each other’s costumes and shouting, “have you seen my eye liner?” The sounds are strangely muted, though, and Aang suddenly feels so dizzy that he has to lean against the wall. Breathe, he tells himself, breathe. You’re just nervous, you just need to breathe.

But then something wet nudges into his hand, and he knows it’s not just nervousness. He knows he should be worried about something, but he can’t quite bring himself to think, and there’s a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Aang?” a voice says right beside him, loud enough to penetrate the haze that’s surrounding him. “Is everything ok? Appa won’t stop whining.”

Aang looks up into Katara’s worried blue eyes, and says the only thing he can think of.

“I’m going to have a seizure.”

Katara is proud of her reaction. She doesn’t freeze, she doesn’t panic. She drags Aang with her almost without thinking, and takes him through the door beside him into the smaller dressing room. The moment the door shuts behind them Aang goes limp in her arms and Katara’s knees buckle. She stops his fall as much as she can while also falling a bit herself, and ends up kneeling on the floor with Aang in her lap.

She’s just letting Aang gently down to the floor, hoping to go get someone, when the small boy starts shaking and convulsing. His eyes are glazed over and he doesn’t seem present, his limbs twitching in all directions. Appa whines again and moves closer to Aang, lying down next to him and touching his nose to Aang’s hand.

Watching Aang convulse on the floor in front of her, Katara starts to panic. What should she do? Is this dangerous? Does she need to get someone, or will it pass? She doesn’t even know if Aang has epilepsy or something else – he always evaded her questions about Appa. She looks at Appa then. The dog seems calm, looking at her with sad brown eyes. When Aang first leaned against the wall outside, Appa had gone wild, whining and grunting and pushing his nose into Aang’s hand. Aang has Appa in case something like this happens, right? So if the dog isn’t panicking any more, it’s probably going to be okay. And Aang wouldn’t want other people here, she thinks.

Katara has never felt this helpless in her life. She tries to tell herself it will be okay, lots of people have seizures, the important thing is that Aang didn’t fall down and that there’s a nice thick carpet in this room and nothing for him to hurt himself on. But it doesn’t help, because Aang is twisting on the floor in front of her, and no matter what she tells herself, it looks bad, it looks like it hurts, it even looks like he could break something. And if Aang is hurt, Katara, Katara will… she doesn’t know.

After what seems like hours but must have been only a few minutes, Aang’s convulsions slow and then stop. For a moment he still seems out of it, just lying there with his eyes glazed over. But then Appa nudges Aang’s hand with his nose and the boy blinks and turns his head towards Katara.

“Aang!” she shouts. She wants to pull him towards her and hold him and keep him safe and never let him go. But she sees him winch at her shout and keeps her distance, asking him, “are you okay?” as quietly as she can.

“Yeah…” he says slowly, and blinks at her a few times. He looks exhausted, his eyes are shiny. When one of his tears hits the carpet beneath his head Aang’s face tightens and he rolls away from her, curling in on himself.

“Aang?” she asks gently. She moves forward to place a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches when she gets close and she stops, arm hanging in front of her. “Don’t,” Aang says, voice tight.

“Of course,” Katara says quietly. “What do you need, Aang?”

“I, just,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I just need to be alone. It’s too much.”

Katara isn’t sure what he means by too much, if it’s the touch or the attention or the emotions. It doesn't matter, though – she’ll do anything he asks of her. She knows now that she’ll do anything for Aang, any time.

“I’ll leave,” she says, and stands up as quietly as she can. “I’ll tell Mr. Iroh you’re not feeling too well.”

At the mention of their coach Aang turns back to her, and her heart clenches at the long tear stains on his face.

“Iroh,” he says, voice small and scared. “I…” he frowns. “I won’t be able to do anything today.”

Katara’s heart sinks. Of course Aang won’t be able to perform, not after something like that. She has to tell Iroh as soon as possible – the show starts in an hour and they need to work out a replacement. But Katara doesn’t want a replacement, she wants Aang. She wants to sing with Aang and twirl in his arms and smile at him. But that’s not what Aang needs, so she keeps her roiling emotions off her face and gives her friend a small smile.

“Don’t worry Aang,” she tells him, gentle. “I’ll take care of everything. You just rest.”

She looks at her friend one last time, making sure that he’s comfortable with Appa curled around him, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her as softly as she can. She needs to find out what to do for someone after a seizure – bring him a blanket? Food? Drink? Maybe Mr. Iroh will know.

Zuko has had a terrible week. A terrible three weeks, actually.

The musical has not progressed past casting him as Tony. Every time he approaches Sue she tells him that great things are in the make, and doesn’t he trust her process? When he persists she does sometimes take him to the auditorium to sing, but then she always texts or reads while he’s on stage. It’s disheartening to say the least, and with every day that goes by without a general casting Zuko is more certain that his uncle was right and it’s all just a big trick. Zuko doesn’t want it to be true, though, he needs it not to be true, so he soldiers on. He expands his daily practice, spends more and more hours in the basement and on stage, works on his dance routines and sings all of Tony’s songs.

Except the practices don’t seem to help, and all he can think about is how natural it felt dancing to ‘Push It’, how easy it was to sing with the rest of the choir around him. He was only in the club for three short weeks, and didn’t sing anything except ‘Push It’ and the disastrous ‘Something’s Coming’. Still, he finds himself thinking about it all the time. How would blind girl sing this note? How would undercut boy move through these steps? How would bald boy – but no, he’s not thinking of Aang, not after Monday.

You could just come back to glee club.

Can he? By Friday, Zuko can admit that he wants to. Just for practical purposes, he tells himself. It’s because it’s easier to practise with other people. It has nothing to do with the tense silence at home, or the sad looks his uncle gives him every day over breakfast.

We could use your help at Invitationals.

After his last class on Friday Zuko heads to his car, trying to look forward to an empty house and a few more hours of practice. He walks slowly down the empty hallway, and as he passes the door to the auditorium dressing room he hears a burst of song followed by muffled laughter. Just a peek, he tells himself. Just to remind yourself how idiotic they are.

He pushes the door gently until a sliver of light shines onto the hallway’s dark floor, and turns so his good eye is peering into the room. The whole choir is there, milling around the dressing tables wearing black pants, blue dress shirts and black ties. Those are objectively terrible costumes. It doesn’t matter how good undercut boy looks in a dress shirt, it looks cheap. Zuko definitely doesn’t want to wear one.

Iroh and braid girl have been speaking quietly in a corner, and as he watches Iroh pats the girl on her shoulder and moves towards the others. To anyone else Iroh would look calm, but Zuko can tell when his uncle is upset and the old man looks rattled.

Something’s up. Zuko watches as the choir gathers around Iroh, their mouths going wide in dismay as they listen to him. Iroh looks around, asking something, and Zuko sees Jet shake his head, followed by Teo, Pipsqueak and Sneers. Why is he only asking the boys? And where is Aang?

Suddenly undercut boy’s voice rises above the others’, loud enough to reach Zuko. “But we can’t perform the Stones song without a lead!” Iroh nods and moves towards the boy to pat him on the arm.

They need a lead. For what? Stones – they’re doing a Rolling Stones song. And if Zuko knows his uncle, it’s going to be “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”. Zuko always thought Iroh liked that song because its refrain is as inane as the man’s own beloved platitudes.

Zuko is moving before he can think, Aang’s words ringing in his ears. He knows that song, and they need someone to sing it. Whatever they think of him, they can’t refuse him, not now, not when he’ll come back a hero. That’s it – it’s the perfect moment to come back without admitting he was wrong to leave. His eagerness in stepping into the room has nothing to do with how distressed they all look, or with the agitated twist of his uncle’s lips. Nothing.

“I’ll do it.”

They all turn to stare at him, and for a moment he feels raw and exposed. I’m doing a favour for them, he tells himself. I’m the one with the power here.

“If you’re doing ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’, I know the song, and I can sing the lead.”

He looks around the other choir members. Some of them, like undercut boy and emo girl, are beaming at him with relief. Jet is glaring at him, though, his long eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“So you think you can waltz back in and get a solo?” the boy spits at him.

Zuko stares back at him, face impassive. “I don’t care what you think – you need me.”

“You–” Jet starts, moving towards Zuko as if to grab him.

“Now, now”, Iroh says, stepping in front of Jet. “I do understand your frustration, dear Jet, but we must be practical. My nephew is right,” he continues, turning to smile at Zuko. “We need him.”

Something melts inside Zuko at Iroh’s smile, a ball of guilt and fear and misery he didn’t know was there. He smiles back at Iroh, and the expression feels strange on his face – he can’t remember the last time he smiled.

“So,” he asks. “Are we going to continue wasting time, or are you going to show me the dance moves?”

oooooo

It’s exhilarating, being on stage. The auditorium is packed full, the people indistinguishable behind the bright glare of the stage lights. Zuko can still feel it though, that undercurrent of tension that only a large group of people can generate – bodies shuffling in the seats, quiet coughs, muted whispers, heads turning and eyes watching. And then, the song starts with the girls singing in chorus.

You can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want

After the first chorus, it’s Zuko’s turn. He doesn’t know the choreography very well, so he just walks to the middle of the stage, the other dancers parting in front of him.

I saw her today at the reception, a glass of wine in her hand

The words come to him naturally. It’s one of his uncle’s favourite songs, branded on Zuko’s mind by one too many sing-along car journeys and karaoke sessions.

Oh, I knew she was gonna meet her connection, at her feet was a footloose man

There’s a feeling building up in Zuko as he sings his solo, something he can’t quite identify. He feels proud, yes, and very satisfied to have this solo. There’s also a vengeful streak in him, thinking, you see, I can do this! Why did you doubt me? Why did you choose Aang? But as he walks back, joining the others for another chorus, he tries and fails to grasp at the emotion warming his chest.

But if you try sometimes, well, you just might find… you get what you need

At the end of the chorus, all of them lift their hands up into the air, Zuko’s heart losing a beat at the thrill of such a synchronous movement. The rhythm picks up, and everyone except Zuko sorts into pairs, smiling and dancing around each other.

And I went down to the demonstration, to get my fair share of abuse

As Zuko moves to the front again to sing his lines, the girls walk and dance around him, the boys clapping their hands at the back of the stage. Looking around at them, Zuko’s throat feels tight for a moment, and he can’t help the wave of emotion that overwhelms him, the feelings leaking into the words he sings.

Singin', we're gonna vent our frustration, if we don't, we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse

The emotions don’t feel bad, though. As he shouts “Sing it to me now!” and the others move into the chorus, he finds that at the moment, he doesn’t care about the audience any more, doesn’t care about his pride. The whole choir is smiling, pointing at each other, moving with the music, and Zuko feels like he’s part of something bigger.

You can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want

With Vocal Adrenaline, performing was gratifying, full of the knowledge that he was doing something right for once, the applause filling some desperate hole inside of him.

You can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want

There’s no father in the audience, seeing his success. He didn’t get this solo on merit. He got tricked by Sue, ignored by his uncle. This one in-house performance won’t put him on the path to his destiny. But as the New Directions sing the chorus again and again, clapping and laughing, he can’t believe how much fun this is.

You can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want

As he looks around at the other students and feels the shared joy of the performance, the last line spills out of him, as natural as breathing.

But if you try sometimes, well, you just might find… you get what you need

A buh-buh buh buh-buh

At the start of the second song, the choir stands in a group at the centre of the stage, leaning from side to side to the starting rhythm. Ty Lee is still riding an adrenaline high from the applause of the previous song, her heart racing madly as she starts moving around the stage, clicking her fingers in time with the others.

A buh-buh buh buh-buh

Toph sings the first line, but other voices join in, Jet, Katara, Mai and Suki chiming in in turn. They move to the front as they sing their lines, the rest of the choir moving through the choreography behind them, stepping, turning and twisting their hands.

You went to school to learn, girl, things you never, never knew before

Ty Lee loves being on stage, always has. At home, she’s forgettable, just one of seven sisters. But moving to the front to show off her dance moves during a glee song or stepping onto the top of a Cheerios pyramid, no one can overlook her. She loves being popular, being the centre of attention, all eyes on her as she walks through the hallways, the slits of her short cheerleading skirt waving around her legs. So this performance should feel good. But instead, something feels wrong today, a grating undercurrent twisting her joy.

Like I before E except after C, and why two plus two makes four

Is it the fact that Zuko has joined the choir again? It’s a failure for Sue, certainly, but Ty Lee doesn’t really care about that. She cares that Zuko barely even acknowledged Mai in the three weeks he was gone, that Zuko didn’t spare his girlfriend one look when he made his offer in the dressing room. Ty Lee is furious, yes, but it’s a fury she’s used to. By now her anger at Zuko has worn a familiar groove in her heart, and part of her knows that anger is not the problem now. No. It’s the song.

Now, now, now I'm gonna teach you, all about love, dear

They’ve practised the song many times, but somehow, here on stage, the words about love hit her hard. As she jumps over Sokka at the front of the stage, she spots Aang sitting in the front row of the auditorium. The boy looks both proud and devastated, eyes rimmed in red. His dog is pressed to the side of his leg, Aang’s hand fisted in his fur. Ty Lee struggles to maintain her smile, guilt churning in her belly.

Sit yourself down and take a seat, all you gotta do is repeat after me

Things started to go wrong last week. First, Katara and Jet broke up, Katara’s song ringing with hurt, piercing Ty Lee with a shard of guilt. Then Aang turned down Ty Lee’s invitation to a second date, awkwardly saying something about them “not being compatible”, and Ty Lee’s guilt rose again. And now, Zuko has rejoined the choir.

ABC, easy as one, two, three, or simple as do re mi, ABC, one, two, three, baby, you and me girl

Ty Lee’s fist clench as the dance continues, the lyrics taunting her.

See, it's easy, it's like counting up to three, sing a simple melody, that's how easy love can be

But it isn’t easy, is it? She thought it was, so proud of her web of love, ready to trick everyone and come out of the other side unscathed.

T-t-t-teacher's gonna show you, how to get an A

She did it all for Sue of course, but did that absolve her?

Spell me, you, add the two, listen to me baby, that's all you gotta do

How much of Aang’s tears are her fault? How much of Katara’s rage was directed at her?

That's how easy love can be

Is the universe sending her a sign?

Easy as one, two, three

The applause breaks out as soon as the song ends, the audience standing up to clap and whoop. Ty Lee’s emotions are buoyed by the cheering, but she feels empty somehow, detached from the joyful choir members smiling around her. Desperate for reassurance, she searches for Mai’s gaze, but her friend is standing at the other end of the stage, her mild expression turned to the crowd. Ty Lee admires Mai’s ability to stay calm, always elegant and cool no matter what. But as they walk off the stage, Mai still won’t look at Ty Lee, and she feels shaky, like the floor is uneven under her feet.

Something is wrong between her and Mai, but Ty Lee doesn’t know what it is. It started when Sue asked her to seduce Aang and Jet, but why? Mai never had a problem with Sue’s plans before that, and if anything she should have enjoyed the romantic chaos. Mai finally turns to her when they reach the wings, but Ty Lee swears she can hear an unusual hesitancy in her friend’s bored words.

As the adrenaline leaves her body, Ty Lee is left on edge, feeling vulnerable with guilt and worry. She has to figure out what the universe wants her to do, and soon.

Sokka has never felt this alive. Back in the wings, they cheer and laugh and hug each other, rivalries and tensions forgotten in the beauty of the moment. Even Zuko is smiling, and that tentative curling up of the lips is so beautiful that Sokka is hugging the other boy before he can think. Zuko is stiff in his arms, and Sokka comes to his senses after a second and retreats as fast as he can, a blush spreading on his cheeks. To his surprise, Zuko doesn’t seem angry – if Sokka didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy’s unmarked cheek has also gotten a little pink. He can’t be sure, though, because they both turn away as fast as they can and Sokka is immediately jumped by an exhilarated Toph.

It’s only when they leave the wings and sit down in the front row of the auditorium that Sokka remembers Aang. The boy is smiling, but guilt churns Sokka’s stomach when he spots Aang’s red-rimmed eyes and pale skin. It was just Invitationals, he tells himself. There will be many more competitions where Aang can sing. Their performance went so well that he is certain they can make it to Nationals. Who could compete with what they just did? Certainly not the bunch of girls in mismatched yellow shirts and tights that have just stepped onto the stage.

ooooo

By the end of the rival performances Sokka feels like his mouth has been hanging open for an hour, the rest of the choir tense and quiet around him. The Rough Rhinos may have just been a bunch of boys playing heavy metal, but they were good at it, singing with an energy that was hard to ignore. And the girls from the Jane Addams Academy… During “Bootylicious” Sokka had lost himself completely in all those twerking buts and swinging heads. The applause the girls got was just as strong as the New Direction’s, and Sokka’s mood soured with every new song they sang.

They all gather in the choir room after the performance ends, waiting for Mr. Iroh to join them after he says goodbye to the other groups. The earlier exuberant atmosphere is gone, replaced by worried frowns and bitten lips.

“They were so good,” Katara says, her voice wobbly. “How can we compete with that?”

Sokka nods, but before he can say anything he hears a scoff from Zuko. The boy is glaring up at them from a chair in the corner.

“You’re all idiots,” he says. “They weren’t good – those boys could only do one thing, there’s no way they could win a show choir competition.”

“Yeah,” Toph agrees, frown deepening. “They can’t even choose their songs right! ‘Back in Black’ is at most hard rock, it’s not heavy metal,” she adds disparagingly.

“But…” Katara turns to Zuko. “Those girls! You can’t tell me they weren’t good.”

“You’re all blind,” Zuko spits, running a hand through his close-shaved hair. “They weren’t good, it was just hairology.”

There’s a moment where they all just look at each other, confused. Then Sokka gathers his courage and asks, “what’s hairology?”

Zuko turns his condescending look on him. “Hair-o-lo-gy,” he says slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “It’s when you use stupid things like hair and butts as a smokescreen for poor choreography and vocals. It’s a trick the audience can fall for, but any self-respecting judge would see right through it.”

Oh, that makes sense, Sokka thinks, and flushes with embarrassment under Zuko’s gaze. He looks around, hoping to escape the other boy’s uncomfortable focus. Everyone else seems as embarrassed as he is, though, and no-none will look him in the eye.

“We, however,” Zuko adds, “were not too bad.” Sokka’s gaze snaps back to him, and Zuko’s lips are twisted in that tiny smile again, the one that makes Sokka’s knees go weak.

“Of course,” Zuko continues, almost smirking now. “It was my lead that made us good.”

There’s a collective groan at that and the tension breaks, everyone turning to each other to chat and laugh. Zuko is still smiling, and Sokka wonders if he set them off on purpose.

It’s so difficult to hate Zuko. Sokka feels like he’s stuck in a never ending seesaw ride, his emotions shifting from anger first to admiration and then to attraction with every twist in Zuko’s mood. Sokka tries so hard to hate him, but how could you hate someone that sings like Zuko did today, someone that hugs his uncle and reassures his team mates and makes them laugh? Zuko will really be the death of him.

Chapter Text

Stepping out of his car, Zuko stretches his arms above his head, luxuriating in the crispness of the morning air. He closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and the gentle sounds of chirping birds. It’s a beautiful autumn day, and his feet crunch on newly fallen golden leaves as he walks towards the assembled choir.

Zuko is not, in general, a fan of hiking, preferring to spend his energy on dancing and singing. But if his uncle thinks a day-long hike on Thanksgiving weekend is the right way to celebrate the choir’s success at Invitationals and the principal removing their “list of songs” mandate, Zuko knows there’s no way to stop him.

They couldn’t have chosen a better day for it, anyway. It’s one of those perfect autumn days, sunny and golden, just on the right side of warm but still cool enough to avoid any discomfort. The forest around them is arrayed in orange, coral and amber, and as the wind rustles the leaves and shakes the branches the rippling golden canopy reminds Zuko of the twisting flames of a lively blaze. Zuko spent many childhood evenings in front of the fireplace at home, his head resting on his mother’s knee and his eyes fixed on the gold writhing amongst the logs. His scar still seems to twitch every time he thinks of that house’s large brick fireplace, the good memories disappearing behind an overwhelming sense of fear and the ghost of a searing pain. For a moment Zuko is back there, lying with his face in the flames and his father’s voice ringing in his ears. But then everyone starts laughing at some joke undercut boy just told, and the rough bark of blind girl’s laugh brings Zuko back into the present.

Only some of the choir have joined him and Iroh today: bald boy, undercut boy, braid girl, blind girl, emo girl, Jet and the two cheerleaders. Zuko is starting to regret not learning anyone’s name, but it’s too late now. They still avoid him, anyway – this week has been beyond awkward, full of turned cheeks and angry glares. He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t matter, but some part of him is angry that things haven’t returned to how they were before, especially after he saved their arses at Invitationals. But apparently grudges can run deep amongst singers, and he’s bullied too many of them over the years for there to be any grace left for him.

He’s only here today because Iroh insisted. His uncle has been insufferable all week, grinning and laughing and peppering platitudes into every sentence. It’s still better than the previous weeks’ strained silence, though, and as he follows the others down the trail Zuko can’t help but feel that a bit of his uncle’s cheer has rubbed off on him. He’s happy to amble slowly at the back of the group, looking around at the piles of golden leaves and at the sunlight streaming through the branches.

After about an hour of slow walking they reach a small clearing with a lush green meadow, an empty fire pit and a few worn-down wooden camping tables. Iroh declares it time for a morning snack, and the students settle around the tables, taking boxes out of their bags and discussing their various pickings. Iroh smiles at them and goes off to a corner of the clearing to examine some sort of white flower.

Zuko decides to avoid any potential awkwardness by following his uncle, lying down on the grass beside the old man and closing his eyes. Before he drifts off he can hear Iroh mumbling to himself, “Hmm ... delectable tea? Or deadly poison?”

ooooo

Zuko is woken up by a hand on his shoulder and his uncle’s rough voice in his ear.

“Zuko!”

Blearily blinking his eyes open, Zuko turns to look at the fuzzy face above him. Against the bright morning sun his uncle’s face looks puffy and dark, and he tries to focus on what the old man is saying.

“Zuko,” his uncle says, voice tight and hoarse. “Remember that plant I thought might be tea?”

Suddenly, Zuko realises that it’s not the sun that’s making his uncle’s face look so puffy. He stands up quickly and backs away a few steps, staring in shock at the large red spots on Iroh’s face.

“You didn’t…” he says, voice breathy with disbelief.

“I did.” Iroh holds up his thermos, a few white and red flowers floating in the hot water his uncle carries with him everywhere. “And it wasn’t,” his uncle adds, lifting up his sleeve with his other hand to reveal the red spots lining his whole arm.

Zuko just stares at Iroh, his mind blank. How could the old man be so stupid?

“Is it dangerous?” he asks, hoping to reassure himself.

“When the rash spreads to my throat, I will stop breathing,” Iroh tells him, resigned. “But look what I found”, he adds more cheerfully, pointing to a cluster of small red berries by their feet. “These are bacui berries, known to cure the poison of the white jade!” A frown appears on the old man’s face while he scratches his belly. “That, or maka'ole berries, bitter fruits that cause blindness.”

Zuko shrieks in frustration and stamps on the berries, making sure all of the plant is crushed beneath his foot. “We're not taking any more chances with these plants!” he shouts at his uncle. “We need to get help.”

He turns towards the centre of the clearing. The rest of the choir are staring at them, too far to hear anything but close enough to see that something is wrong. Undercut boy is on his way towards them, and seeing the map in the boy’s hands Zuko quickly forms a plan.

He grabs Iroh’s arm and pulls him towards the others, stopping only when undercut boy reaches them.

“I’m taking my uncle to the hospital,” he tells the boy bluntly. There’s no time to waste, and he’s prepared to cut over any useless questions. To his surprise the boy just nods.

“Can you drive him or do you need someone else to take you?” he asks.

“I can drive,” Zuko answers, some of his anger dissipating in the face of the other boy’s agreement. “Uncle,” he adds, turning to Iroh. “Can the others continue without us?”

Iroh is distracted, scratching his head with one arm and his armpit with the other. “Yes,” he says, looking up at Zuko. “Sokka knows the way.”

Zuko doesn’t say anything more, just nods at Sokka and pulls Iroh away with him. They move through the forest at a run, and reach the car after what feels like the longest half hour of Zuko’s life. He bundles his uncle into the passenger seat and revs the engine, driving off as fast as he can on the twisting mountain roads.

A few hours later he’s sitting on a chair in the waiting room, his eyes closed and his head nodding back in tired relief. The nurses have reassured him that his uncle will be fine, and Zuko feels like a deflated balloon, his body empty and hollow. “Sokka,” he mumbles, his thoughts scattered and weary. At least he knows one name now.

Sokka is in his element. He loves maps, he loves hiking, and he loves being in charge. He’s worried for Mr. Iroh, of course, but he can’t help but be proud of how easily the coach gave him the responsibility of leading the group. And the grateful way Zuko looked at him… he’s trying not to read too much into that.

For a while after the incident the mood had been tense, all of them worried for Iroh. The earlier laughter had been replaced by quick and quiet conversations, and Sokka could only hope that continuing the hike would lessen the other’s worries. There wasn’t anything they could do to help, after all.

But after about an hour of hiking and another snack break Jet received a text from Zuko, and everyone relaxed at the news of Iroh’s quick recovery. Now the group was back to its earlier rowdiness, Toph’s sudden wild laughs frightening birds out of the nearby trees.

Sokka stares down at the map in his hand, and then up at the wooden sign in front of him. The trail they’re following is a simple one, just a loop around the mountain, the path marked in red and green. They’ve reached a fork in the path, though, and only the left-hand route is indicated on the map. The right-hand sign says “The Cave of Two Lovers (200 m)”. There is a cave marked on his map to the north of their location, but there it’s called “Omashu cave”, and there’s no path leading up to it.

It probably isn’t the best idea to leave the agreed path, but 200m isn’t far and Sokka is intrigued. “Hey guys,” he says, turning back to face the others. “We only have another hour or two of hiking if we continue down this path,” he points at the left-hand path. “But it looks like there’s a cave quite close, and we have time to check it out if you want.”

“Yeah!” Toph shouts. “Let’s go somewhere where you suckers will all be as blind as I am.” She grins.

“It does sound interesting,” Katara adds, looking at the sign thoughtfully. “There must be a story behind that name, maybe something to do with a love story.” Sokka is amused to see Aang glancing at Katara at the mention of love, a blush spreading across the small boy’s pale cheeks.

“Caves can be really auspicious places,” Ty Lee says brightly, coming down from one of her frequent hand stands. “I think the universe is giving us a sign. What do you think, Mai?” she asks, turning to her friend.

Mai shrugs. “Meh,” she says. “I don’t care where we go.”

Ty Lee seems to take this as resounding support, and grabs Mai’s arm to pull her along the path to the cave. Sokka turns to Suki and Jet. The girl just smiles at him and rolls her eyes, but Jet huffs, glaring, and only starts down the path once Suki nudges him to follow her.

Sokka joins Toph, Aang and Katara, and they trail behind the others down the small but well trodden path.

They hear the others’ cries of awe before they see the cave. It’s hidden behind the thick trees in the final bend of the road, and stepping out to the cave’s clearing feels like walking into another world.

Sokka hears Aang give out a quiet “wow” beside him, and he can’t help but agree. The forest behind them forms a dense half-ring of trees around the large clearing, the other half of the ring filled in by a huge wall of rock. The cliff juts at a sharp angle above their heads, the rock textured and rough and layered like a huge puff pastry. Sokka walks forward and looks up at the cliff above his head, feeling small and insignificant. Everyone else is quiet around him, wandering around and staring up at the strange layered shapes.

He’s so awed that at first he doesn’t notice the entrance to the cave. It’s small, just a dark hole slightly to the left of the cliff wall’s centre. The sun is right above them and the shadows at the ground make the cave entrance almost invisible, but there’s a draft of cool air coming out of the hole, accompanied by the smell of damp, dark places. As he walks closer to the cave, Sokka notices a bronze plaque embedded in a boulder near the entrance.

“Hey guys!” he shouts at the others. “Come look at this!”

He starts reading the text aloud as the others gather around him.

The Cave of Two Lovers

This cave is said to have been created by two lovers. Separated by the mountain and the war between their villages, they created a passage so they could meet in secret.

The shape of the cave is in fact similar to a tunnel – a long wide corridor going into the mountain. However, the cave is only about 500m deep, and there is no sign that it went deeper in the past.

One of the myths surrounding the cave states that the lovers placed a curse on their passage. Only those who put their trust in love can find their way under the mountain; those who do not will be forever lost.

The cave is generally considered safe to explore without a guide or equipment, but please proceed with caution and avoid the cave sides, as there may be loose rocks along the walls.

Love is brightest in the dark.

“Cool!” he hears Toph say behind him. “I’ve always wanted to visit a cursed cave.”

There’s a few laughs. “What do you think it means,” Aang asks nervously, “that you need to trust in love?”

“It’s just some soppy bullshit,” Jet says angrily. “They want the cave to seem more attractive.”

Sokka turns back to look at Jet. The boy has been in a bad mood all morning, and Sokka can’t see why. Maybe it’s because he’s the only popular boy here now that Zuko has left? But he isn’t avoiding anyone – he’s been following Suki around like a lost puppy.

“I’m glad they say it’s safe,” Katara says, leaning around Sokka to look at the plaque more closely. “I was worried that we might need some equipment.”

“But there’s a curse!” Ty Lee pipes up, her voice high and nervous. “We aren’t going to go into a cursed cave, are we?”

Everyone turns to look at her. “It’s just a myth, Ty Lee,” Sokka tells her, trying to be reasonable. “It’s not real, they just wrote about it because it’s interesting.”

Ty Lee’s eyes widen. “Curses are real, Sokka! My aunt almost got strangled once by a cursed necklace. We can’t go in the cave.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “If you don’t want to go into the cave, don’t come with us. But I’m assuming everyone else wants to have a look?”

Most of the others nod, but Mai just shrugs. “I don’t like caves,” she says. “I’ll stay outside.”

Ty Lee smiles at her friend, but turns back towards the others, frowning. “I don’t think you should go in, especially you, Sokka. Your aura is very dark today, and it’s really not a good time for scorpios. What if you can’t trust in love and get stuck?”

“The only dark thing here is the age your mind is in,” Sokka tells Ty Lee. “This is the 21st century – there’s no such thing as auras, and there’s definitely no such thing as curses.”

Ty Lee gasps, and an awkward silence settles over the group. Then Mai yawns, and puts her hand on Ty Lee’s arm.

“Let’s just wait here, Ty-Ty,” she says in her bored, monotone voice. “I’m tired of all this arguing.”

Ty Lee gives Sokka one last dirty look and turns to sit next to Mai on a large fallen log in the centre of the clearing. The others look back at Sokka, and he shrugs. “I guess we’ll just all go in, then,” he says, and slips his backpack around towards his front. He unzips it and rummages inside, smiling when he finds his father’s sturdy old flashlight packed just where he put it. “If you have a flashlight, it would be good to get it,” he tells the others, lifting up his father’s. “But if not, I think for such a shallow cave our phones should be good enough.”

The others nod, and some of them produce small pocket flashlights from their bags. He can see them all getting excited again now that Ty Lee is gone, and, smiling, he turns and leads the way into the Cave of Two Lovers.

Toph is having a great time. She loves rocks, she loves being in the dark and she especially loves caves. Not that she's been in many – her parents would be apoplectic if they knew she was in one now. They only let her come on this trip when Mr. Iroh promised to hold her hand the whole way. Heh.

There's a special trick to orienting by sound in a cave, and she has to stop for a moment at the entrance and get used to the different soundscape. The thick walls muffle most noises, but they also bounce them around, and it's easy to get confused if you can’t distinguish between the original sound and the echo.

The best thing is that the walls mute Appa’s never-ending panting, although even Toph can admit that the dog is very calm for an animal in a cave.

They reach the end of the cave after a few minutes of walking, and Toph can hear the others moving around, passing the flashlights between them so they can all get a better look at the rock formations. She uses her cane to push some of the gravel at her feet into the far wall, and listens happily to the resulting echo.

Inspired, she walks right to the edge of the cave and bangs on the wall with her cane. It makes a wonderful sound, a deep ringing boom that she can feel vibrating in her bones. Thoughtful, she tries a few different rhythms until she finds one she likes.

“Hey guys, listen to this!”

She waits until she can hear the others getting closer to her, and then starts banging the rhythm and singing along.

Secret tunnel! Secret tunnel! Through the mountain!

Everyone laughs, even Jet. “I guess we're a show choir wherever we go,” Katara says fondly.

“This song needs more lyrics, though,” Suki adds. “Maybe something about the lovers?”

In an unusual show of teamwork everyone dives straight into workshopping the lyrics. Aang wants to focus on putting your trust in love, but Sokka argues that a soppy ballad doesn’t really fit Toph’s chorus. Jet makes up some gruesome lines about the people who have been cursed and died in the cave, but backs down when Suki says she’d prefer a happy song. Finally, Katara suggests a few lines describing the basic facts of the myth, and after a short period of bickering everyone is happy with the result. It turns out Suki brought her ukulele, and it doesn’t take her long to fit some cords to Toph’s rhythmic banging.

After a few false starts and shouts of, “I forgot the line!”, they’re all singing the song together, their voices discordant and echo-i in the cave. The overall effect is not too bad, though, Toph thinks, especially when Sokka grabs some rocks and starts banging them together to support her rhythm.

Two lovers, forbidden from one another, A war divides their people, And a mountain divides them apart, Built a path to be together,

The more they sing it the louder they get, and by the third time they reach the chorus Toph’s ears are starting to hurt, and it feels like the cave is vibrating around her, small tufts of dust settling on her head with every shouted line.

Secret tunnel! Secret tunnel! Through the mountain! Secret, secret, secret, secret tunnel!

When they reach the final line the vibrations suddenly get louder, and Toph can hear the wall shaking behind her. She jumps forward just in time, narrowly avoiding the rocks that fall from the wall and tumble along the floor around her.

Appa gives a few frightened barks, and everyone abruptly stops singing, Sokka swearing in surprise. In the shocked silence that follows Toph curses her lack of sight.

“What happened?” she asks irritably.

“There’s a hole in the wall,” Katara tells her, voice strained.

“It’s big – like a little extra tunnel!” Aang exclaims wonderingly.

“All that singing and knocking must have loosened the stones in the wall,” Sokka explains.

Toph starts to move back towards the wall, hoping to feel the opening with her cane, but Suki grabs her before she can go very far.

“Wait, Toph,” she says. “We don’t know if it’s safe.”

“But it looks safe!” Aang exclaims, and Toph can hear him and Appa getting closer, the boy clicking on the flashlight in his hand. “The rocks look pretty solid where they’re still up.” He stops beside Toph, his breath fast and excited. “It’s the extension of the tunnel from the story! Maybe it goes all the way to the other side of the mountain!”

Aang continues walking forwards, gravel crunching beneath his feet and Appa panting at his side. “Uh, Aang,” Sokka says carefully. “I think it’s just a hole in the wall, it doesn’t look very deep. You know the story is just a myth, right?”

Toph can hear Aang kicking stones aside, and the echo of his voice changes. Appa gives a soft whine from beside Aang. “No, look,” he says, and Toph scoffs internally. “It looks deep, I can go inside!”

A few things happen at once, then. Katara rushes by Toph, shouting, “No, Aang, don’t go in there!”. Sokka shouts “Aang, stop!”, and Suki loosens her grip on Toph, moving forward around her. Toph, unwilling to be left out, shouts, “Don’t you dare go without me, Twinkletoes!” and rushes forward as well, flicking her cane into Suki’s legs to make sure she can get to the hole before her.

Then, suddenly, the disorienting cacophony of shouting disappears beneath another loud rumble, and Toph feels the cave shaking around her again. She stops and tries to step backwards but runs into something behind her. It’s Suki, and they both tumble down backwards to the ground, Toph grimacing in pain as the sharp rocks scrape her legs.

She lies there for a moment, disoriented and dizzy, the fall, the tumbling rocks and the shouts around her confusing her senses. She thinks some of the shouts or barks may be coming from where the hole was before, but they’re muffled under the boys’ shouts and Suki’s protests. After a few more moments of confusion things quiet down a little, and Toph pushes herself off Suki and tries to get her bearings. The cave has quieted down, and the only person still shouting is Sokka. He’s standing close to where the hole was, and as Toph approaches him she can hear those muffled shouts again.

“Is that–” she starts, her voice hoarse and thin. “Did Aang and Katara get blocked in?”

Sokka stops shouting. “Yeah,” she can hear his voice get louder as he turns to her. “There’s been a cave-in, I’ve tried to get the rocks out but they won’t budge! And I can’t hear what they’re saying, I don’t know if they’re ok!” He sounds desperate, and Toph is glad to hear Suki approaching him to stop him from yanking on the rocks again. She herself carefully moves closer to the cave wall, pushing aside the fallen rocks with her cane as gently as she can. At the wall she reaches forward and maps the heap of fallen stones with her hands before leaning towards it to put her ear as close as she dares to the blockage.

“–okay!” she catches, in what sounds like Katara’s voice.

“It’s Toph!” she shouts back. “I can hear you.”

“We’re okay,” there’s relief in Katara’s muffled voice. “The hole only goes a little bit in, but there’s still space here and we’re both mostly unharmed, just a few scratches, and Appa is fine. But Aang’s flashlight–” Katara’s voice breaks for a moment. “Aang’s flashlight was hit, and it’s flickering, I don’t know how long it’ll last, and I don’t have a flashlight, and–” her voice breaks again. “And it’s not going to be good in the dark.”

It’s difficult to hear, but Toph thinks Katara sounds panicked. Hearing the goody-two-shoes girl so out of sorts really brings home the seriousness of the situation.

“We’re going for help,” she shouts through the blockage, pitching her voice as loud and clear as she can. Sokka comes beside her and whispers directions in her ear. “Suki has some distant cousin who works in cave rescue nearby, we’ll leave someone here and go somewhere where we can call him.” Toph takes a deep breath. “Don’t worry, Princess, you and Twinkletoes will be out of there in no time.”

There’s a weak laugh on the other side of the rubble. “Thanks, Toph,” Katara says, a bit calmer now.

The last thing Toph hears before moving away is a quiet mumble and a whine from Appa, and then she’s gone, running back out of the cave with the others beside her.

Mai is bored. This is not an unusual feeling for her, but it is a new one today.

Walking through the woods with Ty Lee by her side wasn’t so bad. So far from her parents’ world and its weighty expectations, she felt like she could relax, just a tiny bit. And, relaxing, a few hairline cracks appeared in the icy walls around her heart, and she felt things slipping through – the sun shining through the rustling canopy like pillars of gold, a red-headed woodpecker turning its beak towards her as she passed him, Ty Lee’s bubbling laughter as she walked on her hands beside Mai. She even let herself look at Ty Lee, really look. Look at how Ty Lee’s glossy brown braid caught the light as she bounced along. How Ty Lee’s soft lips spread in a wide smile when Mai pointed out some bird to her. How soft Ty Lee’s skin felt when she wrapped her bare arm around Mai’s shoulders, how her deep brown eyes shone with mirth.

Now, though, Mai regrets the cracks. It’s been at least ten minutes since the others entered the cave, and Ty Lee hasn’t said a word. Ten minutes isn’t a lot, but Mai can’t remember the last time her friend was silent for that long. And this is the problem with Mai’s heart – behind the icy walls lies soft, soft flesh. With a soft heart like that it’s too easy to get hurt when you care, so usually, Mai doesn’t care. She excels at school, she learns her moves, she obeys her mother, she sits still and doesn’t speak until spoken to.

But of course, the moment she lets herself care even a little, it comes back to hurt her. She did the same a few weeks ago – she didn’t even give the caring a label, just looked at Ty Lee while they sat studying together and let her friend’s smile soften the frozen mess in her chest. But then Ty Lee had to go and flirt with Aang. It wasn’t enough that she was hooking up with Jet, no, she had to shove her straightness right in Mai’s face every day in practice, and then chatter about it all afternoon. It made it pretty obvious to Mai what she could feel towards Ty Lee if she let herself, and she got so annoyed she made that stupid comment about hexagons – she really needs to control herself.

It’s the same now. Mai knows she’s overreacting, but every new minute of silence feels like torture, and she can’t get rid of the thoughts circling in her mind. That Ty Lee has finally realised how boring Mai is, that Ty Lee has found someone better, more interesting, that she’s found someone who makes her laugh more. Mai wants to leave, go into the cave, hide her head in her hands. But if there’s anything she’s good at, it’s keeping her face and posture calm as emotions roil inside her. It’s how she survived all those formal dinners when she was younger, and it’s how she survives now, sprawled on the grass, Ty Lee sitting on the log to her left.

“How do you think things get cursed?”

Ty Lee’s voice is quiet, devoid of its usual peppy cheer. Mai turns to look at her friend, trying to keep her gaze as clinical as she can. Ty Lee looks worried, a deep frown creasing her pretty forehead.

“I don’t know,” Mai tells her. She’s curious to see where the conversation will go, but also a bit hurt that Ty Lee didn’t apologise for her long silence.

“Like, the lovers probably cursed the cave deliberately,” Ty Lee continues. “But how? Were there bad people who didn’t trust in love, and their negative karma spread to the cave? Or did the lovers do a spell?”

Mai isn’t sure where this is going. “They probably just did a spell or something,” she tells Ty Lee. “Seems like a pretty bad way to ward a cave, though.”

“Exactly,” Ty Lee turns to her. “So maybe it is a curse that just happens, a curse on people who don’t trust in love.” Her voice is higher than usual, and she worries at her lower lip as she talks. Mai tries not to follow the movement with her eyes.

“But what does it even mean, to trust in love?” Mai asks, trying to distract herself more than anything else. “It’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” Ty Lee says slowly, her hand coming up to play with the end of her long braid. “Maybe it’s a curse on people who disrespect love. People who try to trick others into love, or help someone else pretend to be in love.”

Mai shrugs, waiting for Ty Lee to get to her point.

“Mai,” the girl asks suddenly, looking straight down at her. “Do you think I’m cursed?”

Mai frowns. “Why would you be cursed?”

Ty Lee throws her arms up agitatedly. “Because I toyed with love! Because I tried to trick Aang into liking me and slept with Jet behind Katara’s back!”

Mai doesn’t want to speak about those things, especially not now. “I don’t think you’re cursed,” she says, fighting to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “A lot of people do things like that.”

Ty Lee frowns at her, her small pink mouth pulled into a pout. “How would you know?” she says angrily. “You have Zuko,” she stressed that name with contempt. “You’re not tricking love.”

Mai fights hard not to laugh. If anyone is toying with love, it’s her and Zuko.

“I don’t think you need to worry,” she says instead.

Ty Lee lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re just saying that to calm me down!” she tells Mai, her voice rising as she speaks. “You don’t know what it’s like – you have Zuko and that perfect relationship. Boys don’t expect you to sleep with them all the time, Sue doesn’t try to use you as some sort of bait!” She stands up from the log and starts pacing around, her steps short and agitated. “All I want is to be popular and for people to like me, but to do that I have to sleep with any guy who asks! What if I want love? I actually thought Aang was nice, but of course I had to trick him because I’m the school slut and now I’m going to be cursed for tricking love!”

Mai feels heat rising in her chest. She pushes herself up to sit on the log, trying to control her emotions. She doesn’t want to hear about Ty Lee sleeping with guys, she doesn’t want to hear about Ty Lee liking Aang. She just wants this conversation to stop.

“If you don’t like it, you can just stop,” she tells Ty Lee, keeping her gaze on the grass in front of her.

The other girl turns to her in anger. “Stop!” she screams. “I can’t stop! You have no idea – you can’t tell me what to do. Not while you have Zuko, perfect Zuko who’s so handsome and talented, your stupid boyfriend Zuko who you love so–”

“I don’t even like Zuko!” Mai shouts back. She’s standing now, her face hot with anger, panting. She knows she should stop, but Ty Lee has been obsessed with Zuko all year and she just can’t take any more. “My relationship with Zuko is fake, it’s a scam to make my parents happy!” Ty Lee is staring at her, brown eyes wide in shock, and Mai feels like all the walls around her heart are gone, melted in the heat of her emotions. “I don’t care about Zuko,” she says, the words dropping from her mouth before she can stop them. “I only care about you.”

Too late, she realises what she’s said and puts her hand on her mouth, shocked. That statement couldn’t be interpreted as a friendship sort of caring, not when she compared Ty Lee to Zuko. Part of her wants desperately to take it back, take it all back before it’s too late. But the rest of her is just numb with shock – she can’t remember the last time she shouted like that.

Ty Lee is still gaping at her, her mouth hanging open and her arms limp by her sides. They stare at each other for a few excruciatingly long moments.

Then Ty Lee starts to speak, but before she can say anything there are shouts from behind Mai, and they both turn to see the others running out of the cave. All of them are too scared to notice the girls’ confrontational stances, and they all start explaining as soon as they reach them.

“It’s Aang and Katara–”

“We were singing–”

“– cave-in–”

“–need to get signal–”

“What’s your network, we need–”

It’s difficult to understand anything from their garbled shouts, but Mai surmises that Aang and Katara are stuck behind a cave-in. Ty Lee must have understood more, because she takes out her phone and speaks loudly above the others. “I have a special data package for trips with my family,” she says, serious, her eyes only flickering towards Mai for a second. “I had service just a bit before the fork in the road, I can go back and call the guy?”

The others nod, relieved, and before Mai really understands what’s happening Toph and Sokka are pulling Ty Lee back towards the forest path, and Suki is telling Mai she needs to go in and stand by the cave-in to make sure nothing new happens. Mai stares after Ty Lee, her head still swimming from the sudden change in pace. The other girl looks back at her above her shoulder as she’s pulled away, but Mai can’t interpret her look.

Heart sinking, Mai walks slowly into the cave, flicking on the flashlight Suki gave her. At least she gets to be alone now. She still can’t quite face the fact that she told Ty Lee, told her the one deep secret that she hasn’t admitted to anyone, even to herself. As she walks, she tries to rebuild the walls around her heart, stopping every few steps to fight the tears that are struggling to appear in her eyes. Maybe this cave is cursed, after all.

“Breathe, Aang, breathe.”

Katara tightens her hold on Aang’s arm and tries to catch his eye, hoping to calm him down. The boy is still trying to move the stones from the blockage, his fingers scrabbling over them and his breaths sharp and fast.

“Aang!” Katara shouts, and he looks up at her, his eyes wild. “It’s going to be alright, Aang,” she continues softly, trying to project as much calm as she can. “You heard Toph, help will be here really soon, so we just have to wait for a little bit, there’s no point trying to move the rocks.”

“But what if more rocks fall?” Aang asks her desperately. “We’ll be hit, or crushed, or compressed, and it could happen at any time, maybe they won’t be back fast enough, maybe –”

“Aang,” Katara says again, firm. She places the flashlight on the floor and grabs his other arm, turning him towards her. “Listen to me,” she says, making sure to catch and hold his frantic eyes. “It’s going to be fine. The ceiling above us is smooth.” They both glance upwards, and Katara thinks that in the stark lights and shadows of the flashlight the white surface looks almost glossy, and definitely stable. “There’s no way it’s going to fall, it’s not like the wall of the cave was. You need to stay calm, Aang,” she adds, a bit desperately. Although Appa is clearly distressed, whining and shifting around, he hasn’t tried nudging Aang, so it seems like the boy is just panicking, not having a seizure. But with that level of stress… Katara doesn’t know if stress even matters for Aang’s seizures, but it's best if he stays calm.

“But–” Aang starts again. “Take a deep breath, Aang,” Katara tells him. “I know you meditate every morning, just do that now. With me – in, and out. In, and out.”

They breathe together for a moment, Katara trying not to cough on all the dust in the air. She feels her own heart rate calming as she inhales and exhales, the tight muscles in her shoulders relaxing.

After about twenty breaths she stops and releases Aang. The boy looks steadier now, his hands hanging peacefully by his sides. When Appa gives a soft whine and twists around, Aang quickly kneels in front of him and grabs his face.

“Oh, boy, I’m so sorry,” he tells the dog. “I know you hate this, but it will be okay, we’ll be out soon.” Appa whines again and pushes his nose into Aang’s face. “Yes, exactly, boy,” Aang says. “I know, I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

He looks up at Katara. “I’m sorry, Katara,” he tells her. “I shouldn’t have run in here.”

Katara kneels down next to him. “It's okay, Aang,” she says, forcing a small smile. “It’s really the fault of the people in charge of this cave – the sign said it was safe, so it’s only natural to think you can explore.”

Aang just shakes his head at her and turns back to Appa, slowly rubbing the dog’s ears.

Katara watches Aang. The flashlight is lighting both him and Appa from below, and the shadows make Aang look older, his face sharp beneath the smooth darkness of his skull. When he turns to look at her the light slides to the left side of his face, and Katara is reminded of the mask from Phantom of the Opera, Aang’s luminous grey eyes staring out at her from twin circles, dark and bright.

“You’re always helping me,” he says quietly after a moment. “Even now,” Aang continues, “without you I would have gone completely crazy.”

Katara starts shaking her head, but Aang leans forward to put his hand on her arm. “No–” he says. “It’s true, Katara. You somehow always know the right thing to do. You helped me today, and you helped me last week after– after, you know.” Aang takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on Katara’s arm, and the girl shivers, the darkness making their proximity feel strange and intimate. “I just want you to know that you’re amazing, helping people like that. You’re the best and kindest and most talented person I’ve ever met.”

Katara looks away, hoping the shadows will hide the blush spreading on her cheeks. She can still feel Aang’s gaze on her, and it makes her feel somehow both terribly exposed and impossibly safe. She doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at her like Aang does, like he’s constantly amazed by her, like he’s happy every time he turns around and sees her. Part of her feels that it’s too much, it’s wrong, that that kind of look shouldn’t be directed at her. But even now, raw and exposed in the dark, she doesn’t want him to stop looking.

It makes her brave, realising that. “I,” she starts, still looking away. “I wouldn’t do it for anyone. Or maybe I would try, but it would be out of obligation. For you… it doesn’t even occur to me not to, Aang,” she glances back at him, her heart missing a beat when she meets his eyes. “I can’t stand it when you’re hurting.”

They sit there, eyes locked. Katara wonders if she said too much, wonders what it means, exactly, that she cares about Aang that much. But before she can say anything more the light starts flickering, and they both look down at the flashlight, alarmed. Katara reaches out to pick it up, but it turns off before she can reach it and they’re dropped into a pitch black darkness.

Appa whines pitifully, and Katara scrabbles around on the ground, trying to find the flashlight. She bumps into Aang as she moves forward and shouts, “Sorry!”, trying to lean away and keep looking in another direction. But Aang is also moving, and by the time she finds the flashlight they’re almost on top of each other, limbs tangled and Appa whining and wriggling his way between them.

“It’s okay, boy,” Aang says soothingly as Katara tries the flashlight.

“It isn’t working,” she says, annoyed. “The battery probably ran out, or maybe it’s broken.”

Sighing, she drops the flashlight and starts to lean backwards. She doesn’t go far, though, because Aang grabs her arms and keeps her close, their legs tangled around Appa and their chests almost touching above the dog. “Don’t–” he says, his voice tight. Katara feels her face warm, but her voice is surprisingly calm when she asks, “It is a bit scary in the dark, isn’t it?”

“Yes, uhm,” Aang says. “Scary, yes, that’s why we need to umm, hold hands, I’m – I’m scared.” He doesn’t sound scared, though, strangely. Just a bit nervous, his voice higher than usual. When Katara slides her arms in his grip and interlocks their fingers, she swears she can hear Aang give a small yelp. Maybe her hands are cold – Aang’s hands feel warm and soft in hers, and it’s really nice to hold them.

They sit in silence for a few moments, Katara listening to Aang and Appa breathe. Aang’s breaths aren’t as fast as they were before, but he isn’t quite calm either – maybe it’s the darkness.

“What was that bit from the myth? About darkness?” Aang asks her suddenly.

“The myth?” Katara asks, confused. “Oh! You mean that bit about how ‘love is brightest in the dark’?”

“Yeah,” Aang says quietly. “What do you think that means?”

“Hmm,” Katara hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s talking about the lovers? That they found each other despite the war? So it was a dark time, but it was more obvious they loved each other because it was hard?”

Aang’s grip tightens on her hands. “How do you think they felt, being so far apart, having to make a path under the mountain? Doing anything they could to get to each other?”

Katara tries to think of a time she felt like that, like she would do anything to get to someone. Maybe after her mother died? Or when her father left? Strangely, the image that comes to her mind is from last week: her crouching on the dressing room floor, Aang lying on the carpet in front of her. He wasn’t even far away then, not physically, but the feeling is there. Desperation, and an unbridgeable distance she would do anything to cross.

“I felt like that,” she says slowly. “Last… last week. When you were having your seizure, I felt like I would do anything to somehow cross that divide, to be there with you.”

Aang lets out a quick breath, and they’re so close that she can feel his exhale brushing her throat. “I feel the same way,” Aang says quietly, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

It feels important, somehow, sharing this moment. Like something has shifted between them, and now the air is charged with some feeling, some need. Katara isn’t sure what to do, but she knows she doesn’t want to let Aang go, doesn’t want this moment to end, so she squeezes their intertwined fingers and brushes her thumb over Aang’s knuckles.

The touch causes Aang to draw a sharp breath, and he coughs a few times in the dust, disentangling one of his hands to block his mouth. Before Katara can do anything, though, he grabs her hand again, and leans forward until she can feel his warm breath on her face.

“Katara,” he says softly, his voice not much more than a breath. “Can I kiss you?”

Yes. Katara thinks. That’s exactly right, that’s what she needs – she needs to kiss Aang. The realisation is so sudden, the joy rising in her so sharp, that at first she doesn’t realise she isn’t speaking out loud. She only notices when Aang starts to draw back, his fingers loosening in hers. Then, all she can think is no, and she’s leaning forward to find Aang’s mouth with her own.

The kiss is awkward at first – they’re both new to this, and the darkness doesn’t make things easier. Their noses bump against each other, their lips finding skin and then air before finally meeting in the middle. At some point Katara leans down too much, and Appa grunts as her knee squeezes his side.

But it’s nice, somehow, the awkwardness. It feels like their friendship does – clumsy and funny and above all, honest. And when it works, all the more sweet for that honesty.

And when they finally make it work, the kiss is gentle. Aang’s lips are soft, and they taste sweet and tangy from his favourite soda. It’s just lips on lips, but as they lean in and wrap their arms around each other, careful to give Appa space, it feels like coming home.

They separate after a few too-short minutes, panting and blushing. Katara is smiling like a madwoman, and she’s pretty sure Aang is too. “So,” he asks her, his voice breathy and hoarse. “Are you – are we dating now?”

Katara laughs, because that guileless question is just so Aang. “Yes,” she tells him, her voice fond. “I’d love to date you, Aang.”

And when, an hour later, the last stone is removed from the pile, that’s how the rest of the team find them: holding hands and smiling at each other like nothing else matters.

“Hey Suks, don’t look so worried! Smile a little!”

Suki glares at Jet over her shoulder. She’s filled with nervous energy, pacing back and front in the clearing, waiting for the others to come back. All she can think of is the wall breaking up, stones tumbling down like water and filling up the hole, blocking Aang and Katara’s shocked faces. She doesn’t know them so well, but she likes them, and they’re her teammates. She doesn’t know how Jet can just sit there, grinning at her.

The boy has been insufferable all day, sticking to her like some tall, muscular limpet. Usually Suki doesn’t mind Jet, because he’s smart and funny and always very nice to her. She isn’t an idiot, though – she knows he likes her. There’s no other reason he’d be following her around all the time, or calling her stupid names like “Suks”. And it’s not that he isn’t good-looking. It’s just that sense that Suki gets about boys sometimes, that gradual accumulation of lots of tiny things which are just a little bit wrong, none of them large enough to be a problem but all together enough to make her pause.

“Suks,” Jet says, standing up and running his hand through his thick dark hair. “You heard them, they’ll get the rescue people here soon, and they’ll be fine.” Suki turns to watch him as he approaches her, hoping he won’t try to get too close. “Until then, shouldn’t we enjoy this lovely bit of privacy we have?” Jet asks, stopping a few steps away from her and raising one of his perfect eyebrows.

First of all, Jet is very popular, and although she’s never seen him bully anyone, he hangs out with a lot of bullies. Suki herself doesn’t get harassed that much, but Teo does, so she’s generally wary of anyone popular.

Then, there was that whole thing with Katara – Suki doesn’t know what happened between them, but the rage Katara showed when singing “Gives You Hell” didn’t come from nowhere. And although Jet seems to be intent on pretending that that song never happened, she has seen him arguing with his friends in the hallways in the last few weeks.

But most of all, Jet is a well known womaniser. He’s dated almost every pretty girl in their year, and some in other years. And whilst Suki is in general sex-positive and supportive of ethical non-monogamy, she can’t help but be wary of guys that treat girls like an inexhaustible commodity. Yes, there’s a chance that Jet sets clear boundaries and has in-depth conversations with his partners about commitment and expectations. But given the gossip around school, it’s more likely that he uses them as he likes and leaves a string of broken hearts behind him.

“I’m sorry, Jet,” Suki tells him, trying to make her voice as cold and distant as she can. “I can’t relax while my friends are in trouble.”

She sees guilt flash on Jet’s face for a moment, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. He takes a step closer to her, and Suki steels her muscles, willing herself to stay in place. She is not backing away from anyone. Even if she is alone in a clearing with a guy leering at her – she can take care of herself.

“Suki, is anything wrong?” Jet asks, his brows furrowing in concern. “I thought we were getting along really well today.” He takes another step closer “I was having fun – you were having fun too, right?”

“Yes,” Suki says tightly. “I had fun.” It isn’t even a lie – she had a lot of fun today, walking through the woods, laughing at Jet’s jokes, playing her ukulele in the cave… which was the noise that brought down the first bunch of rocks. She winces.

Jet doesn’t seem to notice her discomfort, though, grinning widely at her. He does have a very nice smile, but right now it just makes her feel uncomfortable. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest and leans backwards, hoping that her closed stance will stop Jet from advancing any further.

No such luck. “I like you a lot, Suki,” Jet says, leaning forward, his face too close. His voice is low and smooth, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

“Look, Jet–” Suki starts, leaning as far back as she can. The whole situation is overwhelming, and she’s not sure what to do, because Aang and Katara are still blocked in a tiny hole not so far from here, and Jet’s proximity is disorienting. “You’re nice, like, I don’t mind hanging out with you,” she says, hoping to soften the blow of rejection. “But–”

Before she can say anything more, Jet’s mouth is on hers, his hands gripping her arms. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to do, and she stands frozen, Jet’s lips moving on her unyielding mouth. But then her thoughts rush back in, and with them comes a rage, a burning fire that twists up her spine. Her hand moves almost as if by its own accord, and the ringing sound of the SLAP reverberates through the clearing.

Jet steps back, his mouth open in shock, one hand raised to his reddening cheek. Suki’s rage hasn’t gone, but with it there is now also a strange sort of satisfaction, her palm still tingling with the strength of that hit.

“What was that for?” Jet asks her indignantly.

Suki stares at him. “You kissed me without asking!” she tells him, her voice high and breathy. “I made it clear I didn’t want to, and you just kissed me!”

Jet glares at her, his handsome face twisted in outrage. “What do you mean, you made it clear? You were practically asking for it.”

“I what universe–” Suki raises her arms, exasperated, and looks up at the sky. “God, boys are so boneheaded sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jet says viciously. “Blame it on ‘men’,” he adds, making air quotes with his fingers. “Girls like you always blame it on men when you fuck up things yourself.”

“What did I fuck up?” she shouts at him, the anger heating up her chest. “You were the one that kissed me without asking!”

“I didn’t need to ask,” he shouts back. “You’re always smiling at me, and you said it yourself, you like me–”

“I was just trying to be nice!” Suki roars back at him, moving closer and jamming her finger in his chest. “If you had just listened for another second, instead of plundering ahead like some ignorant animal, you would have heard me saying that I don’t like you that way. As if crossing my arms and leaning backwards wasn’t enough of a sign,” she spits at him.

Jet just glares at her. “You’re lying,” he says intently. “You changed your mind for some reason, and you’re lying, you like me. What reason would you have not to like me?”

Suki steps backwards, tearing at her hair. “Ugggh! Disregarding for a moment that I might be a lesbian, or asexual, or just not that into tall football players – maybe I should remind you of your personality? You’re a bully, Jet,” she shouts at him. “I’m enough of a loser to know that one doesn’t get where you are on the school hierarchy by being nice. And you’ve obviously hurt Katara in some terrible way.” Jet winces. “And if that wasn’t enough–” she raises her hand up to stop him. “No, Jet, let me finish. If that wasn’t enough, then the way that you completely ignored every sign I gave that I wasn’t interested in you like that, and that you kissed me without asking?” She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “You’re not a good person, Jet,” she tells him quietly, her voice hoarse from shouting. “And being a good person matters to me.”

“I –” Jet starts. “I –”

He seems lost for words, his expression unreadable. They just stand there for a moment, staring at each other, their breaths loud in the quiet woods. When it becomes obvious that Jet isn’t going to say anything more, Suki turns her back to him and walks to the other side of the clearing, sitting down on a large stone and staring into the trees. She hears gravel crunching as Jet moves behind her, but as long as he doesn’t come near her she doesn’t care what he does.

The silence is awkward, excruciatingly so, but at the same time Suki feels the earlier feeling of satisfaction slowly spread along her body. She even smirks a little, thinking of the harsh words she screamed at Jet, and of his pale, shocked face. She’s still alone in a clearing with an angry boy, so there is an underlying current of worry to her thoughts, but it’s been a while since she’s been tested like that, and she’s glad she could stand by her convictions.

After a few more minutes of quiet contemplation, she hears singing coming from somewhere in the woods.

Oh, don't let the cave-in get you down!

As the voices come closer, she can make out Toph’s low shout, and Ty Lee’s inexpert soprano.

Don't let the falling rocks turn your smile into a frown!

Laughing, Suki stands up and walks towards the forest path. A glance behind her shoulder tells her that Jet is still sitting by the cave, glaring at her sulkily. She gives him a small smile, and turns back towards the forest just in time to see Toph, Ty Lee, Sokka and two unknown men come out into the clearing.

When the tunnels are darkest, that's when you need a clown, hey!

The girls are singing and poking at Sokka, and the boy looks apoplectic with anger, a vein bulging in his forehead. Suki understands his reaction – his sister is still in the cave, after all. But if anything had happened Mai would have come out, and it’s only been an hour since the cave-in. The two older men look amused by the singing, and that sight, together with their competent-looking clothes and large duffle bags, relaxes something in Suki.

It’s all going to be alright, she thinks as she joins in on the final line of the song.

Don't let the cave-in get you down, Sokka!

And most of all, fuck Jet.

Chapter Text

Dear Journal,

Finally, I, Sue Sylvester, can smell the sweet scent of revenge. For weeks I have battled that infernal overweight Asian goblin, who despite his sub-par intelligence has managed to survive my many cunning attacks. Now, however, he has committed a fatal mistake – prioritising his psycho-sexual obsession with tea over those losers he coaches. I was not in the least surprised to hear that those pathetic mouth breathers got themselves trapped in a cave – they do not have more than one brain cell to share between them. And that, as I said to Serena Williams before our first tennis match, is how I win.

With a little help from a certain candid photo, principal Kuei has agreed that the old man is a danger to all children everywhere, and that the only way to keep him from killing off our school’s entire song-loving population is to bring in a competent adult. So yes, Journal, you are now being graced by the pen of one Sue Sylvester, co-director of Mckinley High’s wretched glee club.

My master plan does not end there, though. I will once again attempt a strategy of my own invention: divide the students, strengthen their animosities and rule by turning them against each other. Ah, Journal. I am indeed the strategic mastermind of our age. I will pit these glee clubbers against one another, rupturing the group internally, until it explodes like a ripe zit.

Now all that remains is to use my trusty spies to decide on the best line of division. And then, I will crush that long-haired gremlin once and for all.

“I wanna pit these kids against each other, am I clear?”

Ty Lee nods, eyes pinned on the wall about the coach’s head.

She doesn’t want to be here. Ty Lee doesn’t know where she wants to be, but it’s definitely not in front of Sue, and definitely not standing next to Mai. Those are the last two people she wants to be around, and their presence fills her mind with so many conflicting thoughts that she can barely pay attention.

The sky outside the window is grey, darker clouds dotted like blotchy splatters of paint over a misty background. This sort of weather always gives Ty Lee a headache, and today the low ceilings and worn colours of McKinley feel oppressive. It’s like everything around her is pressing in, enveloping her so tightly that her thoughts stay stuck in her mind, swirling around in faster and faster circles.

She hasn’t spoken to Mai since the… confession. She’s just so confused, and so angry. Why did Mai lie about Zuko? And why did she have to say something like that? Wasn’t everything already good the way it was before? All weekend, Ty Lee tried to convince herself that Mai had only been talking about a friendship type of caring. But there is no way around it, not when those fateful words were delivered with the most emotion Ty Lee had ever seen her friend exhibit, not when the vehement shine of Mai’s tawny eyes is branded on her thoughts.

Mai… cares about her. What does that mean for their friendship? Does Mai want something… more? Does Ty Lee want that?

No, she can’t think of that, she just can’t. It’s easier to just ignore Mai, to continue onwards as if everything’s the same.

But Mai has been lying to her for – how long? Too long, that’s for sure, all those times Ty Lee complained about Zuko, Mai answering with a reluctant shrug. Ty Lee is angry.

“Mai, update, go,” the coach says, pointing at the girl.

“No.”

Ty Lee turns to look at Mai, shocked. The girl gives her an unreadable look before turning back to face Sue. She’s wearing her cheerios jacket on top of her uniform today, the buttons done up tightly. The white pads contrast with her shiny black hair and make her face look sharper than usual, her eyes thin golden slivers under her long fringe.

“It’s boring,” Mai says with a yawn, her thin fingers raised in front of her mouth. “All you want to do is get them to fight. It didn’t work with Zuko, it didn’t work with Aang.” Sue is getting redder with every word, but Mai just keeps talking, her voice even and calm, bored. “They’re okay kids, there’s no reason to ruin things for them. All of this is just not interesting any more.”

“Out!” Sue shouts, spit flying out of her mouth as she stands up. Her face is the same shade of red as her tracksuit, her eyes bulging.

Ty Lee flinches and takes a step back, but Mai just shrugs. “Works for me,” she says, and turns to leave.

At the door Mai turns back and looks at Ty Lee for a moment, a question in her eyes. Ty Lee knows that the brave thing to do would be to follow Mai, to rebel against Sue, to grab her friend and–

That’s the problem, though. Ty Lee feels fragile, like she’s teetering on an edge and any drastic act could push her off the side. And the truth is that she’s scared, because she doesn’t know where she would fall. All she knows is that things were fine the way they were before, and that Mai was the one that had to go and ruin them.

So Ty Lee just shakes her head, and the sparkling question in Mai’s eyes dims. She turns and walks out without a word, Sue’s shouts following her exit.

“And you can say goodbye to your cheerleading captaincy!” the coach spits at the closing door.

Ty Lee swallows, her throat dry. She’s made her choice, and now she has to stick with it, no matter how terrified she is of the raging coach, no matter how sick she is of ruining her teammates’ – her friends’ – lives.

“So,” Sue turns to Ty Lee, eyes narrowed. Her voice is calmer now, but no less scary. “Do I have a new cheerleading captain, or do I have to suffer through another ridiculous display of childish dissent?” The coach sits back down in her chair, keeping her piercing eyes trained on Ty Lee.

Ty Lee has always dreamed of being cheerleading captain. Now, though, standing in this room alone in front of Sue, she can’t feel anything. “I’m honoured to be your new captain,” she tells the coach, her voice soft and small. “You can depend on me.”

Sue smirks, her teeth bared in a smile that’s more like an animalistic grimace than anything else. “Then tell me, mini-Sue,” she says. “What is that disgusting glee club’s weakness?”

Ty Lee thinks. There aren’t any obvious weaknesses in the club – Iroh is a very good coach, and they all get on pretty well. But then she remembers a conversation she had with Katara, and complaints she overheard Toph sharing with Suki. Maybe there is something.

“The girls are annoyed that all the solos are going to boys,” she tells the coach. Her gut twist and her throat thickens as she speaks, and she bites her lips, instinctively wishing to take back the words. But she’s chosen a side, and these are the consequences. Just a few more minutes and she can leave.

“Chink in the armor, huh?” Sue says musingly. She stares into the air for a moment, and then smirks at Ty Lee again. “I am going to create an environment that is so toxic,“ she says, leaning backwards, her eyes narrowed. “No one will want to be a part of that club.”

Ty Lee swallows again, her throat dry. When Sue dismisses her she rushes out of the room as fast as she can, her head swimming as the tension leaves her body. She stops to breathe in the hallway outside, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes.

“Ty Lee?”

Oh no, what now? Why can’t people just leave her alone?

“Ty Lee, are you okay?” the voice asks again, a bit worried.

She plasters a smile on her face and opens her eyes. Black eyes meets hers, and she blinks at the nearness of Jet’s worried frown. What does he want?

“I’m fine!” she tells him, her voice full of false cheer. “Just a bit tired from practice. How are you?”

Jet’s frown disappears at her reassuring words, and he smiles at her with his usual roguish charm.

“I’m just peachy, Ty-Ty,” he says, putting one hand on the wall and leaning over her.

A strong whiff of his cologne hits her as he leans closer, and for a moment, Ty Lee has the crazy urge to punch Jet. The only person who is allowed to use that nickname is Mai, and – nothing. She isn’t thinking about Mai, and it’s just a stupid nickname, isn’t it?

“I was thinking,” Jet continues. “That you and me work pretty well together, don’t we, Ty-Ty?” She doesn’t flinch. “King and queen of the school, eh?”

“Of course,” Ty Lee smiles at him. There’s really no other answer she can give to a statement like that.

“And I definitely have fun on our… extracurricular activities,” Jet adds, leaning closer to her and winking.

For a moment, Ty Lee tastes bile, and her muscles tighten with the urge to run away. She takes a deep breath, though, and reminds herself that she needs to, she likes hooking up with Jet, that even though he can be a bit self-centred he’s very fun in bed. And those abs… She forces her smile to widen, and places a hand on his chest. There – that firmness feels good under her hand, and she feels her stomach give a little swoop.

This is what she needs. Firm muscles and rough, stubbly cheeks. Not silky skin, not flowing hair and definitely not soft curves. It doesn’t matter if Jet talks too much, that he sees her only as a bubbly, perky cheerleader who’s up for anything. That’s how almost everyone sees her, that’s how she wants to be seen. She keeps up the show for everyone, after all, and she revels in the attention.

The only person who sees through her facade is Mai. When they’re alone together, watching a movie or bickering over homework, Ty Lee feels like she can let go, like she can stop performing. Or felt, maybe – Ty Lee isn’t sure if she can let go now, knowing that Mai cares about her. It’s safer to keep her distance for a while, and, in fact, Jet might be a good distraction.

“Are you suggesting,” she asks Jet teasingly, “that we schedule some more of these… extracurricular activities?”

His eyes flick down to her lips before meeting her gaze again. “I am actually suggesting that we take it to the next level,” he tells her seriously.

Ty Lee frowns. “I already told you I won’t do that.”

Jet blushes, taking his hand off the wall and grabbing his backpack strap in embarrassment.

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I didn’t… I meant that we should make it official.”

“Official?”

“We should start dating,” he clarifies, his voice hesitant now, a question in his eyes. “We could be the school’s power couple – maybe win prom king and queen.”

Ty Lee’s eyes widen in surprise. “But what about Suki?” she asks.

Jet’s expression immediately darkens, and he takes another step back, hands fisted by his sides. “What about her?” he asks between gritted teeth.

Well, something must have happened there, Ty Lee thinks – in the woods last week Jet and Suki had been inseparable.

“Nothing!” Ty Lee tells him, trying to lighten the mood with a smile. Well, a relationship might be exactly what she needs now – something to anchor her in reality. “Of course, Jet, I would love to be your girlfriend,” she continues, turning her head down and looking up at him coyly.

Jet’s expression clears, and he smiles back at her, stepping closer. “Good,” he says, and leans down to kiss her.

Ty Lee tries to lose herself inside the kiss, to concentrate on the heat rising in her belly. But no matter how turned on she is, no matter how good her hands feel fisted in Jet’s wild hair, she can’t seem to forget the words that are haunting her thoughts. I only care about you.

“Good afternoon Iroh,” the cheerleading coach tells him, her tone suspiciously genial as she enters the choir room before practice.

“Good afternoon Sue,” Iroh answers, smiling at her before looking back down at the scores he’s sorting on the piano. “Just give me one minute.”

Having Sue as a co-director won’t be ideal, but perhaps it will be for the best – Iroh did fail his students last week. What was he thinking, trying out a potentially poisonous tea? And then letting the students continue alone? Luckily no-one was hurt, but Iroh doesn’t blame Kuei for assigning another director.

“Of course, Iroh,” Sue says, her voice still calm and pleasant. When Iroh places the last piece of paper on its appropriate pile and looks up, he finds her smiling at him. It’s a strange smile – Sue’s smiles are usually either smirks or grimaces, either a small curve of the lips or a wide show of teeth. But this smile is, for lack of a better term – normal. Iroh is immediately suspicious, and he looks at the coach more closely.

She’s leaning on the other side of the piano, eyes trained on him. Something feels off to Iroh. It’s not just the smile – her posture is too loose, her features too smooth. Iroh feels his body tensing, reflexes kicking in from decades of Pai Sho. Sue looks like a player who knows they’ve already won and is just looking forward to moving the final piece, and all Iroh can do is wait for her to attack.

They swap careful pleasantries while the students slowly trickle into the choir room. They all stare at Sue as they walk in, and Iroh can understand why – Sue is wearing one of her signature tracksuits, and her tall red form looks out of place against the grey walls and scruffy wooden shelves of the room. Ty Lee stumbles when she steps in and sees Sue, and Iroh feels sorry for the girl, who now has to endure Sue at all of her extracurricular activities.

“Good afternoon, dear students,” Iroh tells them once everyone has sat down. “As you can see,” he continues, gesturing to Sue, “we have a new addition to our little group! Sue has agreed to step in as co-director of the glee club, and I am sure that her expertise will prove invaluable.”

There’s a few half-hearted claps, and then Sue coughs to get their attention.

“So,” the coach says, hands on her hips and eyes trained on the students in front of her. “Since your previous coach is apparently so incompetent that he almost got two of you killed –” there’s a few protests at that, but Sue raises her voice and continues over them. “We’ll be doing things differently from now on.” She turns to smirk at Iroh before facing the students and continuing. “The following students have been selected for a special elite glee club called ‘Sue's Kids’. When you hear your name called, cross over to my side of this black, shiny thing.” She gestures at the piano, and Iroh’s gut tightens, his hands flexing with annoyance. So that’s the coach’s plan – divide and conquer.

“Ty Lee!”

The cheerleader starts to push her chair back, but some of the other students stand up around her, protesting.

“We can’t compete if you divide us up!” Katara shouts. Iroh tries to catch the girl’s eye and shake his head, but she’s staring at Sue, and he can’t stop her. “We need 12 singers for sectionals!”

Sue turns to Iroh, her brow raised. “Care to enlighten them, Iroh?”

Iroh sighs, and motions for the students to quieten down. The shouts stop, and Iroh’s shoulders stiffen under the scrutiny of thirteen curious pairs of eyes.

“Unfortunately, Katara,” he says, working to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “It is perfectly in line with the rules. It is in the show choir rulebook page 24, provision 14,” he continues, picturing the appropriate paragraph in his well-worn copy. “‘Not all members must perform from each team.’”

He looks around the room, trying to catch the eye of every student in turn. He knows there’s no point fighting against Sue, not directly. She’s the one with power in the school, and he’s pretty sure she has some blackmail material on the principal. No, the best thing to do now is to let Sue play out her strategy to the end, and then take his time to turn the situation to his advantage. She may have the power, but ultimately it’s him that the students trust.

“Exactly,” Sue says, smirking at her victory.

“Go ahead, then, take all the football players and your Cheerios for your elite club,” Katara says sulkily, leaning back in her chair and glaring at the cheerleading coach.

Sue just smiles, and shouts out, “Mai! Pocahontas! Blind kid! Knock-off Wednesday Addams!”

There’s a shocked silence, the students staring at Sue with open mouths. Iroh isn’t sure who Wednesday Addams is, but Sue probably means Suki, since he’s pretty sure the coach just named all the girls in the club. Interesting.

The girls slowly stand up and move towards Sue, some of them shooting Iroh confused looks on the way. He tries to give them reassuring smiles, but his mind is elsewhere, working frantically to understand what Sue is trying to do.

Iroh walks around the piano, and stops next to Sue. “May I have a word with you in private?” he asks her.

“Sure thing, Iroh!” Sue says happily. “Girls,” she adds, turning to the uncertain group of students huddled next to her. “Go to the auditorium, I’ll be around in a minute – unlike the stumps that carry this old man around, my legs actually work.”

Iroh is so used to Sue’s disrespect that he barely notices the insult, but he does notice Katara and Suki exchanging an angry glance, obviously unhappy with the insult. He files the information away for later, and follows Sue into the tiny office that opens off the choir room.

“What are you planning, Sue?” he asks, struggling to be patient.

“Planning?” Sue asks, her eyes wide with fake innocence. “Your delusions of persecution are a telltale sign of early-stage paranoid schizophrenia, old man.” She smiles. “I’ll have you know, Iroh, that misogyny is no laughing matter. I’m merely planning to empower these girls, who have been so neglected under your testosterone-filled care.”

Ah, he thinks. So that’s the plan – turn the girls against him, because they haven’t gotten any on-stage solos yet. It’s ridiculous, really, because they’re only two months into term, and so far only Zuko and Aang have sung proper solos. Still, he can see how that would look to the girls, especially if they’re used to being overlooked in other classes and clubs.

He sighs. Sue’s plan won’t work in the long term, but even so he can’t afford to lose too many weeks, not this close to sectionals. He needs to make sure that this week will be productive despite the split.

“I agree,” he tells Sue, satisfied to see her narrow her eyes at his happy tone. “In fact, how about we make this week especially empowering for the girls? We can organise a competition between girls and boys, let’s say a song mash-up competition.” He explains what a mashup is. “We can choose some teachers as impartial judges. And then, well,” he smiles at Sue. “If you really have these ‘proven leadership abilities’ you often boast about – your girls will win, and you can show them how worthy they are.”

Sue purses her lips for a moment, obviously trying to find the flaw in Iroh’s plan. Finally, she leans forward, her face so close to his that he can smell the minty gatorade on her breath.

“I will accept this challenge,” she snarls at him, poking her finger into his chest. “But you have no idea what’s coming for you, old man.”

Suki follows the other girls into the auditorium, trying to decide what she thinks of this split. Sue is obviously up to something, but still, Suki is glad to be away from the boys. She doesn’t regret slapping Jet last week, but he is a bully, and she’s not sure how he’ll react. So far he seems to be ignoring her, but it’s probably good for them to spend some time apart.

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” Toph says cheerfully, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the stage. The other girls join her, sitting on the stage or on the first row seats.

“What do you think Sue wants?” Katara asks nervously.

“To turn us against each other, obviously,” Mai says. Despite her monotone voice, Suki can’t help noticing the sharp glance she gives Ty Lee. The two girls are usually inseparable, but this week they’re sitting apart, Ty Lee pointedly not looking at the taller girl. “But I wouldn’t know,” Mai shrugs. “I’m not a cheerleader any more. I quit this morning.”

“You quit?” Toph asks admiringly. “That takes balls. Respect, spikes!”

“Ty Lee?” Suki asks. “Do you know what she wants?”

Ty Lee is sitting cross-legged on the stage, her gaze fixed on her shoes. “I don’t know. But I mean, isn’t it nice to be just us girls?”

Ty Lee doesn’t sound very confident, her voice less chipper than usual. But she isn’t wrong – Suki already feels more comfortable in this small group than she does in the choir room.

“It is nice,” she says, and the other girls nod.

It’s not like she likes all of these girls more than the boys individually – she barely knows Mai and Ty Lee, and Teo is her best friend. But there’s just something about being around just girls, a feeling that she can relax a part of her that’s always on edge around guys.

Katara starts saying something, but just then the auditorium door crashes open, and Sue walks in, her determined steps loud on the auditorium stairs.

“Well, well, hello ladies.”

Sue stops, crossing her arms, and the girls look at her expectantly. “I have decided to take you away from that decrepit old man because he was obviously undervaluing you. I do not like to slander any colleague of mine, but, well, Iroh obviously has something against women, so I have decided that we will show him and the rest of those sexist little pricks just how wrong he is.”

“Umm, coach, I don’t think –”

“Quiet, pocahontas.” Katara winces. “We have no time for your yapping. The boys obviously think you’re not worth anything because you’re girls. So, I have arranged for you to compete against those sexist idiots at the end of this week, in a so-called mash-on competition.”

“I think you mean mash-up?” Suki asks.

Sue gives her a withering look. “Mash-on, mash-out, mash-up, who cares. All you have to do is combine two songs, which I’m sure you can manage. I have booked the auditorium all week, and you can have any amount from the cheerios budget you need for your little costumes or sets. Got it?”

The girls nod.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Sue says, turning to leave.

“Wait, Coach Sylvester – aren’t you going to direct us?” Katara asks quickly.

Sue raises an eyebrow. “Choose one song, choose another song, combine them. La-di-da. I’m sure strong, capable women like yourself will have no problem with that. Right, Ty Lee?”

“Of course not, coach!” the girl pipes up nervously.

“Good.” Sue gives them one last smile and saunters up the stairs, obviously satisfied she’s done her part.

“Well,” Toph says after the door closes behind Sue. “That’s freaking awesome! No supervision, no bullshit rules. Now, how about we combine some Stones with Bon Jovi?”

Suki gives Toph a look. “I agree with Mai. Sue is obviously up to something. All those things she said about the boys being sexist assholes and not thinking we’re worth anything – well, it isn’t good to give all the solos to guys, but that’s just Iroh being a bit biassed, not all the boys in the club.”

“Some of them are assholes,” Katara says bitterly. If she’s alluding to Jet, Suki agrees. “It’s actually really annoying that all the solos go to guys – aren’t we girls left out enough in other places?” the others nod, Suki and Toph quite vehemently. “I bet they’re in all that choir room, already thinking of how to beat us,” she continues. “It would be nice if they just understood… But, well, we can at least show them how good we are, no? Obviously without taking Sue’s side.”

Suki smiles at her. “Sounds good to me! I’m good at costumes, Toph is a genius at editing songs, and Ty Lee can do the choreography, right? What do you think?” she turns to the others.

“I can do choreography,” Ty Lee says halfheartedly, looking at her feet again.

Mai looks at her friend, then back at Suki. “It would be good to work on something ourselves. And… I want one of the solos.” Ty Lee looks up at Mai, eyes wide, and Suki can’t blame her. Mai’s face is as expressionless as usual, but her posture is tense, arms crossed across her chest. She looks determined.

Toph flops back onto the stage. “If spikes gets a solo, I want one too! I can’t take singing backup any more.”

“Well,” Suki says slowly. “If we’re combining two songs, it would work to have two singers, and you guys are both really good. Katara, Ty Lee, are you okay with Mai and Toph having the solos?” The girls nod, Katara smiling at her. “Okay! But I think if we’re making a statement about girls being good singers we should sing songs by women. So the Stones are out of the question, Toph.”

“Ugh, sure. So what soppy crap are we going to sing?”

Suki looks around at the other girls. She’s really excited about this week, she realises. She’ll probably start missing the rest of the club by the end, but right now she likes this little group. They can make something really good here, she thinks.

“How about Adele?”

Sokka fidgets in his seat, waiting for Iroh to start talking. It’s weird, having only the boys in the choir room. Aang is nice, but he’s always been Katara’s friend, not Sokka’s, and now that Katara and him are dating Sokka feels like a third wheel. Teo is the same – he’s Suki’s friend, not his. It’s only been a few minutes, and he already misses Katara and Toph and Suki, misses their laughter and teasing and their reassuring presence. He feels too exposed, sitting so close to Zuko, not to mention Jet, Pipsqueak and Sneers. The girls were his buffer, and now that they’re gone he’s afraid he’s fair game.

Sokka is angry at Sue for separating them, and at Iroh for letting her. And he’s also a bit let down by his friends – he tried to complain to them yesterday, but if anything the girls seemed happy to have some time to themselves. Do they not want to hang out with him? Is it – do they think that it’s weird that he’s a guy that hangs out with girls? He wishes he could just ask Iroh to sing with the girls, but that would basically be the same as coming out to the whole school, and he does not want to do that.

Ever since he came out to Katara, Sokka has been a bit more on edge at school. All the homophobic slurs feel different now. Before, they scared him, probing at a part of him he wasn’t ready to accept. But he feels less ashamed of his sexuality every day – he’s been reading about queerness online, and he’s even watched a few queer movies with Katara. But the more he learns, the less okay the slurs feel. He used to accept them as an annoying but inevitable part of life. Now, he’s angry, angry that all these teenagers think that it’s okay to just call people “lady” and “poof” and “fairy”. He winces every time something is called “faggy”, and barely restrains himself from punching the guys in robotics who call Smellerbee a “dyke” behind her back. But mostly, he’s scared, and he can’t imagine how much worse everything would be if they knew he really was queer.

“So, dear boys,” Iroh says, bringing Sokka back to the present. “As I have explained, this week we will be working on a mash-up – a combination of two songs. On Friday we will perform this mash-up in front of coach Zhao and Ms. Yagoda, the school nurse, who will then judge both our song and the girls’ and decide on a winner. Now,” Iroh looks around the group slowly, his expression serious, his hand absently stroking his beard. “We have to decide on what songs to combine. Is there anything we should keep in mind?”

“Yes,” Zuko says from behind Sokka, his deep voice loud and rough. Sokka turns to look at him. “We need to play to our strengths. Me, of course, I should sing one of the solos,” he says, and Sokka is opening his mouth to complain when Zuko continues. “Aang should sing the other one, so we need to choose songs that fit our ranges. They don’t have two singers that are as good as us. They do have Ty Lee,” he continues, still staring straight ahead at Iroh despite the other students’ increasingly incredulous stares. “But we have Sokka, so we should choose songs where he can show off his moves.”

Sokka’s mouth is hanging open, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. Did Zuko just compliment him in front of everyone? Call him an asset? Call him Sokka? Zuko always called him “undercut boy” before, and Sokka’s face heats as he realises that this means Zuko went out of his way to learn his name. And yes, he learnt Aang’s name as well, but still! If Zuko wasn’t still glaring at Iroh, eyes narrowed, Sokka would suspect he was an imposter.

“Yes, thank you, Zuko,” Iroh says, his voice light and calm. “If our goal was to win, that would indeed guide our choice.”

Sokka turns back and stares at Iroh. Jet voices his thoughts, angrily asking, “what do you mean, if our goal was to win?”

“Well, boys,” Iroh answers, his arms extended to the side, palms turned up. “Why do you think Sue has decided to co-direct the club and divide us up? Remember, for all her outstanding qualities, Sue is not known as a lover of glee.”

Sokka thinks of Sue’s complaints after “Push It”, of the part she offered Zuko in her musical. “It’s a trick,” he realises. “She’s trying to turn us against each other.”

There’s a few exclamations at that, and Iroh smiles at him.

“That is indeed what I suspect,” the teacher tells them.

“But how is this different from what you do?” Aang asks, a bit aggressively. “You set Zuko and me against each other.”

“Ah, yes,” Iroh says, turning to Aang with a small frown creasing his forehead. “This is the part where I must admit some of my own negligence.” He turns back to face all of them. “Why do you think Sue chose the girls?”

Sokka racks his brain. Sue is obviously using a divide and conquer strategy, but that would mean that she was dividing the group along an existing line of animosity, and Sokka doesn’t think there’s any animosity between the girls and the boys – is there?

“It’s because they feel left out.” Teo’s light voice rings out clearly in the quiet room. “All the important solos have gone to boys, and all the girls get to do is sing in the background.”

“But most of us haven’t gotten solos,” Sneers says dismissively. “Sue could’ve just chosen all of us who didn’t get solos before.”

Sokka shakes his head, immediately seeing the flaw in that argument. “But she needs to be able to give them what they want, and she can’t give everyone solos. So it needs to be something else – what is she giving them, Teo?” he asks, meeting the other boy’s grey-brown eyes.

“She’s also a girl,” Teo says quietly. “She’s giving them a space to prove themselves.”

Zuko scoffs behind them. “All of this is stupid. Why are we even arguing about this? So the girls felt left out and wanted some time to themselves, who cares? We need to figure out how to win against them, not psychoanalyse them.”

Sokka sighs, frowning at Zuko. He really can be so single minded sometimes – it would be endearing if it wasn’t so annoying.

“What’s more important to you, Zuko,” he asks the other boy, exasperated. “Winning this week's meaningless competition, or winning Sectionals?”

Zuko turns to look at Sokka, and his heart misses a beat when he meets the other boy’s intensely golden gaze.

“Sectionals, of course,” Zuko tells him angrily. “What does that matter, though?”

Sokka sighs again. “We are not going to win Sectionals without the girls, ” he says slowly, enjoying the deepening frown on Zuko’s face as he carefully enunciates every word. “If we concentrate on winning this week, the girls will hate us even more, and when we manage to get rid of Sue it will be hard to sing together. You need good teamwork to win, not just a few talented voices,” he motions at Zuko at the work “talented”, hoping some flattery will help convince the boy.

“So what,” Jet asks angrily, “we should just let the girls win?”

Sokka turns to look at Iroh, trying to read the emotions in the old man’s inscrutable expression.

“No…” he says slowly. “It’s not just about winning, is it?” Iroh smiles and nods, and Sokka continues, encouraged. “We need to fix what’s wrong, and that means concentrating on making amends, not winning.” Looking around at everyone’s frowning faces, Sokka decides to lighten the mood. “We need the opposite of winning hand-down,” he says, grinning. “De-feet!”

He swears Zuko gives out a strangled laugh, but the rest of the boys just groan, a few of them glaring at Sokka. People just don’t appreciate his refined sense of humour.

“Why should we be the ones to make amends?” Sneers says, his voice rising in frustration. “It’s Iroh’s fault they didn’t get solos, not ours!”

Iroh flinches, but Sokka wonders if Sneers might have a point. What could they even say to the girls? Sorry you didn’t get solos?

“Ugh,” Teo sighs, and wheels his chair to the centre of the room, turning to face them. “You’re all so thickheaded,” he says, his brows creased in an annoyed frown. “They’re girls and we’re boys. Have any of you heard about the Patriarchy? Structural inequality? The gender pay gap?” There’s a stunned silence, and Teo groans and puts his head in his hands.

Iroh comes up behind Teo and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I think what young Teo is trying to say,” he says reassuringly, “is that there is a larger context to the girls’ emotions. In our society women are wrongly considered less capable in numerous ways, and are denied many opportunities. Your friends have probably already been treated differently in many classes and clubs. It is thus natural that they may get defensive when they are all left out in favour of boys – something I should have been more mindful of.”

Sokka’s mind is reeling, and he gets lost in his thoughts as the others argue above his head, debating whether women just are less good and if they have any right to be angry at men. He thinks of Suki, and the realisations he had a few weeks ago. It makes sense to him, that other clubs would be like robotics, and that the girls would get angry if they thought glee club was the same.

It had seemed to be such a big leap, agreeing that girly girls could be good at robotics. And he’s happy to make amends now about the solo thing, but the rest is a bit overwhelming. Teo is shouting about jobs, and politics, and Sokka is confused – school clubs are one thing, but no-one’s stopping women from getting other jobs, right? Still, this really isn’t the time or place to make up his mind – if there’s anything he’s learnt in the past few weeks, it’s that he should probably ask a girl.

He looks around. The argument has narrowed down to Teo and Jet, with occasional nasty comments from Sneers. Pipsqueak is as silent as usual, and Zuko just looks annoyed. Sokka turns to look down at Aang and finds the boy nervously playing with the hem of his shirt, his gaze jumping back and forth between the other boys like he’s following a tennis match.

“We have to stop this argument,” Sokka whispers to Aang, leaning down to get closer to his ear. “It’s not getting us anywhere.”

Aang nods and starts to say something, but before he can there’s a loud shout from behind them.

“SHUT UP!”

Zuko can be really loud when he wants to, and since he’s sitting right behind Sokka the other boy’s shout makes him flinch. He thinks he feels someone’s gaze on him, but when he turns around Zuko is glaring at the ceiling.

“This is pointless,” Zuko says, pushing the words out between gritted teeth. “Who cares if it’s okay to sack pregnant women? We’re here to sing.” He sighs and looks around, although he stops before his eyes reach Sokka. “The girls are hurt. So you can’t agree if they’re right to be hurt – who cares? We need them for Sectionals. So let’s sing some nice song about acceptance to apologise to them, give them some solos, and you can all sort out this irrelevant stuff someplace I don’t have to listen to you.” He turns to look at his uncle, scowling. “This is what you wanted, right, Uncle?”

Through all of this, Iroh has been watching them, calm and contemplative. Sokka thinks it’s a bit irresponsible of a teacher to just let his students argue like that, and from the way Zuko is glaring at his uncle, he seems to agree.

And Sokka feels proud of Zuko, even if it’s not really his place. He might still be using his strange “anything to win” logic, but a few weeks ago he would never have proposed giving someone else a solo. The glee club must be getting to him.

“Yes, Oi,” Iroh says fondly, smiling at his nephew. “Although I would not have phrased it quite like that.” Yes, Sokka thinks. Iroh would have compared them to a group of trees or stones or something.

Turning to the rest of the boys, the teacher clasps his hand together, eyes twinkling.

“Well, boys,” Iroh says. “I hope that if nothing else, today’s discussion has shown you all what must be done – after all, forgiveness is the first stone in a strong foundation!” Everyone groans, and Iroh’s smile widens. “If you are all supportive of Zuko’s idea, I suggest you find at least one song that conveys your feelings.”

There’s no complaints, although Sneers doesn’t look happy. Nodding, Iroh starts suggesting songs, and they settle into the usual debate over keys and solos and choreography.

Remembering the boy’s earlier nervousness, Sokka looks at Aang. The smaller boy seems much calmer now, texting Katara something with a large number of exclamation marks. From what Sokka can see, he’s asking her what she thinks about the debate. For a boy who grew up in an all-male monastery, Aang is doing pretty well.

By the end of the afternoon, they’ve decided to combine "Stop! In The Name Of Love” by The Supremes and “Free Your Mind" by En Vogue. There were a few more grumbles from Jet and Sneers, but Zuko’s glare and Iroh’s disappointed frown silenced them pretty fast. Sokka isn’t sure how appropriate the songs are in general, but there’s definitely a few lines in there that he likes. There’s one that seems written to describe the way he’s felt for the past few months: Free your mind and the rest will follow.

And the rest will stop!

Mai raises her hands to clap listlessly. The rest of the girls have stood up around her, clapping and whooping, but Mai just leans back into the soft green felt of the auditorium seat. Yes, the boys’ performance was good, and yes, their apology speech was nice. It seems all is forgiven, but Mai can’t bring herself to even pretend to care.

Ty Lee hasn’t spoken to her all week. Ty Lee hasn’t spoken to her all week. Mai can’t bear it, she can’t bear the silence, and the boredom, and most of all the longing. Confessing her feelings to Ty Lee broke open something in her, and every time she looks at her friend it feels like the jagged edges of her heart’s old frozen walls are piercing soft flesh. Why can’t she go back to not caring, why won’t Ty Lee talk to her, why did Mai have to ruin everything?

Now that it’s done, she can admit to herself that this is the reason she never told Ty Lee about the fake relationship, or about her sexuality – she’s in love with her friend. Deeply, madly in love, the sort of love that Mai would find ridiculous in anyone else. She didn’t even know she was capable of feeling anything this strongly, and now it feels like the dial of her emotions has been wrenched up to 100.

Once they’ve finished applauding, the boys come off the stage and the girls trudge up to the dressing room to change into their lacy black dresses. Everyone around her is chatting happily as they pull on tights and fix their makeup, but Mai just stares ahead, mind numb. Strangely, she is looking forward to the performance – asking for a solo was an impulsive decision, but it paid off. It didn’t change anything with Ty Lee, but the extra practices managed to keep her from sinking all the way into her despair.

Suddenly, Ty Lee’s loud, bubbly laughter pierces the fog she’s in. She looks up at the dressing table across the room, and catches Ty Lee’s eye just as the girl turns around to put her makeup bag back in her backpack.

In a moment of desperation, Mai inclines her head towards the wings, hoping Ty Lee will get the message. She walks out of the room without looking back, and breathes a sigh of relief when she turns around to find Ty Lee in front of her, hands on her hips.

“What do you want, Mai?” Ty Lee asks, her voice tired.

Mai frowns. “Why aren’t you talking to me?” she asks, doing her best to keep her voice calm and level.

“Why do you think, Mai?” Ty Lee says angrily. “First I find out you lied to me about Zuko, then you say… those things, and then you walk out on Sue? I’m just really confused. Did I misunderstand what you said?” she adds with a hopeful expression.

Mai is having difficulty swallowing, but she tries to make her case, her voice shaking. “I… I, you didn’t misunderstand. I meant them that way.” Ty Lee flinches, and Mai’s heart sinks. “But that doesn’t mean I expect anything from you – we can just go on like before, right?” she continues, desperation seeping into her words.

Ty Lee just shakes her head sadly. “I don’t know, Mai… I just want things to go back to normal, but I can’t when I know you… you’re, you know.”

“That I’m a lesbian,” Mai says, her voice devoid of feeling.

Ty Lee flinches again, and says, “Shush!” quickly turning around to check if anyone is listening in from the dressing room. When she turns back she doesn’t look Mai in the eye, staring at the floor and biting her lip. “It’s not that, that doesn’t change anything. It’s that you, you know… for me.”

“So what,” Mai says slowly, her heart beating too quickly in her chest. “We’re not friends any more?”

“No!” Ty Lee says quickly, lifting her head to look up at Mai with widened eyes. She grimaces, conflicted. “I just… I need a break, Mai,” she says desperately. “Some time to think about things. Right now when I’m around you all my thoughts are muddled because all I can think of is that, and I need space.”

Mai feels like she’s dying inside, as if the broken shards impaling her heart have turned white hot and are burning her to ashes.

“Okay,” she says coolly, her face neutral.

When she doesn’t say anything more, Ty Lee gives her one last desperate look and turns to go back to the dressing room.

As Mai stands in the wings, lost in a haze of pain and self-loathing, she hears someone intercept Ty Lee at the dressing room door.

“Hey, baby.”

It’s Jet, and Mai steps a bit closer to the door to hear him better, heart beating fast.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course Jet!” Ty Lee says cheerfully. Mai can hear the falseness in that cheer, but she doubts Jet cares. “Just checking some things for the song.”

“I’m sure you’ll be amazing,” Jet tells her, his voice low, suggestive. “You’re my girlfriend, after all.”

Girlfriend

If Ty Lee replies, Mai can’t hear it above the blood thumping in her ears. She hunches over herself, her eyes filling with tears, her fists clenched by her sides.

Girlfriend

She needs to tell Ty Lee that Jet is the worst possible person for her, she needs to beg her to date someone else, anyone else. But she can’t, and in a way that is worse than anything else – she isn’t even Ty Lee’s friend any more. The girl can protest as much as she likes, but Mai knows what taking a break means. She grits her teeth and screams silently, desperately searching for the blanket of not caring that has protected her for years.

“Mai?”

She looks up slowly, and finds Toph’s milky white eyes staring straight above her head.

“Are you okay, spikes?” Toph asks. “We’re on in five.”

Mai takes a deep breath. For once she’s grateful Toph is blind – at least the girl can’t see the tears running down her cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, she stands up. “I’m fine,” she tells Toph, straightening her dress and wiping her face on the back of her sleeve. “I’m ready to go on.”

Toph is still staring at the wall, but there’s a knowing twist to her smile.

“You know,” she says, her voice contemplative. “A lot of famous musicians hate their bandmates. KISS, Guns n’ Roses, The Kinks, even Simon and Garfunkel. Some of them even fought on the fucking stage. But I read an interview with Ray Davies where he said that although he and his brother fought before every performance, it helped them perform – they had so much balls they would use that anger to nail their fucking music.”

Something lightens in Mai’s chest.

“Thanks, Toph,” she says quietly.

The other girl shrugs. “I just don’t want you messing up my first solo, spikes,” she says fondly.

There’s a sudden increase of noise behind them, and Mai turns to watch the rest of the girls approach them. Her eyes gravitate towards Ty Lee, but the girl isn’t looking at her, chatting intently with Katara.

Well, Mai thinks. I definitely have enough emotions for this song.

ooooo

Oooh-ooh, oooh-ooh

Lights flash out of the darkness, illuminating one girl and then another. They ooh together, bowing backwards to accentuate each utterance, in rhythm to the drums.

She, she ain't real, she ain't gon' be able to love you like I will

Toph’s clear voice pierces the silence. She draws out the word she, the rest of the line bouncing back from the word. There’s a cruel, harsh tone to her voice, and Mai feels a shiver run down her spine.

She is a stranger, you and I have history, or don't you remember?

Mai is standing beside Toph in front of the others, and as they all reach out to click their fingers, she’s acutely aware of Ty Lee’s presence behind her. She still can’t shake their conversation out of her mind, and can barely concentrate on the song over the desperate yearning beating in her heart. She keeps hearing “he” instead of “she” in Toph’s words, their plea an echo of her feelings for Ty Lee.

Sure, she's got it all, but baby, is that really what you want?

The lights dim as Toph draws out the word “want”, and Mai is shaken out of her swirling thoughts by the silence that descends on the room. Wait – she glances to her right, and the agitated twist of Toph’s lips confirms that the next line is Mai’s, and she’s forgotten. She inhales sharply, trying desperately to remember the words, but before she can Toph starts singing again.

Bless your soul, you got your head in the clouds

The tempo picks up, and they all smoothly start to dance again, raising their hands up into the air and stepping backwards. Mai tries wildly to anchor her thoughts in the present.

Now rumour has it, she ain't got your love anymore

They all raise their fingers to their lips as Toph sings, and then swing their arms out sideways as she twists the last sounds of the line, her voice ruthless and strong.

Rumour has it, oooh-ooh

As they move around the stage, Mai’s eyes land on Toph, and the girl gives her a tiny smile, barely noticeable in the breath between two lines. That smile grounds Mai, and allows her to finally wrench her attention fully back to the song. What did Toph say? Use your feelings to nail the fucking music.

Rumour has it, oooh-ooh

As the girls continue singing the chorus, their hands raised to shadow their lips, Mai moves forward to face the front of the stage. She thinks of Ty Lee’s smile, of the space her friend requested, of her own miserable fear that this will not be just a break, that Ty Lee will forget her and that this is the end. As the other girls continue singing the chorus, she draws on all that desperation and grief, and belts out her line.

Don't forget me, I beg, I remember you said

It feels like the words tear something inside her, as if her bleeding heart is being ripped straight out through her throat. It doesn’t feel bad though – it’s incredible, to feel something like this, to let this song express her passion. As she walks forward into the spotlight, standing alone, for a moment it feels like nothing exists in the world except her and the song.

I heard that you settled down, that you've found a girl and you're married now

Again, the words feel like her own, and as she turns to walk back towards the others, she can’t help but glance at Ty Lee. The girl is leaning forward with the others, clicking her fingers and ooh-ing to back Mai up. Her shiny brown hair is tied to the side of her neck, the softly twisted locks making her face seem gentler than her usual tight braid.

I heard that your dreams came true, guess she gave you things I didn't give to you

As Ty Lee moves to her right, Mai’s eyes are still drawn to her friend, each look fueling her words and driving her deeper into the song.

Rumour has it, oooh-ooh

As they go into the next chorus, Toph belting out a yeah, baby, Mai feels a strange sort of wild joy rising in her chest.

Don't forget me, I beg, I remember you said

She sings her line again and again, the other girls twisting around her and the stage lights bright on her face. It’s incredible, giving herself over to a song like this. She feels like she’s surfing a wave of emotion, the dirty, painful feelings being pulled and rinsed out of her by the powerful words she sings.

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

Toph steps forward as the music winds down, singing the words softly, quietly. Mai feels her chest warm as she looks at the little girl, grateful that they could experience this song together.

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

She steps forward to stand beside Toph, and sings the final line of the song as gently as she can, placing the words delicately out there for the world to hear. As the applause rings loudly into the silence, she feels clean, somehow. The song was cathartic – her anger and grief aren’t gone, but they’re muted. She’s sad, but she doesn’t feel a desperate urge to act, and when she thinks about it, she finds that she isn’t even angry at herself any more.

Ty Lee doesn’t love her back, and that breaks her heart. But she can accept that now, and she even manages a small smile when the others come to congratulate her.

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

Katara bounces down the stairs from the stage and into Aang’s arms, her face flushed from the exhilarating success of their performance. Aang – her boyfriend! – smiles at her and congratulates her on her singing. She didn’t have a major part in this song, but the whole performance was so nuanced and intricate that even her contribution felt important.

It’s a perfect end to a wonderful week. Nothing much has changed for her and Aang now that they’re dating – they kiss sometimes, and they text a lot more, but they already spent so much time together that, practically, it doesn’t feel like a big change. But emotionally it feels monumental, because Aang is now her person, not just someone who might listen, but someone who will.

Even Coach Sylvester was okay this week. Katara doesn’t have a very high opinion of the bullying and bigoted coach, but she has to admit that separating the girls was a good idea. Sue didn’t really do anything, happy to let them plan, choreograph and practise the song themselves, but in a way that freedom felt revolutionary. Outside of gym class, Katara has never been in a space that is just for girls, and she didn’t realise how different it would feel. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders – just a little bit less worry, a few less painful interactions. Toph and Suki were already her friends, and since something seems to be happening between the cheerleaders, Mai and Ty Lee interacted a lot more with the others. All of this made for an inspiring environment, and Katara is incredibly proud of their performance.

Coach Zhao and Ms. Yagoda have been chatting quietly since the girls finished their song, and now they turn to the assembled students, announcing that the girls have won the mash-off. As the judges leave the room the girls all shout and clap, the green seats of the auditorium slapping shut as they stand up to hug each other. Even Mai’s lips have twisted fractionally upwards, and in a rush of emotion Katara hugs her as well, the girl's wide eyes staring at her in shock.

“You were amazing,” Katara tells her. Mai just shakes her head and shrugs, her lips still twisted in the shadow of a smile.

When the girls’ celebration calms down, all the students turn to look at their directors, wondering what comes next.

“Congratulations, Sue,” Iroh says, smiling at his colleague. They’re both standing right in front of the stage, a few feet away from the students.

“I’m glad to hear that, Iroh,” the coach answers, smirking. “I hope you will now admit my superior talents? If you don’t, you will when Sue’s Kids win Sectionals.”

Iroh frowns. “Sue’s Kids win… Sue, you are not suggesting that only the girls compete at Sectionals?”

“Why not?” Sue asks, her smirk widening into a feral grin. “After all, they have been proven to be the preferable candidates over your bunch of castrated oafs.”

Katara tenses, not liking where this is going. Iroh seems to have the same idea, and turns to the students, telling them to leave him and Sue to talk alone.

“No!” Sue exclaims, waving her hands at the students. “Let them stay. Your pathetically weak-hearted teaching methods stop now. Children need to be dealt with with a hard fist, not a soft hand.”

Iroh glances back at the students nervously. “Please, Sue…” he says, his voice still calm. “I know you have been attempting to undermine me all week – yes, I know you’re the reason that our piano and sheet music disappeared.” Katara frowns, wondering if the coach had really resorted to such childish methods.

“But,” Iroh continues over Sue’s protests, his voice firm. “We are not dividing this club. I will work with you if I must, but we are still co-directors, and you cannot make major decisions on your own, whatever problems you have with me.”

“Problems?” Sue shouts, her face flushing red. “You want to talk about problems – we're gonna get 'em out in the open! You wanna get real?” she continues, spit flying out of her mouth as she looms above Iroh. “You're right, Iroh. I have been trying to destroy your club with a conviction I can only call religious. And you wanna know why? Because I don't trust a man with long hair.”

Iroh doesn’t seem surprised by any of this, rubbing his face tiredly. Katara glances around the room and sees everyone holding their breath, their eyes trained on the arguing pair.

“Sue,” Iroh tries again. “Is this the place for this argument?”

“I don't care what you think,” Sue spits, pointing her finger into Iroh’s face. “I have a legacy to protect, Iroh, and glee club is a part of that legacy. And I will win.” She moves a step backwards, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You can't stand to see a woman in a position of power.”

Iroh shakes his head, resigned. “On the contrary, Sue,” he tells her sadly. “I find your success admirable. But,” he continues, raising a hand to stop Sue from answering. “As you have seen, all of these students are talented, perhaps even more than your cheerleaders. You must admit that they all deserve a chance to be a part of our winning team.”

Sue just scoffs, her face twisted in anger and her eyes fixed on Iroh. “If you think,” she says, her voice venomous, “that your nepotist pile of useless, weak-willed teens have any chance of winning a competition, you need to start using that one brain cell that swims around your tiny bird brain.”

Katara stiffen, and sees her reaction mirrored in the other students’ stances. Sue is their co-director now, and to insult them like that, to insult Iroh, to say that she wants to destroy their club… she doubts any one in the room supports the coach right now.

When he speaks, Iroh’s voice is cold and tight with anger. “Sue,” he says, “you cannot speak about our students in this way! You are their teacher now. If you continue insulting them I will have to take this matter to principal Kuei, and I am sure he will take my side when I explain your motivation for joining this club.”

Sue laughs, throwing her head back. “Kuei?” she shouts, her voice slightly crazed. “I have that man right under my thumb. For a big man, he’s very easy to drug.”

Katara can’t believe her ears – Sue drugged the principal? It’s like something a spy would do, not a cheerleading coach.

Iroh doesn’t seem shocked, though, and his lips curve in a small smile. “Do you think it is a good idea to tell us that, Sue?” he asks calmly.

“Why not,” Sue answers, smiling cruelly. “With that blackmail material in my possession, no-one will ever believe a word you say.”

It’s true, Katara thinks – it would be too easy to say that Iroh has ulterior motives, even though Sue is the one who initiated all of this. For a moment, she despairs, wondering if they will be stuck with Sue for ever now. But when she looks at Iroh, the man is still smiling, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“You are right, Sue,” he tells her happily, moving closer to her, his stature comically short next to her towering height. “No-one would believe the word of me or my students. But they would believe the video of our conversation that is being recorded as we speak,” he continues, pointing to the camera that stands in the middle of the room. It was originally meant to capture their performances, but is still pointing right in the two teachers’ direction, its beeping red light indicating that the recording hasn’t stopped. “I would suggest that you resign as co-director of the glee club, or I will be forced to distribute the footage to the school board.”

Sue pales, and makes a movement in the direction of the camera, only to be blocked by Iroh’s wide chest. She glares down at him, her eyes shining with terrible hatred. He just shakes his head, though, and points at the door.

For a moment it looks as if Sue might hit the shorter teacher, but with another loathing glance at the camera, she storms out of the room, throwing her arm along the stage to push off all the bags, boxes and stacks of scores.

Papers still swirling in the air behind him, Iroh turns to the students, face pinched in worry.

“I am sorry you had to hear some of that, children,” he says. “But you can rest assured that Sue will never teach this club again.” They all nod, the tension slowly seeping out of the room.

As she relaxes, the whole situation suddenly feels ridiculous to Katara. Drugging? Blackmail? She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in her chest, and a moment later she’s bent over the back of the seat in front of her, laughing uncontrollably. She hears all the rest of the students join in around her, their laughter tinged with a slight hysteria.

When they finally manage to calm down, Katara feels drained and empty. Still, when she looks up she finds Iroh looking at them fondly, shaking his head, and the sight reassures her.

“Go home, my students,” Iroh tells them, smiling. “You have done exceptionally well today, however the evening ended. I am proud of you.”

They all say goodbye to Iroh, smiling, and file out of the room, chattering amongst themselves. The energy of the group is still that strange combination of adrenaline and exhaustion that comes after a release of tension, and everyone is animatedly discussing Sue and Iroh’s argument. Katara smiles fondly at Aang, who is walking beside her and trying to persuade Sokka that Iroh must have planned this, Sokka answering that there’s no way he could have predicted all of it.

At some point, Katara thinks, they will need to address the fact that another teacher in the school is so intent on destroying their club that she committed crimes. But for now, Katara is happy to join in on the arguments, glad that they have a teacher like Iroh on their side.

Chapter Text

“I only get a certain amount of dollars a year to spend, Iroh.”

Iroh sighs and rubs his face. It’s Monday morning and he’s sitting in the principal’s office, arguing with Kuei. It’s a sunny day, but Kuei keeps the blinds partially lowered over his windows, and most of the light in the room is coming from a few shaded lamps. It’s a strange room – all of the decor has something to do with bears, from the small statues on his table to the large painting behind the principal’s back.

Kuei’s eyes are narrowed in the low light. “Principal,” Iroh tries again. “The bus ride to competitions is an important event for the team, an opportunity for camaraderie and mutual support. Leaving Teo out of that would send the wrong message.”

“You think I feel good about this?” Kuei asks, angry. “I have no choice. That accessible bus costs $600 a week to rent.”

Iroh tries one last approach. “I am just curious how there is no money for our bus, but there is enough money in the budget to fly the Cheerios all over the country for their competitions?”

Kuei scoffs, waving a hand to dismiss this argument. “Sue Sylvester has boosters that write fat checks. None of her travel expenses come out of the school budget.” He sighs, leaning backwards in his black leather chair. “My hands are tied, Iroh. If you want that bus, you're gonna have to find a way to pay for it yourself.”

ooooo

“I am sorry, dear students, but the school will not pay for an accessible bus, so Teo will have to travel to Sectionals on his own.”

Shouts erupt all over the room, the students protesting the injustice of this decision. Iroh glances at Teo, and finds the boy looking at him calmly, resigned, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Iroh knows that an accessible bus to Sectionals is probably the least of this boy’s worries, but he really wanted to make this small gesture for him.

“Why is it such a big issue?” Sneers asks loudly, his voice rising above the others’ protests. “It’s just a bus trip.”

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Katara says, turning to glare at Jet. “The school should be able to provide the same for all of us.”

“But it doesn’t,” Teo says quietly, swivelling his chair to look calmly at Katara. “There’s only one accessible bathroom in the whole school, and we don’t even have a ramp in the auditorium. ” He shrugs, turning back to the front of the room. “It’s okay, my dad can take me.”

Everyone seems lost for words. Suki is frowning at her friend worriedly. “Maybe we could try something, though,” she says tentatively, looking to Teo for affirmation. “How about a bake sale to raise the money?”

Teo just shrugs again, but the other students exclaim and get excited, chatting to each other about where they could set up the sale and what they could make. There’s a few laughs when Sokka tells Teo the sale will “bake his day”.

“That is a very good idea, Suki,” Iroh tells her generously. “Teo?” he asks the boy, not wanting to do anything without his permission.

“It is a good idea,” Teo says quietly, “but I’m not sure if that many people will give us money for something like this.” His lips curl in a little smile. “Unless we put weed in the brownies or something.”

There’s a collective laugh at that, but Iroh makes sure that the students understand not to put drugs in their baked goods. The last thing he needs is another scandal Sue can use, especially not this close to Sectionals.

He claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “It is decided, then,” he says happily. “You will all organise a bake sale this week – I will leave the details to you. As you will be busy with this, we will spend any time left over brainstorming songs for Sectionals – remember, the competition is only three weeks away!”

As the students go back to discussing the bake sale, Iroh thinks about their set list for Sectionals. They are better than their competition, but not by much. And the other teams have something distinctive and memorable about them – convict girls, heavy metal boys. The New Directions also need something to set them apart.

Teo waves to Suki, and rolls over to where his dad is parked. Their wheelchair accessible car is old, the red paint chipped and peeling, but it still works. Wheeling himself up the ramp and pulling the long red straps to tie himself in feels like second nature to Teo, just one of the many things he has been doing all his life to accommodate for his chair.

As usual, his dad insists on checking the straps before shutting the door and getting into the driver’s seat. They usually chat on the way home from school, sharing tidbits from their day and planning dinner. Today, however, Teo is deep in thought. He’s glad the other students are supportive, but he doesn’t like it. He hates being the centre of attention, especially the sort of attention he gets when people insist on making a big fuss in his name. He’s not like Toph – he’s happy to accept help, he doesn’t mind being carried up to the auditorium stage or helped into the shower at home. He just prefers it if people don’t make a big deal out of it.

His dad is an expert at that. He fusses sometimes, but not more than other parents. He worries about Teo’s food and his grades and his internet usage, but does all the necessary care work without a comment, chatting to Teo about work and robots as he pushes his chair or helps him wash. Teo wishes he could somehow tell his dad how much he appreciates that, how much it means to him that at home his disability is treated as just another part of life.

Suki is also pretty good at being chill, but she gets carried away sometimes. She doesn’t see him differently, he knows – they’ve grown up together. It’s just that she’s passionate about things, they both are, and sometimes she gets too concerned with the injustice and doesn’t think about how her complaints might make Teo feel.

He really does agree with her; he knows that you can’t just sit quietly and accept things if you want to change the world. But he would rather do that using his art or his voice – he doesn’t think you can change any minds by complaining about the bathroom at Breadsticks. He hopes that once he and Suki get out of Lima and into NYU they’ll both be doing enough that she’ll leave the small things alone.

Still, it would be nice to travel to Sectionals with everyone else, if just to avoid any fuss around his separate travel. So he can’t help the little bubble of hope that is growing inside his chest, fighting against his belief that the sale won’t really work. It’s still on his mind when they sit down to eat dinner, so he tells his dad about it.

“I really hope the bake sale will work,” he says, twisting his fork in the spaghetti in front of him. “But I’m not optimistic… there’s a lot of other baked goods in the canteen, and no-one cares about some bus for me.”

His dad frowns, twirling the edge of his bushy moustache. “Is it important to you, to take a bus with the others?” he asks.

Teo looks up at him, worried he sounded like he was asking for help. “No!” he exclaims. “I mean, it would be really cool to go with everyone, but it’s just the trip there, and it would be nice to go with you as well.” He tries to smile at his dad, hoping the man will drop it.

“Hmmm,” his dad says, studying him. “I think it is important to you.” He shakes his head at Teo’s protests. “No, Teo, this is something you should have. If the bake sale doesn’t work, I can pay for the bus.”

Teo is mortified. He should have known better than to complain to his father – this is what happens every time he mentions something like this. But this isn’t a trip to the forest or a dinner at a restaurant, it’s 600$!

“No, dad!” he exclaims. “It’s really expensive, I told you – where would you even get the money?”

His dad waves him off. “Don’t you worry about that, my boy,” he tells him fondly.

“But you just told me you have less hours at school this year,” Teo presses. He’s not a small child any more – he knows how much high school teachers earn, and it’s definitely not enough to fund accessible buses. “Don’t use money you don’t have, dad.”

His father laughs. “Don’t worry, Teo! I am not going into debt for this. We have the money.”

This does not placate Teo, but when he continues to ask his dad won’t budge, telling him that they have the money and that he shouldn't worry. If anything, these condescending reassurances only worry him further. The ambiguity is so unlike his father – the man loves explaining everything in excruciating detail.

Later that evening in his room, he grabs his phone and calls Suki. She picks up immediately.

“Wassup, T?”

Teo laughs. “I need your help with something,” he says quietly, glad his dad is far away upstairs in his study. “Can you come over tomorrow afternoon? And maybe bring someone with you who can carry me up the stairs?”

ooooo

“Shhh!” Teo urges, gesturing for the rowdy group in front of his door to come in quickly.

Suki frowns at him as he shuts the door behind them. “Your dad is still at school, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Teo says, showing the others where to take off their shoes. “But Mrs. Jones at number 34 is really nosy, I don’t want her nagging me about my ‘new friends’.”

“Oooh,” Sokka says as he walks in, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you having a turf war with her? Is she on the fence about you?”

Toph giggles, but Teo just glares at Sokka, reversing his chair to let the other in. He’s too nervous for jokes, especially when so many people are squeezing by his chair.

And it really is a lot of people – Suki has brought half the glee club with her, and Teo wonders at the strange sight of Sokka, Aang, Katara and Toph standing almost on top of each other in his small hallway.

He frowns. “Aren’t you supposed to be at robotics club with my dad?” he asks Sokka.

“The mechanist is your dad?” Sokka asks, surprised. Katara sighs, and Sokka shoots her a dirty look.

“Yeah, in theory,” he continues. “But Suki needed a strong man, so here I am.” Sokka pulls up his sleeve and flexes his biceps, making Katara pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation as Toph reaches up to feel his left arm.

“Sorry, Teo,” Suki smiles at him apologetically, walking further into the house. “Sokka is the only strong one out of this bunch, but they all overheard me asking him and wanted to support you.”

“Nah,” Toph says happily, following Suki. “I just wanted a reason to get out of baking with Ty Lee and Mai. Seriously, you could cut your ass on the tension between those two girls.”

Teo gives a small laugh and then sighs. He’s not sure how he feels about all of them being here. It’s nice that they want to support him, but he doesn’t exactly want to share his worries with them.

Suki notices his discomfort and gives him a reassuring look before turning to the others. “Guys, do you mind waiting downstairs while Sokka takes Teo up to the study? It shouldn’t take too long, and we can all watch a movie or something afterwards.”

Everyone agrees, and Teo shows them around the living room and the kitchen before wheeling himself to the bottom of the stairs. Sokka and Suki are still lingering over the movie selection in the living room, and Aang wanders over to Teo while he waits.

“I’m sorry for intruding, Teo,” the younger boy tells him guiltily.

Teo smiles up at him. “It’s fine, Aang. I’m just a bit unused to having so many people in the house, but it should be fun to do something together after we check out my dad’s study.”

Aang looks at him curiously at the last few words, but doesn’t pry, which Teo appreciates.

“Do you not have many friends, then?” the boy asks instead, and then gasps, his face reddening with embarrassment. “No – I didn’t – I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just, it’s just I never had any friends either – or not either, I’m sure you have a lot of –”

Teo cuts him off, laughing a little at Aang’s stutters. “No,” he tells him, “I don’t have that many friends.” He thinks about it. “It’s not that easy to make friends in school when you’re in a wheelchair, and well – I have Suki.”

Aang smiles at him. “You guys seem pretty close – have you been friends for a long time?”

Teo nods. “Yes, ever since we were babies. Our parents worked together in the Kyoshi factory when I was younger.” He points to one of the photos on the wall which shows Suki’s parents sitting next to his father and mother, both women holding tiny babies. “My mother died when I was younger, though,” he says, letting his eyes skim over the later photos so the memories don’t overwhelm him. “And my dad had to leave the factory and start working at the school so he would have more time to take care of me.”

Aang looks back at him, his eyes wide and sad. “I’m sorry,” he says mournfully. “I never knew who my parents were,” he continues, looking wistfully at the dozens of smiling faces on the wall. “But maybe it’s better, to not know them at all, then to know them and lose them.”

Teo squirms in his chair uncomfortably. He likes Aang, but he doesn’t know the boy very well, and the conversation is getting too personal for him.

“I have my dad though, and Suki,” he says, forcing cheer into his voice and trying to change the subject. “Suki and I have done everything together all of our lives. We went to the same kindergartens and schools, we were Kyoshi warriors together – we’re even planning to go to NYU together. I’ll do art and she’ll do politics, but you know, still together.” He smiles at one of the newest pictures on the wall, a photo of him and Suki together at a recent summer holiday to New York. Suki insisted they take this photo in front of the UN headquarters of all places, but their smiles are wide despite the bright sun beating down on their heads.

Frowning, Teo wonders how his dad paid for that trip. He didn’t think of it at the time, but if one bus costs $600, all that accessible air travel, accommodation and transport must have cost a fortune. He needs to find out how his dad got all of this money.

“Talking about me?” someone asks from behind them, and Aang jumps, startled. Teo just laughs again and turns to smile at Suki, glad to leave his worried thoughts behind for now.

She smiles back at him and raises an eyebrow, tipping her head towards the stairs. When Teo nods, Suki turns to look over her shoulder and bellows “Sokka!”

The boy rushes over to them, Suki sends Aang back to the living room, and they make their way upstairs. Teo isn’t a huge fan of being carried, but Sokka is strong enough to do it easily, and there aren’t too many stairs. Still, he breathes a sigh of relief when Suki unfolds the wheelchair and he’s placed back into it. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of safety and independence his wheels give him.

The upstairs area is smaller, with only his father’s study, bedroom and bathroom. Teo has been up here once or twice, but it’s always been with his dad, and it feels strange without him, quiet and loud in all the wrong ways.

The study is a mess, of course, and Sokka gives a low whistle at the overflowing bookshelves and haphazardly piled papers. There are small pieces of machinery dotted all over the room, and Teo winces as he wheels over the scattered papers to get to the desk. They all agree that looking through the documents would take too much time, so Teo turns on the computer. It’s a powerful model, and the screen lights up as soon as he presses the button, presenting him with a login screen and an empty box to input a password.

This, Teo thinks, is where he crosses a line. He looks around, nervous, and Suki catches his eye. She shoos Sokka out of the room, and is about to leave herself when Teo grabs her arms, shaking his head. She gives him a long look and then nods, staying by his side.

Teo types in his mother’s name and birthdate, and is surprised when it doesn’t work. He tries another few combinations, but the computer still stays locked. Frustrated, he tries his own name and birthdate, and is greeted by a spinning circle, followed by a computer desktop that is as messy as the room around them. It’s difficult to make out the background picture behind the piles of icons, but it seems to be another photo from the trip to New York, this one showing him, Suki, his dad and Suki’s mom all standing together on the Brooklyn bridge.

“Try looking at his emails,” Suki suggests above his shoulder, and Teo nods, opening up a browser window and clicking through to an email server. His father is already logged in, so he scrolls down the list. He searches for emails related to credit card debts or loans and emails from the bank, but there isn’t anything suspicious.

“What about these emails from Richter Oil?” Suki asks him, leaning over him to get a better look. “Why is your dad corresponding so much with a fracking company?”

After reading through a never-ending series of emails all titled along the lines of “Re: latest update on model” and checking the files on the desktop, Teo wipes the search history, closes the browser and shuts down the computer, a sick feeling in his stomach. He looks up as Suki, his friend’s horrified expression mirroring his own inner turmoil.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Teo asks her, voice wobbling between anger and hurt.

“I…” Suki starts. Her left hand is still gripping the back of his chair, but now she closes her eyes and puts her right hand on the desk, stabilising herself. “Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe this isn’t what it looks like?”

The anger wins, and Teo says, “So what, my dad just pretends to run fracking simulations for an evil company? And they just pretend to pay him huge amounts of money? And oh, he just has all of those simulations and the necessary programs on his computer for fun?”

Suki flinches away at his tone, her eyes snapping open. Teo immediately feels bad for his outburst, and he covers one of Suki’s hands with his own.

“I’m sorry Suki, but you have to admit that this fits everything we’ve been suspecting. It’s a lot of money, and it explains why my dad won’t tell me where he gets the money.”

Suki nods, her eyes still wide. “Do you think my mom knows about it?” she asks softly. “She can’t, right? She hates fracking!”

Teo bites his lip, unsure what to say. “I don’t know, Suki,” he says slowly. “She isn’t in any of the emails, but she is his best friend. And I mean, I thought my dad hated fracking – he even sent me an article about how bad it is last month!” He racks his mind for an answer. “Maybe he’s doing simulations to make it better for the environment?”

“But Richter is one of the worst ones, Teo,” Suki says plaintively. “It’s not only the methane leaks, there’s dozens of lawsuits against them for environmental crimes. They don’t seem like the sort of company that would pay someone this much money to prioritise the environment.”

“Ugghh,” Teo screams, burying his head in his arms. “What are we going to do?”

“I want to confront my mom,” Suki says, voice firm. “We can do it together tomorrow at dinner – that way they won’t have a chance to warn each other and we can see everyone’s reaction. For all I know, my dad and Nainai could be in on it.”

Teo nods, and then sighs and rubs his eyes. He’s doing a lot of nodding today. “Okay,” he adds, voice weak and tired. “Can we forget about it until tomorrow, then? I just want to go down and watch a movie with the others.”

Suki nods as well, and, forcing a smile, she calls Sokka back into the room.

Downstairs they are informed by Toph that Aang has never seen Star Wars, and that she knows the movie by heart so they don’t even need the audio description version. Teo feels a pang of guilt that he hadn’t thought about how Toph would watch a movie – having one kind of disability doesn’t stop you from being careless about other types, it seems. Still, everyone seems happy with the choice of Star Wars, so they pop in Episode IV and settle down in the living room on various surfaces. Teo usually likes to lever himself into his armchair when he watches a movie at home, but there’s so many people here today that he stays in his wheelchair.

His dad gets home around the end of the movie, and he’s so happy to meet all of Teo’s friends that he offers to order pizza for everyone. Teo flinches at the expense, but forces a smile and nods. They start Episode V while waiting for the pizzas, and two hours later Teo is munching on a slice of margarita, watching Darth Vader cut off Luke’s hand. Maybe there are worse things a father can do than work for a fracking company, but his eyes still feel wet when he thinks of all the emails they found.

Suki rubs her eyes, blinks, and picks up the casserole off the kitchen counter. Her mom is bustling about on the other side of the room, taking the soup off the heat and stirring in some chilli oil. Suki has felt awkward around her mom all day, so she hurries back to the dining room, the casserole a hot and heavy weight in her arms.

Teo looks up as she comes into the room, his eyes just as bloodshot and sunken as hers. Neither of them slept much, worried about the confrontation they’re planning.

Suki’s Nainai eyes her suspiciously, but their fathers are blissfully oblivious, chatting happily at the other end of the table. Suki isn’t sure if she wants her dad to be around – on the one hand, he doesn’t often have the energy to join the two families’ regular Wednesday dinners, and she doesn’t want to ruin it for him. On the other hand, she does want to know if he was involved.

Just thinking about the whole thing makes her mad, and her hands shake as she places the casserole on the table. It doesn’t even really matter if the fracking thing is as bad as they suspect, it’s the lying that bothers her. So many people treat Teo like he’s less than just because he’s in the chair, and the last thing he needs is for his father to treat him like a baby.

She holds her anger back as best as she can, and sits next to Teo, giving him a small smile. Up close his distress is even more obvious, and her hands clench in her lap. Teo is her best friend, and in her opinion, the best person ever. She would fight anyone and everyone for him.

They’re both too uncomfortable and nervous to speak much during the meal, and by the time they carry the plates back into the kitchen and bring out dessert, the adults have noticed something is wrong.

After they sit down, her mom turns to her, frowning. “Is everything all right, Suki?”

Suki can’t help herself. That soft, gentle tone grates against the frustrated knot in her chest, and she bursts. “No, it really isn’t mom!”

The adults stare, eyes wide. Suki feels a hand grasp hers under the table, and she turns to Teo, biting her lip apologetically. Her friend gives her a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and squeezes her hand. Turning back towards their parents, Teo takes a deep breath.

“There’s actually something Suki and I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, his nervousness only betrayed by a nearly imperceptible waver in his voice.

“Dad,” he turns to look at his father, whose forehead is crumpled in concern over his bushy brows. “Yesterday, Suki and I had a look at the emails on your computer.”

The mechanist rears back in shock, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “Teo…” he starts.

“We found all of your correspondence with Richter Oil, and the simulation files on your desktop. Did it just slip your mind to tell me that you’ve been working for an evil oil company for all these years?”

Suki hears Teo’s father give a pained gasp, but her eyes are trained on her family. Her Nainai just looks confused, and the expressions of surprised horror on her parents’ faces sends a wave of relief straight through her. She desperately wants to run over and hug them, but Teo’s fight isn’t over yet, so she just squeezes her friend’s hand and turns to look at his father.

“Teo…” the mechanist says again, his voice now softer, pained and broken.

“Why didn’t you tell me, dad?” Teo asks, his voice shaking. Turning to him, Suki can see tears in his eyes, but he just keeps staring forward, letting the drops roll down his cheeks.

When his dad shakes his head, looking down at the table, Teo pushes on. “I mean yes, I’m not happy you’re working for an oil company, but it’s not even that.” He takes a shaky breath. “You didn’t even ask – I,” he stumbles over his words, tears still streaming from his eyes. “I thought you said you would never lie to me.”

The mechanist looks up, eyes wide. “I did it for you, Teo,” he says in a strangled voice. “I did it so you would have all the things that you want – do you know how much healthcare costs? All those treatments and surgeries?”

“No, I don’t know!” Teo shouts, leaning forward in his chair. “I don’t know because you didn’t tell me. It makes it worse that you did it for me,” he adds, looking down at his plate. “I’m not a kid any more, dad, I’m 16, I’m going to leave home in a year. You could have trusted me.” He swallows. “I thought I could trust you.”

Suki looks away, feeling awkward. Catching her family’s eyes across the table, she sees her embarrassment mirrored in their faces. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to stage the confrontation on Wednesday and test her parents’ reactions. But now it just feels like they’re invading something incredibly private.

She inclines her head towards the kitchen, and her mother nods, standing up and pulling her husband along with her. They tiptoe out of the room, slowly followed by her grandmother.

Suki starts to rise as well, but Teo tightens his hold on her hand and shakes his head, gaze still locked on the empty plate before him. Suki sits back down, unease tightening her muscles. Glancing up at the mechanist, she sees his eyes harden as he twists his napkin in his hands.

“You're right, my boy,” he says quietly. Teo looks up at him, eyes wide. “I didn't keep it a secret because it was better for you. I did it because I'm a coward.” Teo opens his mouth to speak, but his father just shakes his head. “I know you're an adult, Teo – I'm the one who's a child. After your mother died I just... It was hard, I had to quit my job and take care of you, and we never had enough money for anything. I couldn't stand saying no to you, I couldn’t stand making the hard decisions about the money, so I took the easy way out – and it was so easy, starting to work for Richter. They’d been courting me for years, but of course I knew how bad they were, so it was never an option until your mother died.” His grey-brown eyes shine with unshed tears. “Not telling you was also the easy way out. I knew you wouldn’t approve, and then I would have to make a choice between making you unhappy by working for a company you hated, or making you unhappy by not providing you with all the things you need.”

Teo’s hand grips Suki’s so hard it hurts, but she doesn’t mind. Her heart goes out to her friend.

“Okay,” Teo says slowly, his eyes on his father.

“Okay?” the Mechanist asks, his voice shaking.

“Okay, dad,” Teo continues, his voice now resolute. “I’m still not happy, but I can understand that. It helps to know that you don’t think I’m some sort of baby –”

“No, never!” his father exclaims, and Teo’s lips curl up in a small smile.

“You have to tell me these things though,” he insists. “I know you miss mom, I do too, but you’re not alone. We can make these decisions together.”

His dad nods vigorously, smiling widely. “Of course, my boy, of course. I really am sorry. And if you want, I can show you all our finances as soon as we get home, and we can… well, like you say, we can make the decision together.”

Teo’s smile widens, and he turns to look at Suki. He mouths thank you to her, and lets go of her hand. Suki takes this as her sign to leave, so she gives her friend a small smile and stands up in her chair.

She turns to look above her shoulder as she walks out of the room, and sees Teo wheeling himself over to the other side of the table. The boy slides his arms around his father, and the older man collapses into his son, both of them murmuring to each other softly.

Well, Suki thinks as she puts on the kettle, reassuring her family that everything is all right now. That could have been worse.

Aang carefully places his pens in his pencilcase one by one, waiting for the other students to leave the history classroom. Mr. Iroh is a big fan of military history, so there’s a large map of the Siege of Vicksburg hanging behind the teacher’s desk, the Mississippi river twisting between dark lines in blue and red.

Aang was brought up to be a pacifist, so he doesn’t really like Iroh’s long lectures on military strategy and organisation. It’s strange seeing the old man’s kind eyes twinkle when he explains decisions that cost hundreds of lives.

Uncomfortable, Aang stays at his desk for a moment after everyone leaves the classroom, breathing deeply. He’s pretty sure Iroh will agree with his proposition, but all this talk of war has made him uneasy, and he has to complete a full breathing cycle before he goes up to the teacher’s desk.

“Hello Aang,” Mr. Iroh tells him kindly. “Do you have a question?”

“Yes,” Aang answers, “but not about the class.”

He explains his idea. The bakesale failed spectacularly – he doesn’t really know why, but they only made a measly fifty dollars after three days at the stand. On top of that, Aang is sure that Teo had a bad week – something definitely happened while they were at his house on Tuesday, and he was even quieter than usual the rest of the week, lost in thought with dark circles under his eyes.

They need to do something more than just a feeble attempt to get Teo a bus. And he's noticed how annoyed Teo gets when the choreography can’t be adapted for him, when he’s relegated to the back of the choir because he can’t move around as fast as the others. So, Aang proposes to Iroh, twisting his hands nervously behind his back, how about they do a dance in wheelchairs? The AV club has enough of those, and they could work out a cool choreography where Teo would be equally included.

“That is a wonderful idea, Aang!” Iroh says, smile wide and happy. “The last thing I would want is for young Teo to feel left out, and it will be a good experience for the others.” Iroh strokes his beard. “It might also be exactly what we need for Sectionals.”

ooooo

Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river

It’s strange, being in a wheelchair. Aang’s arms are aching, and his hands feel raw despite the gloves.

Left a good job in the city, workin' for The Man every night and day

Everyone agreed the dance was a great idea, so here they all are on a makeshift ramp in the auditorium, wheeling around to “Proud Mary”.

Big wheel keep on turnin' , proud Mary keep on burnin'

The choreography feels different when they’re all in chairs. The biggest problem is the movements they have to make to push themselves forward – Aang hadn’t realised how hard it was to do that smoothly, had never appreciated how skilled Teo was at making the chair slide instead of jerk.

Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river

They’ve gotten better with practice, though, and they have a few weeks left to perfect it for Sectionals. And the dance works well with the song – the strong rhythm fits the rougher movements of the chair, and once they managed to twirl and shake in concert the spinning wheels of the chair enhanced the performance.

Ba da pa pa pa pa pa da da yeah!

It’s definitely more taxing than their usual routines, and it will take a while for Aang’s arms to stop hurting. Still, it’s all worth it for Teo’s joyous smile as he smoothly slides and twirls and jumps, just one wheelchair among twelve.

Dear Journal,

As I write this entry, that vile glee club’s shrieking tones batter my ears. As I usually do, I have stuffed my ears with spinach and have sealed my door with baby nappies, but still that infernal racket persists. I do not know why Mary is proud, and I do not care to know.

After last week’s shameless blackmail, the ancient gnome has continued his backhanded attacks. This week he attempted to control my Cheerios by persuading the principal that I should hold open auditions to replace Mai. I, Sue Sylvester, hold open auditions? I, who have handpicked every insecure anorexic overachiever I allow into my elite club of athletes? Journal, my blood boils at the mere thought. And all of this because Iroh made some half-hearted attempt to beg for money for his wheel boy.

Ah, but Journal – I am not so easily thwarted. As I told my good friend Robert Downey Jr. before he signed with Marvel, great people like us are fated to succeed. Not only do I have many vicious plans underway to destroy that glee club, Sue Sylvester even had a trick up her sleeve this week. Sabotaging that pathetic club’s stand of underbaked muffins was laughably easy – all I had to do was tell my cheerios to spread a rumour of the glee students’ disgusting bathroom habits. The more difficult task was overcoming the ordeal of the auditions – Journal, if I see that freakishly tall boy spread his legs on the floor one more time, I will make sure he never moves again.

Ah, but Journal, it is truly in adversity that Sue Sylvester rises, like a blond phoenix out of the ashes of hate. For in that pile of open audition shit there was one gem, one gem that I, Sue Sylvester, picked and polished. Becky Jackson is everything I could have hoped for – cunning, vicious and violent. I see myself in her, Journal, and with the proper training I know she can rise to unparalleled heights. Such a cruel ally will be invaluable in my fight against the creeping curse of show tune nonsense that is the glee club.

I can smell success.

Chapter Text

Dear Iroh,

Hello old friend from an old friend! Get it? Because you’re old! I’m old! We’re all old! (ᗒ ᗨᗕ)

Thank you for the tea, it was big D delicious!! The girls loved it, it made their litter box smell like jasmin when I did my daily sniffing.

I agree with you. That Jake guy is fishy, Jillian should not have given him a rose. Only a lemur in a man suit would behave like that – you can tell by all the bananas he eats. I would expect better casting from a prestige tv show like the Bachelorette.

I have attached a beautiful picture Sushi and Nugget painted for you. Sushi is just being pretentious, but Nugget is showing some real talent for paw-art.

Your friend,

Bumi

P.S. I have accepted a student counsellor position at Wilhelm Macintyre High in Lime, Ohio – have you heard of it?

Irot puts the letter down, smiling widely. So Bumi is starting a job at McKinley High. Iroh had recommended him to Kuei a few months ago, but he hadn’t expected anything to come out of it. This is excellent news; he’ll gain a friend and ally amongst the staff, and the school will finally have a counsellor. Bumi is a bit eccentric, but he has a way with students.

Still smiling, Iroh pins the attached painting onto the fridge, placing it next to many similar artworks, all of them full of colourful paw prints and whisker smudge-lines. Bumi is right, he thinks. Nugget really does have potential.

The letter had been sent more than a month ago, and checking the date on the calendar, Iroh realises that tomorrow will be Bumi’s first day at the school. Excited, he decides to introduce his friend to the glee club as soon as he can.

ooooo

After a tearful reunion, Iroh and Bumi make their way to the choir room. They’re early, but Sokka, Katara and Aang are already there, and Sokka is showing his friends some new dance moves. He executes an expert backflip as the old men enter the room, and Bumi gasps.

“Lemur!” he shouts, pointing at Sokka.

“No, Bumi,” Iroh says fondly. “That is Sokka, one of the students in the glee club. He’s just a very talented dancer.”

Bumi narrows his eyes, moving closer to a nervous Sokka. “Talented, eh?” he asks, stroking his tufty beard. “Almost as good as my Nugget, eh?”

The students stare, confused, but Bumi just bursts out laughing, his characteristic mad cackle making the children flinch. The bell goes off while he laughs, and the rest of the students start trickling into the room, all of them staring at Bumi with wide eyes.

Iroh shakes his head fondly, taps Bumi’s shoulder to stop his laughter and waits for everyone to settle down.

“Good afternoon, dear students,” he addresses the confused choir. “Before we start the practice, I would like to introduce to you the school’s new student counsellor, and my dear friend Bumi.”

He gestures at Bumi, smiling proudly at his friend. The students stare at Bumi sceptically, and Iroh can admit that kneeling to peek below the piano was perhaps not the best way to make a first impression. And he can’t suppress a grimace when Bumi finds an old gum stuck to the bottom of the instrument and immediately shoves it into his mouth before standing up again.

“Bumi is a little… eccentric,” he tells the students placatingly. “But he is very wise in the ways of the heart and the mind.”

Bumi nods his head enthusiastically. “Always eat the hearts and minds first,” he adds happily.

The students seem speechless, and there’s an awkward moment of silence. Then Sokka clears his throat. “How do you two know each other?” he asks tentatively.

“Haha!” Bumi laughs. “All old people know each other, don’t you know that?” he asks, leaning forward to peer at Sokka with one bushy eyebrow raised.

Iroh shakes his head again, smiling. “Do not tease them, Bumi,” he tells his friend. “These young ones are not used to your sense of humour.”

Turning back to the choir, he adds, “Bumi and I belong to the same Pai Sho club – the White Lotus! He has helped me through many difficult times in my life, and I can assure you he will be an excellent counsellor, so please do approach him with all your troubles.” There are some hesitant nods at that, although most of the students are still regarding Bumi sceptically.

“In honour of our friendship, Bumi and I have prepared a song for you – a classic from our youth!”

Iroh smiles and sits down at the piano, Bumi following to stand behind him. Giving Bumi a look to make sure he knows to start, Iroh starts playing.

It’s a long long way to Ba Sing Se, But the girls in the city they look so pretty! The kiss so sweet that you really have to meet, The girls from Ba Sing Se!

Toph breaks out in enthusiastic applause as soon as the song ends, and the rest of the choir join her a few seconds later, clapping half-heartedly. Some of them look slightly horrified, but Iroh knows they’re just too young to appreciate the song. Bumi wipes a tear from his eyes as Iroh stands up, and Iroh gives his friend a pat on the back.

“So, dear students,” he says, clapping his hands once together. “Last week we decided on one of the two songs we will perform at regionals!” There’s a few whoops around the room, and Iroh smiles. “This week we must decide on the second song. Since ‘Proud Mary’ is a whole choir song, I would suggest that for the second song we choose one with a female solo.”

He makes sure to look at Zuko as he speaks the last words. They spent all weekend arguing over this choice, but in the end Zuko relented, agreeing that they could give a girl the solo as long as ‘Proud Mary’ was restructured to give him the biggest part. Iroh is glad to see that Zuko’s only reaction is to deepen his frown and glare angrily at the wall. It’s only a small step in the right direction, but one that makes Iroh’s heart sing with joy.

Everyone seems satisfied with this suggestion, so they start discussing the song choice. Iroh writes a few of the names on the board. The students will all listen to these this evening, and they can decide on a final choice tomorrow.

An hour later there are six songs on the board, but Iroh feels like there’s something missing. He’s stroking his beard and thinking when Sokka raises his hand.

“Mr. Iroh?” he asks. “I thought that since ‘Proud Mary’ is in wheelchairs, maybe we should choose a song where we can use other dance moves? I don’t think any of the ones on the board have a strong rhythm.”

Exactly! Iroh thinks, and opens his mouth to agree. Before he can say anything, Bumi stands up from his crouch in the corner and rushes forward, pointing at Sokka.

“Valerie!” Bumi shouts, stopping in front of the boy. “Valerie!”

“Umm,” Sokka says nervously. “My name is Sokka?”

Bumi shakes his head. “No, lemur,” he says. “You need to sing ‘Valerie’. Then you can do all your lemur jumps!”

Sokka’s mouth hangs open, his face red, but some of the other students exclaim happily, agreeing that “Valerie” would be a great choice. Iroh thinks so too – it’s the perfect song for Mai’s voice, and there are strong musical intervals where Sokka and Ty Lee could go to the front to do some more complex dance moves. He adds it to the board, smiling. He knew having Bumi at the school would be great.

Sokka is relieved when Bumi doesn’t join choir practice on Tuesday. Just his appearance is intimidating – hunched from old age with bushy white hair, missing teeth, and one eye always strangely closed. But with his crazed laugh and deranged jokes, Sokka really can’t see how Bumi is a school counsellor.

Granted, “Valerie” was an inspired song choice, and when they vote it’s the clear winner for Sectionals. But Sokka does not appreciate being called a lemur. Toph has been driving him mad all day, following him around and making monkey noises. Suki offered to pick the fleas off his back, and even Katara gave him a banana with his lunch.

The jokes continue all through practice, mingling with cheers when he shows Iroh the backflip again. Sokka is in a terrible mood by the end, and he stuffs his notes so roughly into his backpack that everything spills out, and he has to hang around in the room to pick up the mess.

He’s kneeling down and reaching below his chair to grab his pencil case when a black shoe pushes it towards him. Surprised, he looks up, and he feels his stomach flip when he finds Zuko’s frowning face looking down at him. Nervous, Sokka stands up and does his best to brush the dust off his t-shirt. The last thing he needs right now is for Zuko to insult him, and his hands shake nervously as he pats at his clothes.

“Thank you?” he tells Zuko tentatively.

“Umm.” Zuko shifts around and looks at the floor, obviously uncomfortable. “I, uh, wanted to ask you something.”

Sokka’s eyebrows rise. “Really?” he asks, winching at the sheer incredulity in his voice.

Zuko still isn’t looking at him. “Uh, so,” he says awkwardly. “You may have noticed that I have some trouble with the choreography this week.”

Sokka has noticed – he always notices Zuko. And it’s true that this week's choreography is hard, and Zuko fumbled most of the steps.

“You’re not too bad,” he tells the other boy placatingly. “Katara was much worse.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I can’t be ‘not too bad’”, he says roughly. He looks up at Sokka, golden eyes intense. “I need to be perfect.”

For a moment Sokka is frozen, pinned in place by Zuko’s golden gaze. Zuko must take his silence as a sign of confusion, because he continues.

“I want you to teach me how to do the choreography.”

Sokka blinks. “Me?” he asks incredulously. “You want me to teach you?”

Zuko winches at Sokka’s tone, and looks down at the floor again. “Yeah,” he says unhappily. “You’re the best, Sokka.”

Sokka knows he should say no. This is what he joined the glee club for, after all, to give Zuko a taste of his own medicine. But it turns out that all Zuko has to do is say Sokka’s name in that soft, resigned tone, and Sokka is lost.

“Yes!” he exclaims. “Oh, wait – I mean yes, I’ll teach you, not uh, yes, I’m the best.” As usual, the words keep pouring out. “Although of course I am the best, haha, the best lemur according to Bumi, so maybe I can teach you how to swallow bananas, haha.”

Zuko’s eyes widen, and Sokka realises how that must have sounded - by now he’s spent enough time learning about sexual innuendos to get it. He feels his face flush.

“Umm,” he says, voice weak. “Maybe you can forget I said that?”

Then something strange happens – Zuko smiles at him. The corners of his lips turn upwards, and his eyes twinkle. Still smiling, he gives Sokka a quick pat on the shoulder.

“Sure, Sokka,” he says, and Sokka is certain he can hear a laugh in his voice. “So you can teach me tomorrow after choir practice? The auditorium is free.”

Sokka doesn’t trust his traitorous voice, so he just nods, heart beating fast. He stares at Zuko as the boy leaves the choir room, and then pinches himself hard. It’s painful, and leaves a fading red welt on his arm. Zuko really did smile at him.

ooooo

Sokka tries not to stare, but Zuko’s muscles are flexing smoothly as he bends down to stretch. Zuko may not be a great dancer, but boy, is he flexible.

Sokka furiously shuts down any thought in that direction and turns back to his notes, trying to decide on the best approach. He’s never taught dancing, but he’s been to a lot of lessons, and he thinks he can use the same methods.

“Okay,” he tells Zuko. “How about we try the third sequence first? I’ll show you the steps, and then you can try and copy me, but don’t worry if you get it wrong.”

There’s a strange satisfaction to watching Zuko fumble through the moves. Not because he’s bad – Sokka would never enjoy watching bad dancing, not in any context. But having Zuko here in front of him, doing what Sokka tells him, nodding when Sokka reminds him not to get too frustrated; that feels good.

After watching Zuko fail a few more times – maybe one or two more than necessary – Sokka thinks he knows what the problem is.

“You’re trying to do everything at once,” he tells Zuko. “It won’t work that way – you need to concentrate on the individual parts. Just the steps, or just the arm movements.”

Zuko frowns at him. “What do you mean,” he says, annoyed. “The whole point of dancing is doing everything at once.”

Sokka shakes his head. “When you practise at home,” he asks Zuko. “What’s the first thing you do with a new choreography?”

Zuko’s eyes narrow. “I try out the whole thing slowly,” he says. “Is this a trick question?”

Sokka raises his brows, surprised. “You don’t break it down into parts first?”

“What parts? Sequences?”

“No,” Sokka shakes his head. “I mean breaking it down into parts. Like, maybe: step locations, then leg movement, then body position, then arm movements, then head position? So you can practise all of those separately?”

Zuko looks shocked. “Is that what you do?”

Sokka raises his hands into the air. “No, I just said that to be funny – that’s what everyone does! Who taught you to dance, anyways? An elephant?”

Zuko turns to look at the notes Sokka has spread out on top of the piano. “My father always wanted us to do the whole thing perfectly right away,” he mutters.

Sokka’s face heats as his annoyance fades away. He’s never heard Zuko speak about his father before, but it’s common knowledge that Ozai is the director of Vocal Adrenaline. “Well,” Sokka says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “Your father’s not here now, right? So how about we try breaking the movements down?”

Fifteen minutes later, Sokka decides that he needs to break things down even more. There’s a fast part in the middle of the song where the boys need to step forward and back with their right leg leading, spin around and then do a complicated step to the side. Zuko is struggling to keep his left leg in place when he steps with his right and then keeps falling down when he tries to spin.

“O-kay,” Sokka says slowly, thinking. “Why don’t we break it down even more?”

“How?” Zuko frowns. “I’m already only doing the steps.”

Suddenly, Sokka is hit by inspiration. He quickly runs to the wings, returning with two chairs. Placing them in the middle of the stage, he sits down and motions for Zuko to join him.

“We’re going to take the balancing component out of it,” he tells a frowning Zuko. “On the chair you can just try moving your feet to the right location, and we’ll do it until it feels natural.”

Zuko’s face lights up, and he sits down next to Sokka. “So like in Footloose,” he says.

Sokka is so surprised he almost falls out of his chair. “You like Footloose?” he asks, voice high pitched with amazement.

Zuko turns to look at him, frowning. “It’s a good movie.”

Sokka really shouldn’t be so shocked, but it’s hard to imagine Zuko liking anything, much less a cheesy 80s movie.

“I know,” he says. “It’s my favourite movie.” Sokka really does love Footloose – he can admit now that that’s partly because Kevin Bacon is hot. But it is mostly because of the dancing, and the fact that the movie understands that dance is freedom.

Zuko nods. “I like that sort of movie,” he says evenly. “The 80s was a good time for film.”

Sokka nearly does a double take again. Zuko not only likes cheesy movies, but he has opinions on the best decade for film?

“Yeah,” he agrees enthusiastically. “They had a lot of creative freedom at that time, right? Like, it’s crazy how many classics are from the 80s: Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Back to the Future, Ghostbusters, Die Hard.” Zuko is nodding along to all the films he names, and Sokka can barely think over the furious beating of his heart. “Yeah! And then, umm, there’s weirder movies, like The Princess Bride or E.T.”

Zuko nods again. “My favourite from that time is Labyrinth,” he adds.

Sokka shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of that film.”

“Really?” Zuko asks, eyes widening. “It’s this crazy kids movie where a teenage girl messes up and her brother gets stolen by the Goblin King, so she had to go through a labyrinth to fix her mistake.”

Sokka just frowns, confused. “No–,” Zuko continues. “It’s iconic – David Bowie plays the Goblin King and he looks amazing and has all these great songs. Wait–,” he adds, getting his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll show you ‘Magic Dance’.”

You remind me of the babe (What babe?)

David Bowie’s smooth tones fill the air and Zuko closes his eyes, head nodding along to the music. Sokka can only stare at the other boy, transfixed. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Zuko get this excited about anything. The boy is smiling and mouthing along to the words, and he’s beautiful, the beam from the stage lights a halo around his short-cropped dark hair. Sokka’s throat is dry, and he has a strong urge to lean forward and touch.

Luckily, before he can do anything stupid Zuko opens his eyes and pauses the song, the smile lingering on his lips. “So?” he asks, his voice soft.

“It’s beautiful,” Sokka says without thinking.

Zuko just nods, eyes wide and shining. “It’s a really underrated song. And that movie’s whole soundtrack is great, you should watch it.”

“I will,” Sokka says quietly, his heart thumping loudly in his ears.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Then Zuko’s phone pings with a text message, and Sokka jumps. The tension in the air disappears, and when Zuko looks up from his phone again Sokka suggests they get back to practising the dance.

Zuko feels strange. There’s a lightness in his chest he’s not used to, and he’s laughed twice in the last hour.

Sokka is a really great dance teacher. He seems to have endless patience, and when one explanation doesn’t work he just moves on to the next one, trying every angle until he finds the one that fits. Zuko feels like he’s learnt more about dancing in one afternoon than he has in years, and he’s itching to get back to the basement at home and try breaking down all the dances he’s been working on. Maybe this method will finally give him the edge he needs.

Something changed between him and Sokka after they listened to “Magic Dance” together. Maybe it’s because Zuko doesn’t usually share things that are important to him. Maybe it’s because Sokka just took it all in his stride, complimenting the song and not asking too many questions. Maybe it’s just doing something fun together, dancing and laughing and talking about music.

The only problem is that all of this makes Sokka a bit distracting. It’s not just his personality – it’s also quite nice looking at him. He always wears these deep-V blue t-shirts that bring out his eyes, and today he has a white shell necklace around his throat. Together with the sharp lines of his undercut, it makes his face look angular and interesting. Zuko keeps glancing at that necklace and then turning away, embarrassed.

And on top of all of that, when Sokka makes his terrible jokes and laughs at his own cleverness, his whole face scrunches up. It’s annoyingly endearing, and Zuko really can’t afford to be this distracted.

Sokka is still talking as they walk down they pack up and walk out of the auditorium

“You know,” he says. “I think one of the things I like most about that training montage from Footloose is that it actually shows how Willard slowly gets better, including all the intermediate steps. You don’t get that a lot with training montages.”

Annoyingly, Zuko finds himself nodding along again. He can’t help it, not when Sokka brings up topics he’s actually interested in. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I love Mulan, but I’m always annoyed at how in ‘I’ll Make a Man out of You’ she’s terrible until she climbs the pole, and then suddenly she’s the best. Like climbing one pole is not going to make you a top soldier.”

He stops at the top of the stairs, noticing that Sokka has stopped a few steps back. Turning around, he finds the other boy staring at him, eyes wide. “You love Mulan?”

Zuko looks down at his shoes and feels his face flushing. The urge to be mean is strong – his instinct is to defend himself with insults. But Mulan was one of his mother’s favourite movies, and he’s not going to be ashamed of her, no matter what anyone says.

“I just… really like the scene at the end when she brings her dad the sword,” he says, embarrassed by how childish that sounds. He suddenly feels even more exposed, as if some protective layer has been peeled off of his skin. On edge, he looks up at Sokka, frowning. “Got a problem with that?” he asks angrily.

Sokka takes a step backwards, hands raised placatingly. “No, no, buddy,” he says quickly. Letting his hands drop, he cocks his head to the side. “I like that scene too.” Zuko relaxes slightly, the urge to hit someone subsiding.

“My dad is also an asshole sometimes, you know,” Sokka adds quietly, and Zuko tenses up again.

“My father loves me,” he tells Sokka angrily.

The boy just frowns at him, confused. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “My dad loves me too. I just meant that it’s hard sometimes, having fathers. Even when they love you,” he adds.

Zuko calms down again, and reaches up to rub his eyes, his fingernails scratching the tough skin of his scar. “Yeah,” he tells Sokka, and turns to leave the auditorium.

As they walk out of the door, Sokka makes a comment about how much he loves Mushu, and they start talking about movies again, moving from Disney back to 80s movies and then to dance scenes in films. By the time they reach their cars, Zuko feels light again, and he even gives Sokka a small wave when they go their separate ways.

ooooo

Well sometimes I go out by myself, and I look across the water

Mai’s clear mezzo-soprano rings out into the auditorium. Before last week, Zuko didn’t even know Mai could sing this well – he doesn’t know much about her, really. She “broke up” with him last week, but the truth is that even before that he usually forgot that she was supposed to be his girlfriend. It’s incredible that people bought it for so long. Not that he cares. He’s not ashamed of his sexuality, he just doesn’t have any time to spare for boys.

And I think of all the things, what you're doing, and in my head I paint a picture

As Sokka moves to the front of the stage, Zuko’s eyes are drawn to him. His dancing is incredible, smooth and natural and wonderful to watch. Zuko has to force his attention back to his own steps, left front right right spin, but even the rhythm of his own movement reminds him of Sokka.

'Cause since I've come on home, well, my body's been a mess

It’s been a long time since Zuko has really thought about anyone else, much less liked someone. He knows he’s gay because he likes male characters in fiction – he had a huge childhood crush on the Goblin King, for example. But real-life boys always seem a bit too real, and interacting with them puts him on edge. He can appreciate a good looking person, but he doesn’t think he’s had a crush on anyone since he kissed one of his classmates in seventh grade.

And I've missed your ginger hair, and the way you like to dress

As they go into the chorus, the whole choir joining in, Sokka and Ty Lee start dancing in earnest at the front of the stage. They spin, bend, jump, kick and flip each other. At some point Ty Lee jumps at Sokka, and he catches her and spins her around. Then Sokka does an incredible backflip up from the ground, and Zuko almost stumbles, his stomach flipping over at the beauty in the other boy’s movement.

Won't you come on over, stop making a fool out of me

Although Iroh managed to convince him that it was important to give Mai the solo, Zuko was ready to hate the song, ready to hate any song where he’s relegated to singing back-up lyrics and stumbling through the choreography. But Sokka’s lessons have paid off, and although he still has to concentrate Zuko feels like he’s moving with the music, almost as if his heart is beating in time to the rhythm. They’ll have to practise this song many more times in the next two weeks, but Zuko finds he doesn’t mind – not if it means more lessons with Sokka, more chances to see the boy flip and twist through the air as though gravity doesn’t apply to him.

Why don't you come on over, Valerie?

When the song ends everyone cheers, certain they can win Sectionals with this dance. Iroh is clapping and smiling from the seats, Bumi whooping beside him, bits of carrot flying out of his mouth from his latest snack.

Most of the students go over to congratulate Mai, and Zuko is content to hang back and enjoy the rare feeling of hope that fills his chest. There’s no way his father will be there at Sectionals, but he watches all of the other local Regionals competitions. Right now, Zuko feels like singing with the New Directions might just be enough to impress Ozai.

Someone claps a hand on his shoulder, and Zuko turns to look into Sokka’s bright blue eyes. For a moment all he can do is stare, images of Sokka’s graceful dancing filling his mind.

Then Sokka coughs awkwardly, and speaks, a smile in his eyes. “You managed to do the dance!”

Zuko feels a smile curling the corners of his own lips upwards. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

Sokka shakes his head, raising his hand off Zuko’s shoulder to rub the back of his head. Then he points at Bumi, who has finished the carrot and has now taken out a lettuce leaf and is munching on it with his mouth open.

“Bumi was eating vegetables the whole time,” he says, bending to whisper in Zuko’s ear. “He must have really liked the moo–sic. Get it? Because he’s like a cow?”

Zuko can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips, and Sokka, encouraged, continues.

“He liked the fact that we never miss a beet!”

“I really managed to spin-ach Ty Lee at the end!”

“At this rate, Bumi won’t lett-us leaf!”

By the end, Zuko is clutching his stomach, bent down over his arms and crying with laughter. Maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of the jokes, or Sokka’s joy in telling them, but each pun just makes him laugh harder. When he looks up through his tear-filled eyes, he finds the rest of the choir staring at them, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. But Zuko doesn’t care, because Sokka is also laughing, hitting Zuko on the back and wiping his own eyes with his sleeve.

Shit, Zuko thinks. I have a crush on Sokka.

Dear Journal,

Today, as I walked down this awful school’s hallways I smelt the sweetest of smells – failure. No, it was not the pungent aroma of the uglies and fatties that plague these halls, nor was it the stick of that pathetic new counsellor Iroh has foisted upon us. No, Journal – I was smelling the imminent failure of a certain glee club.

But Sue, you may ask. Doesn’t Iroh have a video he can blackmail you with? But ah, Journal, there is something you’re forgetting, one component necessary to every blackmail – the blackmailer has to know that I am the one causing him harm.

So, devious as always, I continue my work in secret. My invaluable ally in this effort is my new assistant, Becky Jackson. Just last week, Becky was able to overhear a conversation between the two walking corpses that now haunt our halls, Iroh and Bumi. The cunning girl thus brought me crucial information: the planned Sectionals set list of the New Directions.

And Journal – Sue Sylvester was not named fastest woman cheerleading coach in Ohio for nothing. My plan is already under way. This weekend I met with the directors of the other two Sectionals choirs, June from the Jane Addams Academy, and Ogodei of the Rough Rhinos from Thurston High. June took some convincing, but in the end they were both susceptible to Sue Sylvester’s wiles, and agreed to split the New Directions set list between them.

Oh, Journal, how sweet victory tastes! I am engorged with venom, and triumph. I can already imagine Iroh’s face when his students flounder, lost without their precious songs to sing. De-licious.

Chapter Text

Sue doesn’t knock before coming into Iroh’s office.

“Nice little place you got here, buddy,” she tells him, planting her arms on his table and looming over him. “You could almost fit a small family of mice in this shoe box. As long as they agree not to fight with the little elves that live in your beard,” she winks at him.

“You appear to be in a good mood today, Sue,” Iroh tells her carefully. “Any reason in particular?”

“No, no,” Sue tells him dismissively, standing up and stretching widely. “You know, for me, success is just like Herpes. You try to get rid of it but it just keeps coming. Sue Sylvester has hourly flair ups of burning, itchy, highly contagious talent!”

Iroh just cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I hope you know better than to try and sabotage the glee club again, Sue,” he tells her. “I still have that video of your confession.”

Sue’s eyes widen with innocence. “Of course not, Iroh,” she says. “I’ve decided to leave you glee kids alone to sing all that nonsense about how awesome it is to be alive, or ugly, or whatever the point is you guys are always trying to make. I just want to wish you good luck for next week.” She gives him a sharp, predatory grin.

Iroh narrows his eyes. “What have you done, Sue?”

“Me, nothing!” Sue says happily, turning back towards the hallway. At the door, she looks back above her shoulder and adds, “although, next time you discuss your set list with your mummified friend you might want to do it somewhere more private.” She gives him another wink, and leaves.

Iroh sighs and rests his head in his hands. That final sentence implies that Sue did something with the set list, probably handing it over to the other choir directors. But that could easily be a misdirection – it costs Sue nothing to confuse him.

The problem is that the blackmail material he has on Sue is not that good. Iroh is pretty sure that if he takes the video to anyone but Kuei, the scandal will turn the principal against the glee club. But if he takes it to Kuei the principal is just as likely to cover it up as he is to punish Sue – a few spoken lines about sedation might not be enough to stop a scandal if Sue publishes whatever photo she has of the principal.

So Sue might be cooperating, or she might not. The only way to know is to wait for Sectionals, and by then it could be too late.

Iroh huffs in frustration, and takes out the Pai Sho set he keeps below his desk. He and Bumi have been playing regularly in the past week. He moves the pieces around the board, thinking of strategy and patience.

The best thing, he decides, would be to visit the other directors and hear from them directly.

“I suspect the McKinley cheerleading coach has passed along our set list for sectionals to you.”

June swallows, working to keep her face calm. Iroh seems perceptive, but you can’t work at the Jane Addams Academy for long without developing nerves of steel. She narrows her eyes.

“What kind of messed up school are you people running?” she asks, putting some genuine indignation into her voice. “You think that because our students are thieves and arsonists, that we're cheaters, too?”

“No, no, not at all,” Iroh reassures her. “I have great respect for your students. It is Sue that I do not trust.”

That is perceptive of the old man, June thinks. Her finger taps nervously against the top drawer in her desk, but she manages to steer her thoughts away from the piece of paper sitting in it.

“Do you know that we don't have costumes?” she asks Iroh, hoping to divert the discussion in a different direction. “Or even an auditorium? Our show choir has to practise out in the rec yard.” June breathes in sharply, thinking of the many hardships her girls face. She leans forward. “This is Ohio. We have weather.”

“My dear,” Iroh answers, raising his hands placatingly. “You do not have to tell me about underfunding for the arts.”

You know nothing, old man, June thinks.

“Look, all I know is that our choir seems to be the only thing that keeps my girls from recidivism,” she tells him. “It makes them feel good about themselves.”

That was the truth, but now come the lies. “I'm not going to cheat and risk that just so we can get a leg up on your school of privileged misfits. Especially since we already beat your ass at Invitationals,” she adds, smiling.

Later, watching Iroh’s back as the old man heads to his car, June sighs, guilt roiling in her gut. She doesn’t want to cheat, doesn’t want to do anything unfair. But what can you do when the game is already unfair, when the odds are stacked against you from the start? All she’s trying to do is give her girls a fighting chance in a world that actively works to put them down.

Humming to himself distractedly, Iroh cracks open his bento box. Today the container is packed with yesterday’s leftover Tonkatsu, lying in neat brown rows next to the shredded cabbage and rice. Iroh is slowly twisting the cap off his tiny bottle of sauce when Zhao sits down in front of him with a grunt, dropping his own lunch box on the table.

Iroh nods at his friend but doesn’t speak as he takes out his chopsticks, his thoughts taken up with Sue and the set list.

“You’re unusually quiet, Iroh,” Zhao tells him gruffly. “Nothing to chatter about today?”

Iroh looks up. “I apologise, my friend!” he tells the football coach. “I have a lot on my mind this week.”

“Something wrong at home?” Zhao asks, frowning. “Zuko seems to be doing pretty well, at least where football is concerned.”

“No, no,” Iroh shakes his head, smiling. “Things are well between me and my nephew.” He drips the sauce onto the Tonkatsu, careful to cover all the slices evenly. “I am simply preoccupied with Sue’s latest scheme.”

Zhao’s eyes narrow. “That bitch.” Iroh winches at the word. “It’s not enough she takes away all our funding and bleeds the football team to death,” Zhao continues. “She has to go behind our back too?”

Iroh nods, glad for the support despite Zhao’s tone. “I worry that she may have leaked my Sectionals set list to the directors of our competing choirs. It is only a suspicion, and it is more likely that she is hoping I will panic and change the songs at the last minute, letting my students perform underprepared.” He sighs, despondent, and picks up some rice. “All I can do is appeal to the other directors’ conscience, and hope for the best.”

“No!” Zhao’s fist lands on the table with a bang, and some of the rice from Iroh’s chopsticks scatters to the floor. “You can’t just hope these people will play fair, Iroh,” Zhao tells him. “Most people are not honourable like you, you can’t rely on that! You have to strike back, now.”

“What do you propose, my friend?” he asks Zhao, eyes narrowed. In truth, the idea of a preemptive strike appeals to him – offence is the best defence, after all.

Zhao smiles. “One of those choirs is from the Jane Addams Academy, right?” he asks. Iroh nods. “Leave it to me,” Zhao continues.

Iroh frowns. “But what will you do?” he asks. “I do not want to do anything wrong, per se…”

Zhao flaps his hand at him. “Don’t you worry about right or wrong,” he says. “I’m just going to give you a little advantage, that’s all. To compensate for the leaked set list. It’s normal to do this sort of thing in show choir competitions, isn’t it?”

There’s a little thread of uncertainty twisting in Iroh’s belly, but Zhao is right – underhand tactics are normal in the world of show choirs. When he directed Vocal Adrenaline they had always performed for the opposing team the weak before big competitions to make them lose their nerve, and Iroh hadn’t been above poaching students from other schools using Carmel High’s extensive budget. But he’d hoped that things would be different at Mckinley.

“I would prefer not to harm anyone, though,” he tells Zhao uncertainly.

“Look,” Zhao leans forward and looks him in the eye. “For some reason I can’t comprehend, you care about these kids, right?” Iroh nods. “Winning Sectionals would change their pathetic little lives, and you’re not going to do that by playing fair.” Zhao shakes his head. “Do you not want your kids to win?”

Iroh thinks of his students, wide-eyed and hopeful. Losing would mean the end of the glee club, the end of the little community he’s built. He can’t face it. He might not like it, but at the end of the day, if you don’t play dirty you’re not in the game.

“All right.” Zhao grins. The coach stands up to leave, clapping Iroh on the shoulder, and Iroh feels another twinge of guilt. “Just nothing too bad, yes?” he asks Zhao.

“Don’t you worry,” Zhao tells him happily. “I know just the thing.”

Coach Zhao tells Jet to hang around after practice, and the boy does, waving his friends away and walking slowly to the front of the locker room. Zhao is sitting on the main bench, hands on his knees and eyes intent on Jet.

“You mom used to clean at the Jane Addams Academy, right?” the coach asks.

Jet nods. When he’d started playing football a few years ago, Coach Zhao hadn’t been happy about Jet working so many hours during the week. He’d needed to explain his mother’s work and health problems to justify a change in the football training schedule.

“Does she still have the keys to the place?” Zhao continues.

Jet frowns. “I think so,” he says tentatively. His mother mostly worked on an hourly basis, so many of her workplaces left their keys with her for emergencies. He closes his eyes, imagining his mother’s bunch of keys hanging in John’s annoyingly pristine hallway. Yes, there, next to the beaded keychain he made her in third grade, there’s the large square key of the Academy. “Yes,” he tells Zhao, opening his eyes.

The coach grins, his teeth bared. “Great,” he says happily, standing up and walking towards his office. Jet follows him, curious. Zhao heads towards the old file cabinet, but instead of opening a drawer he crouches down and rummages beneath the bottom. Jet stares as the coach stands up, a large plastic bag full of green clumps held in his hand. “Is that weed?”

Zhao just smiles. “I need you to steal your mother’s academy key,” he tells Jet, amber eyes shining dangerously. “And then I need you to pose as a cleaner and plant this,” he shakes the bag, “in a few girls’ lockers. I know you helped your mother there a few times, so hopefully no one will get suspicious. I’ll give you a list of girls.”

Jet stares at the coach, eyes wide. Plant weed? In a school that is essentially a juvenile detention centre?

“But if a teacher finds that weed those girls will be punished!” he says, voice weak with shock.

“Don’t tell me you’re just another sissy,” the coach tells him, frowning. “Why do you think we’re planting weed? Girls in solitary can’t sing in show choir competitions.”

The insult stings, but Jet barely notices. Zhao is doing this for the glee club?

“Does Iroh know you want to get our competition shut in solitary?” he asks, suspicious.

Zhao’s eyes narrow. “What Iroh doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he tells Jet. “I need to undermine Sue, Iroh needs to weaken his competition – it’s a win-win. So don't you dare tell him,” he adds, pointing at Jet, the bag clutches tightly in his fist.

Jet swallows nervously. He would like to win Sectionals, even if he hasn’t been getting on with the rest of the club lately. But he can’t stop thinking of the time he helped his mother clean the solitary corridors at the academy. Tiny, bare, windowless rooms, with scratches on the walls and scuff marks on the floor. The background noise unbearably loud, the inbuilt toilets stinking up the rooms. He can’t imagine spending an hour there, much less days or weeks.

“I’m not going to tell him because I’m not going to do it,” he tells Zhao. “It’s too extreme.”

For a moment, he feels a strange surge of joy at his own decisiveness, but it’s subsumed under a wave of fear as Zhao’s eyes light in fury. The coach leans closer, his face inches from Jet’s.

“Yes,” he spits at Jet. “You are. At least,” he adds cruelly. “If you want to stay on the football team.”

Jet’s mouth opens in shock. “You can’t do that!” he shouts. “I’m your best player!”

Zhao steps backwards, his mouth widening in a smirk. “You are also the player with the lowest grades on the team,” he tells Jet. “I’ve heard from all your teachers that your grades have dropped dangerously low in the last month. It wouldn’t be too hard to enforce the grade boundary, and be so sad my star quarterback doesn’t make the cut.”

Jet pales. He knows his grades have been bad lately. He’s just been so angry this year, and his argument with Suki in the woods only made everything worse. At least his anger at John used to be righteous and clear, but Suki muddled all that up, telling him he’s not a good person. What right did she have to say something like that? What do grades matter when everyone is out to get him – he can’t even trust his friends any more, not after they betrayed him over the chemistry lab incident. But it seems that now the neglect has come back to bite him.

He can’t give up being a quarterback, he just can’t. He needs the opportunity to get a college scholarship, of course, but it’s not just that. Being a quarterback defines everything about him. It’s the reason he’s king of the school, the reason everyone looks up to him. If he’s kicked out of the football team because of his grades, he’ll plummet to the bottom of the school hierarchy in a second. On top of everything, that might just break him.

“Okay,” he tells Zhao, resigned. “Give me the damn weed.” Guilt twists his stomach.

Zhao hands him the bag, smiling. “Knew you’d do it,” he tells Jet. “Now get out!” he adds, pointing at the door.

ooooo

“Quite a dark cloud hanging over you, young man, hmmm?”

Jet looks up. He’s sitting on the bleachers, bent over his knees, sandwich in hand. He couldn’t sleep last night, his dreams haunted by windowless rooms and laughing faces. It was easy to steal his mother’s academy key this morning, but now it sits in his pocket, a treacherous weight he can’t forget. The weed is buried deep in his backpack, but he keeps thinking he can hear it rustling, taunting him with its presence.

“Did you leave your sun at home?”

Jet frowns at Bumi. The old man is standing on the field below him, looking up at Jet with one eye half shut.

“None of your business,” he tells Bumi angrily.

Bumi grins at him. “Ah, but it is! My job is to keep busy helping students, you need help,” Bumi starts counting off his fingers, “and thus helping you is very much-ness my busy-ness!” Jet stares at him. “So, what is the problem, boy-o?”

“I’m not going to tell you!” Jets says. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hmmm. Then isn’t it lucky you’re not a talker?” Bumi asks, pointing his long, gnarly finger at Jet. “You’re a singer! Ahahaha!”

Jet groans, lowering his head into his hands. The old man is crazy.

“Heed what I say, young man!” Bumi tells him. “Use your voice! Sing about it! You might find that the sun starts peeking out of those dark clouds, hmmm?”

By the time Jet raises his head Bumi is gone, his hunched form disappearing into the distant school doors. Sighing, Jet stands up and follows him. He can’t afford to be late for lessons, not when his grades are being used to blackmail him.

ooooo

After glee club practice, Jet tells Ty Lee to go ahead, and waits for everyone else to leave the auditorium stage. Bumi’s advice still seems stupid to him, but he can’t think of anything else to do, not when the best night to sneak into the Jane Addams Academy would be tonight.

He puts the key into his backpack and leaves the bag on top of the piano, walking alone into the circle of light at the centre of the stage. Sighing, he turns on the music, letting his body sway as the upbeat instrumental section plays.

Welcome to your life, there's no turning back

It had taken him ages to choose a song. He didn’t even know what he wanted to sing about, since all he could think about is how unfair everything is. But this song by Tears for Fears was something his mother listened to sometimes on the radio, and it spoke to him, somehow, if only on a literal level. After all, that is what he wants: to stay popular, to stay king of the school.

Acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature… everybody wants to rule the world

As he sings, he wonders if the song is too upbeat for his feelings. If anything, the rhythm seems to mirror the way his life used to be, how everything used to be so clear. Take care of your mother, rise up the school hierarchy, date girls and play football. A year ago, he never doubted any of that for a moment.

It's my own design, it's my own remorse

There’s a sad undercurrent to the words, though, and in his voice they sound raw, maybe even desperate. He thinks of his mother moving in with John, how easily he was set aside. He feels like he’s been coasting on empty for a year, playing his part and getting angrier and angrier under the surface.

Help me to decide, help me make the most, of freedom and of pleasure

He tries to focus back on the song – maybe the upbeat rhythm will spur him to action, help him be strong and just plant the weed. But the word freedom reminds him of those tiny, windowless rooms, and he thinks of exchanging others’ freedom for his own pleasure.

Nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world

He starts moving from side to side, singing louder and swaying to the music. Why couldn’t things last forever? Was it wrong to want to be popular? He still remembers starting elementary school, the other students making fun of his second-hand clothes, of his having to walk alone to school, looking down on him for not being able to buy the latest toy or gadget. He remembers saying no to invitations because he had to work, staying at home during school trips because there was no money. At first, it had been enough to have his mom beside him, to make her laugh and lighten her load. But then he got tall, and strong, and handsome. He joined the football team, met Pipsqueak and Sneers, and then Smellerbee and Longshot. Realised that the only way to avoid bullying is to be the bully yourself, to rise to the top and to do whatever you need to to stay there. Was it wrong to want to be safe?

He closes his eyes, trying to lose himself in the instrumental section that divides the song in half. He can still hear Suki’s voice though, angrily answering his questions. Jet is not a good person.

I can't stand this indecision, married with a lack of vision, everybody wants to rule the world

He shouts the next words, eyes opening, angry at the choice in front of him. If he plants the weed, Suki will be right. But if he doesn’t, he’ll become nobody, he’ll lose the safety that comes with popularity.

All for freedom and for pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world

He’s almost begging as he finishes the song. Is it that wrong to go after things that make him feel safe? To get what he wants? To stop things from changing?

Bumi said that singing would help, and Jet had hoped the song would give him strength, would help him make the right choice. The guitar solo at the end of the song is fast and powerful, but Jet just stands there, feeling empty. There’s a bitter taste in his throat, and he feels the corners of his mouth drooping, his jaw muscles clenching.

The music ends with a click, and Jet drops down to the stage, curling up over himself, hiding his head between his knees. There’s only one question swirling around in his mind: is he a good person? He feels like the song has peeled all the confident, happy layers off of him, and left him what he really is. A scared and lonely child.

The loneliness feels like an answer in itself. All he wants is someone to help him, but of course he has no-one, and it’s all his fault. He pushed John away and alienated his mother with his anger. He ordered his friends around and screamed at them for betraying him. He took what he wanted and never thought of anyone else. What is the point of all of this? He’s just ended up right where he started, as alone as he’d been ten years ago, crying in the elementary school bathroom, the toilet water dripping off his hair.

There are two paths before him: plant the weed and continue on as before, or tell Iroh and try to change.

He’s just starting to run a hand through his hair in frustration when he hears something drop up on the auditorium steps, and looks up to meet Ty Lee’s wide, red-rimmed eyes.

After waiting for half an hour in the car, Ty Lee walks back to the auditorium, annoyed. It’s not as if she’s desperate to spend more time with Jet, but the least he could do is remember their date night.

She stops at the door of the auditorium, stunned. Jet is singing, swaying, his deep voice resonant with emotion.

Everybody wants to rule the world

Ty Lee didn’t know Jet could even feel emotions, much less imbue a cheerful beat with such a strong undercurrent of anger and desperation. Her feet start tapping along to the rhythm, but it feels like every word is piercing her heart.

There's a room where the light won't find you, holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

Ty Lee has no idea what Jet is singing about, but at the same time she knows. It takes two to keep up a superficial relationship, and there’s always been a quiet understanding between them, a quid-pro-quo of highschool popularity.

Say that you'll never never never never need it

Somehow the sight of Jet shakes something in her. The boy is standing alone on the stage, singing to an empty room, obviously unhappy. Ty Lee hadn’t realised how much she relies on Jet being his usual asshole self, always smirking or frowning, confident even when he’s panting above her in bed. Because if he’s also human, if he’s also suffering, then what is the point of any of it? What are they even doing? Fighting to stay at the top just so they can play-act being happy with each other?

A wave of sadness overwhelms her, and suddenly she wants to hide, to bury her head between her knees, to do anything to escape this feeling. She drifts down the stairs unconsciously, her eyes wet and her hands clenched at her sides.

All for freedom and for pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world

Jet’s words wrench at Ty Lee’s heart, and she watches, shocked, as he crumples down onto the stage.

He looks so small and lonely, kneeling there. It makes Ty Lee more aware of her own surroundings, of the tall, dark ceiling and rows of empty chairs around her. For a moment, she’s desperate for someone to hold her, to comfort her. No, not someone – Mai. The one person who sees her for who she really is.

Hesitant to approach Jet, she starts looking around in her bag for a tissue, hoping to wipe her eyes and nose and leave as quietly as possible. But as she fumbles through her many nick-nacks, she dislodges her pencil case, and the pens drop down to the floor with a bang.

As she bends to pick up the pens, she looks up, and meets Jet’s shocked black eyes. For a moment, they just stare at each other, each of them caught in their own emotions. Finally, Ty Lee decides that she has to say something.

“Thank you,” she says loudly, hoping her tear-roughed voice reaches down to the stage. “That song…” she shakes her head. “I’m not sure what you were feeling, but it was as if your aura spread over the entire room. It helped me.”

Jet just frowns at her. He seems too drained to say anything, sliding down further onto the stage so that his legs are splayed out in front of him.

Tentatively, Ty Lee steps down the stairs, walking around the front row of seats to stop in front of Jet.

“Jet…” she starts again, awkward. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he rasps at her, his voice hoarse. “Go away, Ty Lee,” he adds, looking to the side.

Ty Lee’s heart breaks. “Well, I’m not okay,” she gives a small laugh, gesturing at her own tear-stained face. “I…” she starts, and then stops, taking a deep breath. “Can I help?”

“What could you do?” Jet asks, shaking his head.

“I haven’t been the best girlfriend,” Ty Lee answers with a sad smile. “My chakras have been misaligned for months now… And Jet, I think,” she tries to gather her thoughts. “I don’t think we should be together, I think we’re bad for each other. But it does sound like we’re in a similar place in terms of ugh, being popular, but that somehow not making us happy?” the look of deep pain that crosses Jet’s face urges her to continue. “So I think that after everything, maybe we’re friends? So I want to help you, if I can.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Jet leans forward and asks her, “Do you think I’m a good person?”

Ty Lee blinks, surprised. She’s never thought of Jet as good or bad – he’s just there, like a paper cutout of a popular high school quarterback.

“I…” she tries to think through it. “I don’t think I’m the best person to ask, Jet. I don’t know what you’ve done, but I think if you’re not a good person, then neither am I.” Ty Lee takes a deep breath. She feels like she’s seeing things from a different perspective now, and none of her old choices make sense any more. “But I want to be better,” she adds.

Jet frowns, and then nods. “I want to be better too, I think,” he tells her. “But I don’t know how!” he adds desperately, throwing his body back onto the stage. “I thought I was a good person – I mean, everybody loves me, don't they?”

“Well, everybody definitely loves me,” Ty Lee tells him. “And I know I’ve hurt a lot of people. I’ve been spying for Sue since I joined the glee club.”

Jet raises his head up from the stage and gives her a look. “I think that was pretty obvious, Ty-Ty.”

“Well, it’s still bad karma,” she tells him, annoyed. “And don’t call me that, only Mai can call me that!”

Something of her emotions must have shown on her face, because Jet pushes himself back to a sitting position, eyebrows raised.

“Mai?” he asks her.

Ty Lee blushes. She still doesn’t know what to think about Mai. All she knows is that without Mai, the past three weeks have been miserable, colourless and empty.

“We’ve argued. It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “I’m going to stop spying for Sue, and I’m going to solve things with Mai. What do you need to do?”

Jet grimaces. “You’re not the only one running errands for teachers. Coach Zhao has asked me to plant weed in the lockers at the Jane Addams Academy so the show choir girls end up in solitary.”

Ty Lee’s mouth falls open. And she thought she was bad – this is next level evil. “You were going to do it?” she asks Jet incredulously. “That’s like hundreds of years of bad Karma!”

“No!” he shouts. “I mean, I wasn’t sure. I know it’s bad, but he threatened to throw me off the football team. I can’t not be on the football team, I just can’t. You get that, right?” he pleads. “What would you do if Sue threatened to throw you off the Cheerios?”

“I’d say it was worth it to not work for someone like her,” she tells him. Her heart beats faster at the thought of losing that position, but she thinks of Mai walking out of Sue’s office, and holds her head high.

“But I don’t want to be a loser,” Jet whines.

“Maybe Iroh can think of a way to stop you getting kicked off the team. And anyways, your friends are still going to be your friends, right? And we have the glee club now,” Ty Lee tells him, thinking of all the joy she’s found in that choir room.

“You have the glee club. I don’t think anyone in that room likes me.”

“Well maybe they’d like you better if you weren’t such an asshole all the time!” she tells Jet, temper flaring. “I know you’re a Gemini, but glee club kids aren’t going to like you just because you’re a quarterback. You have to earn their trust, and maybe not do whatever you did to Katara and Suki.”

Jet turns away, but Ty Lee swears she can see him blushing. “Katara made a bigger deal out of that than it was,” he says moodily. “And they’re all just such losers.” Ty Lee huffs, and he continues. “Okay, okay, I’ll try to be nice. And you probably think I need to tell Iroh about the weed, right?”

“Yes!” Ty Lee shouts, throwing up her hands.

“Sheesh, don’t get hysteric,” Jet tells her. Ty Lee glares at him. “I hope you’re right that he can find a way around Zhao’s threat. I’ll go tell him tomorrow!”

“Yes, you will,” she says. “And I’m coming with you.”

“Zhao asked you to do what?” Iroh asks Jet, face pale with disbelief.

“Plant weed in the lockers at the Academy,” Jet mumbles, looking down at the floor. He’s standing in front of the choir room chairs, Ty Lee by his side. Iroh had just been sorting through the leftover scores on the piano when the two had approached him after practice, radiating nervousness.

“But wouldn’t that…” Iroh starts, unwilling to finish the thought.

“Get the girls punished, yes, and probably sent to solitary,” Ty Lee tells him. “For at least a week! It’s terrible Karma, I told Jet he can’t do it,” she adds.

Jet glares at her. “I wasn’t going to do it anyway,” he says angrily. “But Zhao threatened to kick me out of the football team if I don’t,” he explains to Iroh. “My grades are bad.”

Iroh feels like the floor has dropped out beneath his feet. Zhao is unpleasant sometimes, yes, but he’s still a teacher, a high school football coach! How could he try to do such a thing to innocent girls? And do it by threatening his own student?

He sinks back against the piano behind him and lowers his face into his hands. “I knew Zhao was planning something,” he tells the students, his voice muffled. “But I was certain he would steal their scores, or put paint on their costumes. Something small.” Even these small things seem reprehensible now.

He looks up, suddenly worried what his students might think. “You have to understand,” he tells them, “that I would never allow Zhao to hurt the girls in that way. I only gave Zhao general permission to act because I suspect Sue has leaked our set list to the rival show choirs, and wanted to raise our chances while I work on a new set list.”

Jet’s eyes widen, but Ty Lee frowns. “Umm,” she mumbles.

When Iroh turns to her, she looks down, her face flushing. “I don’t think Sue has leaked our set list,” she tells him quietly. “My dear–” Iroh starts, but Ty Lee continues, voice insistent. “I know that because I’ve been spying for Sue, Mr. Iroh. Since the start of the year. I also–” she looks up at him, eyes pleading. “Mai isn’t a cheerleader any more because she stopped spying for Sue, and I just really liked being a Cheerio.” Her face sharpens in resolve. “But it’s not worth all the bad vibrations that come with spying. I’m going to tell Sue I quit.”

This new wave of information overwhelms Iroh, and he raises his hand, asking his students to give him a moment to think. Spies in his club – bad. The spies confessing – good. He can’t blame them, not if they were blackmailed by their teachers.

He now has two objectives: solve the set list issue, and get his students off the hook without them losing their sports teams. He can contemplate his own failings later.

“Well,” he says, straightening his posture and turning to Jet and Ty Lee. “Here is what we shall do. First, Ty Lee, are you sure that Sue has not leaked the set list?”

Ty Lee bites her lip for a moment, obviously thinking. “I can’t be 100% sure,” she says. “But as far as I know, I’m the only spy Sue has. And she hasn’t told me anything about a set list – she didn’t ask about the songs, or tell me to take it to the other choirs. I don’t know how she could have gotten in the first place without me.”

Iroh nods, satisfied. “And would you be amenable to continuing your spying work as a double agent? I can feed you information to give to Sue, and you will retain your cheerleading position.”

Ty Lee’s face lights up. “I can do that! I can work up some good karma that way!”

“Good,” Iroh smiles. “Your situation is more complicated, young man,” he says, turning to Jet. “But if you will give me the weed and the key to the Academy, I will confront Zhao and tell him that I found them in your bag, and that you denied any involvement. He cannot blame you then.”

It’s Jet’s turn to smile, his shoulders dropping in relief as he nods. “Thank you,” the boy says fervently.

Iroh shakes his head. “Do not thank me,” he tells Jet sadly. “I am as much at fault as Zhao.” He takes the bag and key from Jet, his hand clenching around the damning evidence. It will take all of his self control not to punch Zhao.

ooooo

The confrontation goes about as well as could be expected. Iroh, pretending to be uncertain, shows Zhao the evidence. The coach immediately confesses, certain Iroh will be on his side. Iroh controls his temper, and tells Zhao calmly that hurting students was never on the table. They fight, Zhao shouting and Iroh breathing through his rapid anger. Zhao calls Iroh a sissy and a coward, and Iroh calls him a heartless villain.

When Iroh threatens to take the weed to the principal, Zhao’s eyes narrow cruelly.

“You know, whether or not he spilled the beans, I can still kick Jet off the team, with grades that bad,” he spits at the older man.

Iroh feels a wave of rage wash over him, but he breathes in deeply and calms himself down. He hadn’t been sure before, but now he’s certain: Zhao cannot remain at this school.

“Ah,” he tells the coach. “But with Jet’s skill at the sport, your replacement will definitely keep him.”

He turns around and walks out of the locker room, Zhao’s shouts following him all the way to the principal’s office.

On Friday, the school is reeling with the news of Zhao’s suspension. Mai enjoys the first few rumours she hears, but is quickly bored by the students’ new obsession. How many times can you listen to people explain that Zhao slept with the principal’s wife? Or speculate that he was dealing drugs out of the school parking lot after hours?

In practice, Iroh explains to them that Zhao had planned to get the Jane Addams Academy choir sent to solitary. The cruelty of the truth is somehow worse than all the rumours, and no-one dares suggest this would have been a good idea, not after Iroh explains what solitary is like. The choir is so shocked that they go through the “Proud Mary” dance moves in an eerie silence for the first hour, a silence Mai relishes.

She can’t help noticing that Ty Lee keeps glancing at her, their eyes meeting as they wheel themselves around the stage. Something must have changed, because Ty Lee hasn’t looked at her in weeks, not since their argument before the mash-off. Mai isn’t sure what the change means, or if she wants things to change.

Her broken heart has not healed, and won’t for a while. But it feels like it could if she could keep her distance, a clean wound healing whole. Still, her life is woefully empty without Ty Lee, and it’s difficult to make new friends, especially when talking is hard and the not-caring beckons her. She feels like she and Toph are getting closer, but she’s not sure a joint, silent disdain for others is a good basis for a lasting friendship.

Mai knows that she’s going backwards. Without Ty Lee to take her out of her shell, she’s just sinking into herself, letting the world drift around her, faint and boring, nursing her broken heart close to her chest. The only thing that she’s interested in these days is singing, and she doesn’t know what would have happened if she didn’t have to work so much on “Valerie”. If you detach yourself from everything, can you just disappear?

Time sometimes passes quickly when Mai is bored. One moment, she’s wheeling around on stage, and the next she’s packing her “Valerie” score into her bag, alone in the auditorium. Or almost alone – when she turns around she finds herself facing Ty Lee, a worried frown pinching her old friends’ brow.

“Mai – Can we talk?”

Ty Lee’s voice is quivering in the way it does when she's nervous. Mai doesn't want to talk, not if this is another I-need-space conversation. But she can't help the sliver of hope that is growing in her chest, so she nods for Ty Lee to continue.

There's a moment of silence and then, “I’ve stopped spying for Sue.”

Mai frowns. “But you're still a cheerleader,” she says, looking at Ty Lee’s red and white uniform.

Ty Lee blushes. “Well, I haven't told Sue I’m not spying any more. Just Iroh. He says I’ve turned double agent,” she adds with a small smile, a bit of her old cheerfulness shining through.

“Why did you do it?” Mai asks, her heart fluttering wildly.

“It was wrong to do it in the first place,” Ty Lee says, and Mai nods. “I…” the other girl continues. “I realised I was making bad choices, and it wasn't making me happy. I broke up with Jet as well,” she adds, and for a moment Mai can’t breathe. “Or at least, we agreed to break up. And… I wanted to apologise to you.”

The hope in Mai’s chest is like a powerful beast now, roaring and begging to be let out. “Yeah?” she asks tentatively.

Ty Lee blushes again, nodding. “I reacted badly to… to what we talked about in the woods. I didn't ignore you because I was confused – although I was, I still am – I was angry.”

Mai winces. I still am. So this is not a confession of love.

“You lied to me, Mai,” Ty Lee continues, oblivious to Mai’s inner turmoil. “I don’t care that you’re a lesbian, I really don’t, but why didn’t you tell me? All that time you were with Zuko? You let me make a fool of myself and get angry at him for nothing!”

Mai’s gut clenches with guilt. She hadn’t even thought of that, that Ty Lee might be angry about the fake relationship. Realising she was in love with her friend and confessing her feelings… it had been overwhelming. But Ty Lee is right to be upset, and it’s even a bit relieving that she’s upset over the lies, and not anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she says earnestly. “I shouldn’t have kept it a secret from you. I just… I guess I was afraid of how it would change our friendship.” She takes a deep breath. “Because I don’t want it to change. I can’t help my… feelings. But I really meant it, when I said it didn’t change anything. I’m not a sentimental person.”

Ty Lee’s lips curl up into a small smile. “You really aren’t. Except maybe when we’re watching ‘The Secret Garden’,” she teases.

Mai feels herself blush, something only Ty Lee can draw out. “It’s a sad movie,” she mumbles.

Ty Lee just shakes her head fondly. “You see, it’s only been five minutes and already my aura is brighter!” she says, still smiling. “I miss you, Mai. I wanna be friends again.”

To Mai, those words are like a hot shower, warming her through. “Friends” is not the same as “girlfriends”, but the latter is not out of the question, it seems. And right now, “I miss you” feels like the best three words in the world.

“I miss you too,” she says quietly, a small smile on her lips. She looks up, meeting Ty Lee’s eyes, and for a moment she basks in that feeling, of being missed and needed.

Ty Lee breaks the silence. “Great!” she says cheerfully, doing a small twirl and heading off the stage. “Now that we’re friends again, you can help me with my math homework!” she says above her shoulder. “You know I don’t get how things move around in those equation thingies.”

Mai groans as she follows Ty Lee, but inside she’s dancing with joy. To her, that sounds like heaven.

Chapter Text

“Sokka–”

Iroh’s voice is breaking up on the phone, and Sokka starts walking in circles, hoping to find a better signal. The whole choir is gathered in the atrium of Oakwood Theatre Hall in Dayton, sitting around on benches and waiting for the mechanist to sign them in and get the key for their dressing room. Iroh had said that he would join a bit late because he had to “pick up something”, but as far as Sokka can tell from the fragmented sentences coming through the line, he still hasn’t left.

He steps over to the atrium door, and suddenly Iroh’s voice is clear. “–on his way, but repairs will take at least another hour or two, so I will likely not make it there before the start of your performance.” Sokka feels his body tense with nerves. “It is lucky that you are singing last, after the long break. Please tell the other young artists that I am deeply regretful I cannot be there to bolster you in the last moments, but I am sure that you will all be fantastic. You know the songs, and the mechanist will be there for any general guidance. Just a moment–” Iroh’s voice grows faint, speaking to someone away from the phone.

Sokka uses the moment to breathe and compose himself, getting over his panic, telling himself that everything is ready and they don’t need Iroh anyways. He’s already a bit on edge, because his father said he’ll try and be there to watch them, and Sokka has sort of decided this is the last chance he’s giving Hakoda. This makes the wait even more stressful than usual, but surely he’ll come if both his children are performing? No – Sokka needs to concentrate on the problem at hand. Breathe. By the time Iroh returns to the phone and says he has to go, but is everything okay? Sokka has calmed down enough to answer that yes, no problem, they’ll be fine until Iroh arrives.

The choir are not happy to hear about Iroh’s delay, but the mechanist’s return with the key breaks up their complaints before they get too heated, and the excitement of walking past the assembled crowd removes any leftover grumbles. The dressing room is just a large office, but the water bottles and snacks laid out on the table make it feel formal, and everyone excitedly takes out their costumes, disappearing one by one to change in the bathrooms.

Twenty minutes later they’re all seated in a row in the large auditorium, watching as the judge introduces the Rough Rhinos. Thirty minutes later they’re all glaring at the stage, reassuring each other that the fact that the Rhinos sang “Valerie” was just a coincidence. An hour later they all watch with despair as the Jane Addams Academy Choir performs “Proud Mary” in wheelchairs.

The moment the lights turn on, the rest of the glee club follows Sokka as he storms out of the auditorium. As they pass the mechanist in the atrium, the teacher tells them he’ll go to the judges and try to complain, but all he gets are some nods as they rush to the dressing room.

As soon as Sokka is in the room he shouts, “That was no coincidence!” and turns around to face everyone else. “They sabotaged us. If we sing those songs now it’ll look like we’re copying them – the judges won’t care what the mechanist says.”

There’s nods around the room, the choirs’ faces a mix of anger and despair. “Sue must have leaked the set list after all,” Ty Lee says, her face drawn with worry.

Immediately, the whole choir turns on her. “What do you mean, ‘after all’?” Zuko shouts at her, followed by “You leaked it, didn’t you?” from Katara.

“I didn’t!” Ty Lee shouts, the others quieting to hear her speak. “I used to spy for Sue, but I stopped!” Sokka scoffs, disbelieving, his sentiment echoed around the room. Ty Lee looks around pleadingly. “I love the glee club,” she says. “I wouldn’t sabotage our performance.”

“Then why are you still a cheerleader when Mai isn’t, huh?” Sokka asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s a double agent,” Mai says, moving to stand next to Ty Lee and hold her friend’s arm. “She really did stop spying, that's why we’re friends again.”

“Thanks Mai!” Ty Lee says happily, turning to hug her friend. Mai goes a bit red around the ears, but seems happy to stay in the embrace.

“I also knew that she’s a double agent,” Jet says grumpily, trying to dodge when Ty Lee moves over to him to ruffle his hair in thanks. “And Sue could have just gotten the set list some other way, it’s not like it’s some well-guarded secret.”

Everyone has to agree that that is reasonable, and the group’s anger is redirected towards Sue, the room filling again with shouts of anger and despair.

This is getting them nowhere, Sokka thinks. If they want to have any chance of winning, they need to get it together, but with both Iroh and the mechanist gone there’s no-one to take charge. He frantically dials Iroh’s number on his phone, warily watching the others argue. There’s no answer, of course – Iroh is probably too old and careful to use his phone while driving. Desperate, Sokka looks around the room, hoping to find someone ready to take charge, but there’s no-one. It’ll have to be him. Breathing in deeply, Sokka readies himself, his heart beating loudly.

“Everyone shut up!” he shouts. The sudden quiet is jarring, as are the eleven angry faces turning to glare at him. Sokka swallows, throat dry. “There’s no time to talk about Sue now, or about anything else. We have an hour and a half to come up with a new set list.”

Bolstered by the others’ nods, Sokka continues. “We can’t learn lyrics and come up with choreography in one hour, so we need to use songs at least some of us already know. Iroh invited the judges to our Invitationals, so we can’t do the songs from there. The best would be ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ and ‘Hello, Goodbye’, since we did those in the auditorium, or one of the mashup songs. ‘Push It’ is way too good for them,” he adds with a nervous chuckle, trying to diffuse the tense air.

Heads are nodding again, and there’s a few awkward laughs around the room. “Okay,” Sokka continues. “You all stay here, and I’ll get the band, and hopefully they’ll know at least one of those songs.” He’s already running as he finishes the sentence, barrelling out of the room and towards the back of the stage.

Five minutes later, he re-enters the dressing room with the band’s drummer, a long-haired young man with wild eyes. The students have split into small groups, and look like they’re discussing the different song options. Sokka is surprised to see Zuko talking with Toph, but maybe desperate times call for desperate allies.

“Bad news, guys,” he tells the choir when they’ve all turned towards him. “Chong here says that they can only do ‘Don’t Stop Believing’.”

“What?” Jet asks angrily. “Not even a Beatles song?”

“Nah, man,” Chong tells them happily. “We’re a rock band usually, see. We only learn that type of crap for the competitions. If you want something extra, it better be good ol’ classic rock, you know, 70s, 80s. Times when the world was still all right.”

“But the Beatles are classic rock!” Katara exclaims, mirroring Sokka’s growing annoyance. “And actually, so are the Rolling Stones!”

Chong frowns at her. “We won’t go near that England crap, little lady,” he tells Katara, the smile gone from his face. “We only play music from good ol’ mother America, like Jesus wanted.”

The choir are stunned for a moment, staring at each other incredulously, trying to imagine Jesus having a preference for American over British rock.

Sokka is just gathering the strength to argue with Chong when Zuko speaks. “How about Boston, then?” he asks. “Can you play ‘More Than a Feeling’?”

Chong’s eyes light up again, and he smiles a bit too widely. “Hot diggity! Of course we do, boy! That song makes me cry every time.”

“Great,” Zuko continues, a small smile stretching his lips. “Then get ready to play that, and the Journey song.”

“Got it,” Chong says, pointing first at Zuko and then at Sokka. “Good talking to you kids.” He turns and leaves the room, his long hair swishing around after him.

Once Chong leaves, Sokka turns back to Zuko. “What was that?”. He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice , though – he and Zuko have been getting along quite well since “Valerie”, but their friendship feels fragile, like any small mistake could snap their delicate bond.

To his surprise, it’s Toph who speaks. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, sock-boy,” she tells him happily, pointing with her cane. “I saw the song on Sparky’s playlist the other day, and we were just agreeing we could sing it together before you came back. Looks like we got lucky,” she adds, smiling widely.

That sounds… good, actually. Sokka doesn’t know that song very well, but they can probably choreograph something easily if they place Zuko and Toph at the front of the stage.

“O-kay,” he says, letting his shoulders droop with relief. “We have our songs, then!” For a moment, he meets Zuko’s gaze, and the smile in those golden eyes almost makes him lose focus. But he manages to wrangle his attention back to the rest of the room, because although he, Sokka, actually managed to organise things, everyone still looks lost and worried. They desperately need motivation.

But it seems Sokka isn’t great at motivation. Organising was easy, basically just thinking out loud, but faced with a room full of worried faces, his mind goes blank, his heart rate rising. “So! We’re… umm… we’re good! Yes!” he says, searching for words, everyone’s eyes on him. “We have… voices? Yes, we have voices, and we can dance, well, most of you can’t dance, but I can dance, and I guess Ty Lee is pretty good, and even Katara has been getting better, but she could really work on coordinating her arms and legs, and… where was I?”

Katara steps forward and gently moves Sokka aside, her hand staying on his arm. “What my brother is trying to say,” she says, her voice calm and confident. “Is that we have a special thing going for us: we believe in ourselves, and what we're singing about. If we can show the judges that… I think we have a shot at this thing.”

To Sokka’s surprise, everyone nods, smiles growing on their faces. It seems the glee club is more sentimental than he realised.

“And don’t worry if the choreography is a bit choppy,” Katara continues, her grip tightening for a moment on Sokka’s arm. “We’re best when we’re loose. If we just show the judges how much we love singing, we’re going to win.”

At that, Toph gives out a great whooping cheer, and the rest of the choir follows her, shouting and clapping. For a moment, Sokka listens to the cheers, dazed. But then Katara squeezes his arm again and he comes back to himself, mind whirring with things they still need to do.

Shooting his sister a grateful look, he steps forward again and starts shouting, assigning people into groups, listing tasks and roles. He’s still itchy with nerves, but there’s an exuberant joy filling him now, and he’s satisfied to see a room full of people working productively because of him. He’s in his element.

“So since the stage will be bigger than our living room I think we need to go back to the moves we did in September…”

Katara’s voice fades to the background as the ringing in Aang’s ears intensifies. Is it another seizure? No, Appa is behaving normally, and the ringing sounds different, more crinkly. Probably just lack of sleep, or nerves.

“Aang? Are you listening?”

Aang blinks, trying to focus on Katara. “I…” he starts. “I just need to go to the bathroom,” he says, forcing a smile as he leaves the room. In the corridor outside he walks past the mens bathroom, continuing on until he reaches the back door of the building. He’s rushing by now, unable to breath, desperate for fresh air. The moment he gets outside he sinks down against the grey concrete wall, Appa crouching down beside him.

Aang feels like he hasn’t slept for days. The closer it got to Sectionals, the more his muscles tightened with nerves, the more his gut clenched around his food, the more his mind whirred with thoughts all through the nights. He can’t stop thinking of his seizure before invitationals – without Zuko, he would have been the reason for the glee club’s failure. Iroh knows everything about his epilepsy now, but Iroh isn’t here and… well, Aang wasn’t supposed to have a solo in this performance. That has been his mantra for the past few days, you’re not important, it doesn’t matter if you have a seizure. But now…

He couldn’t say no to Sokka, not when the Journey song was their only option. And he does know the song, he does. He and Katara decided a few weeks ago that it’s “their” song, and they’ve been practising it a lot, perched on Katara’s bed or performing for Gyatso and Gran Gran in the kitchen. It’s almost an inside joke now – one of them will start humming the tune unconsciously, and the other will start singing, both of them falling apart with laughter in the supermarket milk aisle. The song is not the problem. It’s what if he has a seizure. He knows he can’t control the seizures, that they’re basically random, but the possibility taunts him – he can’t face being the reason the glee club doesn’t get to go to Regionals. And this fear of failure just adds to the underlying fear of seizures that always simmers somewhere in his chest, the worry that he’ll break something, that he’ll hurt himself, that Appa won’t be able to help.

Aang tries to breath, tries to use his usual meditation techniques. And they do help a little – as he taps his wrists, it feels like the tight vise of anxiety that has been clenching around him lets go just a bit, and he finally has space to breath. But the new space in his thoughts lets in a wave of shame, a wave of angry self-loathing. He’s the wrong person for this, for all of this, he thinks. He should have never joined the glee club. He should know better than to take on responsibilities. He wants to go back home, to go back to the monastery, to hide away from this world that keeps expecting things from him. He blinks, hot tears filling his eyes.

“Aang?”

Startled, Aang looks up, meeting Katara’s bright blue eyes with his own tear-filled gaze. His girlfriend looks worried, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

“Shit,” Katara says, kneeling down beside him. “What’s happened?”

“You need to do the song alone, Katara,” he tells her, his voice hoarse.

Katara’s eyes widen. “Are you having a seizure?” she glances at Appa. “But Appa looks fine… do you think you’re going to have one? Should I find an empty room?”

Her concern somehow only makes Aang feel worse. She should be inside practising, not out here dealing with his useless whining.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “At least not so far… there’s not really any way to know if I’ll have one. But what if I do, Katara,” he continues, his throat tight. “I’m so afraid. You can’t count on me, you can’t.” He buries his head in his arms. “You have to go back and tell Sokka you’ll do the song alone.” Appa, sensing his distress, whines softly and shuffles closer, and his warm presence by Aang’s side helps calm his frantic breaths.

“Oh, Aang…” Katara says softly. Her softness grates against his fear, and for a moment Aang considers running away, just standing up and going home. But then Appa pushes his nose into Aang’s calf, and Katara puts her hand on his arm, and Aang feels his annoyance smooth out, his wild thoughts grounded.

“I can’t imagine how scary it is that you could have a seizure at any moment,” Katara continues. “But no-one inside there expects you to be perfect – I mean, do you see any of them volunteering to sing a solo with zero preparation?” Katara’s indignation makes Aang smile a bit, his head still buried in his arms.

“It’s just a singing competition, Aang,” Katara continues, shuffling closer to sit beside him. “If you have a seizure and we only have one song today, it won’t be your fault, it will be Sue’s,” she spits the name, “for tricking us and leaking the set list.”

“It will be my fault, though,” Aang tells her petulantly, his voice muffled by his arms. “And I know it’s just a singing competition, but there’s hundreds of people in that audience, and ten people in that dressing room counting on me, personally.”

Katara sighs. “If you think about it,” she says. “Last time it all worked out in our favour in the end – who knows if Zuko would have rejoined the club without that opportunity, and we might not even have had enough singers for Sectionals.”

Aang can see at least three faults in that logic, so he just grunts. It somehow still makes him feel better, though.

Katara takes a deep breath. “But seriously, I can’t promise you you won’t have a seizure, Aang,” she tells him quietly. “I wish I could, but I can’t. But the main thing is, I don’t need to. We’re all human beings – for all you know, I could have a heart attack in a few minutes,” Aang lifts his head and looks at her incredulously. Katara smiles. “Or Zuko could have an allergic reaction, or Toph could fall down the stairs.”

Aang shakes his head – are these examples supposed to help somehow? “It’s not the same though,” he says. “I have epilepsy. You have a healthy heart, Toph has perfect coordination and Zuko isn’t even allergic to anything.”

Katara groans. “Yes, okay, maybe the probability of you having a seizure is higher. But there’s also a chance that something could happen to one of us! Where is the probability where you draw the line, where you say ‘I won’t do this thing because I might fail’?” Katara leans forward and grabs both of Aang’s hands, holding them tightly in her own. “I can’t decide for you,” she tells him. “But you can’t let fear guide you. You need to weigh the risks against the rewards. And to be honest, Aang,” she adds, frowning. “If the seizures are random, I don’t think there’s really anything at risk here, other than your own guilty feelings if you can’t sing. If we had a month to plan, it would be different. But I don’t see any point in taking yourself out of the equation now when that just ends up being the same as if you have a seizure.”

Aang stares at her for a moment, stunned. When she puts it like that… wow, he’s been an idiot. Another wave of shame threatens to overwhelm him, but he fights it back, anchoring himself in Katara’s eyes.

“I love you,” he says simply, his voice firm. Katara’s eyes widen, and her hands tighten on his. “And you’re right. We’re going to sing together, and whatever happens will happen.” He smiles at her, excitement bubbling in his belly now that he’s letting himself imagine singing with Katara on that stage.

“I…” Katara gulps. “I love you too, Aang.” Her voice is almost imperceptibly quiet, but her words still hit Aang like a hammer to the chest. His smile gets so wide that it hurts his face, and then they’re kissing, and Aang can taste his own salty tears on Katara’s soft lips.

They stay there for what feels like hours but what must only be a few minutes, Aang’s hands tightening in Katara’s tightly braided hair, their breaths mingling in the cold winter air. And then –

“Hey!”

They jump apart, and Aang looks guiltily up at Sokka. The boy is standing in the doorway, rubbing his face, obviously annoyed.

“If you’re quite done with your little makeout session, we only have twenty freaking minutes until we need to be on stage. You’ve missed the run-through for the Boston song, but you’re just a little bit necessary at your own goddam duet!” Sokka is shouting by the end, his face red. He may be good at being in charge, but it doesn’t seem to be helping his blood pressure.

“Sorry Sokka,” Aang says, standing up and brushing his black dress trousers. He turns to help Katara up. “I panicked a little.”

“Oh, yes,” Sokka says archly. “I could really see you panicking, with how you were sucking my sister’s face! I give up on you both,” he adds, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “I’m going inside, and you better follow me, or else. Oh, and by the way Katara, dad said he has an emergency at work and can’t come.”

Aang looks at Katara, but she’s just rolling her eyes. He knows she doesn’t think much of her father and wasn’t expecting him to come, but he still wants to cheer her up. “Do you think Sokka will ever stop freaking out when he sees us kiss?”

Katara laughs, bright and beautiful. “No. He’s a drama queen at heart, really,” she adds, and a giggle escapes Aang’s mouth. Smiling, they both follow Sokka back to the dressing room.

ooooo

Aang doesn’t have a seizure. He sings, walking around the stage, eyes locked on Katara. She sings, her voice so beautiful it brings tears to his eyes. They sing together, and the words gain new meaning.

Iroh closes the door of his car with a bang, rushing towards the theatre hall doors. The mechanist is waiting for him in the auditorium, and his nervous expression relaxes as soon as he sees Iroh, a relaxed smile spreading beneath his bushy moustache.

“You’re just in time, Iroh!” the mechanist tells him. “They’re already backstage, but there’s ten or so minutes until they start.”

Iroh nods, breathing out in relief. The last few hours have been difficult, his worries amplified by the discovery of the slashed tires and the mad rush to get here on time.

“Let us go to our seats, then, my friend,” he tells the mechanist, turning towards the auditorium doors. He stops in place, shocked by the sight in front of him: Sue Sylvester is standing by the doors, calmly chatting to Ogodei, the Rough Rhinos director.

The mechanist has obviously followed his line of sight. “Yes,” he says darkly, moving to stand next to Iroh. “It’s pretty clear where they got the set list from.”

Iroh’s heart misses a beat, and fear shoots through his body. “The set list?”

The mechanist frowns at him. “You don’t know…” his eyes widen behind his thick circular glasses. “Both of the other show choirs sang songs off your set list. I thought you knew, Sokka said he was going to call you,” he adds desperately.

Iroh fumbles in his coat pocket, extracting his phone and willing his shaking fingers to find the on button. Dozens of notifications fill the screen, missed calls and messages piling on top of each other. Iroh wants to smack himself in the face, guilt twisting in his chest. He should have kept his phone on, road safety be damned.

“It’s all right,” the mechanist says quickly, obviously sensing Iroh’s distress. “Well, not really all right, but not that bad,” he continues, and Iroh looks up at him, his heart beat loud in his ears.

“Tell me, my friend.”

The mechanist nods. “They talked to the band, apparently, and they’re going to sing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ and… some song about feelings? Or about a Feeling? I’m not sure. Anyways, they cobbled together some sort of choreography, and I think they already knew one of the songs?” Iroh nods, and the mechanist continues. “It’s not ideal, but I think that Sokka boy really pulled them together, and your nephew is going to be singing the new song. They all seemed to be dealing with it really well,” he adds, a small smile twitching his moustache.

Iroh feels warm pride filling his chest, and he can’t help the smile that spreads on his lips. So Sokka took charge, did he? And Zuko… the song is probably “More Than a Feeling”, if Zuko is confident enough he agreed to sing it on stage. That was Ursa’s favourite song.

Iroh still shudders at the thought of the ordeal his students must have gone through, guilt leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. But the pride helps smooth out his rougher feelings, and he breathes in deeply, thinking of what the next step would be.

“Well,” he starts saying slowly, “I do not think there is much to be done, then. The students have proven themselves admi–”

“Well, well, well.”

He turns to find Sue Sylvester standing next to them, her eyes glittering coldly and her lips stretched in a tiny smirk. For a moment, Iroh sees red, and his hands clench by his sides as he tries to contain his anger.

“Quite a little McKinley reunion,” Sue continues happily. “I myself of course despise the bear turd that passes for music in there,” she points at the auditorium doors. “But I was just in the area, so I thought I would pop in on my good friends Ogodai and June.” Her smile widens.

“What kind of a teacher are you, Sue?” Iroh asks, his voice rising in anger. “How could you leak that set list?”

Sue starts backwards, her eyes widened in mock surprise. “That is a libellous accusation,” she says, “and I insist you retract it immediately! You have no proof.”

Iroh tries to breathe, but the words still rush out of his mouth. “No proof? You told me someone overheard us talking about the set list! You were just talking with Ogodai!”

Sue raises one thin brow, and looks down at Iroh. “But other than that, you have no proof,” she says. “It's time to face facts, Iroh. In just a few minutes, your little club will have had its shot at the big time and they will have failed. Glee Club will be cancelled. And all that money Figgins has been funnelling into your budget will finally and rightfully be restored to mine.”

Iroh is still trying to control his anger. “You have crossed a line, Sue,” he tells her, his voice iron-cold. “I cannot sit idly by anymore, and I shall expose you for the fraud that you have become.”

For a second, Sue’s face contorts with emotion, but then her expression settles back into smug superiority. “Bring it on, Iroh,” she tells him. “I am reasonably confident that you will be adding revenge to the long list of things you're no good at. Right next to being a father—”

Iroh breathes in sharply, heart beating painfully. Sue continues, smirking. “—Running a high school glee club, and finding a haircut that doesn't make you look like an aged lesbian hippy.”

Iroh’s nails are digging into his palms, and his throat feels choked with rage, his breaths short and sharp. He’s on the verge of doing something, anything, when he feels a touch on his sleeve, and turns his head to look at the mechanist. At his colleague’s worried frown, Iroh’s anger cools, his desperation ebbing. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. There’s nothing left to do here, nothing to be gained from arguing with Sue.

Without another word, Iroh pushes past Sue and walks towards the auditorium doors, the mechanist following behind him. As they settle in the back row, Iroh is filled with guilt again. He can’t remember the last time he lost control of his temper like that. But Sue’s audacity, combined with an insult aimed at his most vulnerable spot… no wonder he almost exploded. Sue will go down, but he will have to let go of his anger to do it. After all, revenge is a tea best served with ice.

Zuko is going to have a hard time singing after Aang and Katara. Who knew they had it in them, and at such short notice? Zuko is certain they must have practised the song quite recently. He can admit by now that they’re both talented singers, but he’d usually describe their singing as “technically weak, but emotionally powerful.” But today… Well, they’d kept the emotional power, and somehow combined that with perfect technique. If he didn’t want to win Sectionals so bad, he would be annoyed.

The rest of the choir, of course, were not as proficient, not with only an hour's notice – luckily, Aang and Katara were the centre of attention, and at least half of them had already performed the Journey song at the start of the year. But few of them had even heard of “More than a feeling” before today, and now Zuko’s stomach clenches with nerves.

The choreography Sokka outlined is very simple, focusing on movement around the stage and a few big-impact moves. They start in a group at the centre of the stage, all of them facing away from the audience. The hair on the back of Zuko’s neck prickles when he thinks of the few hundred people watching their backs, but he breathes in and out, preparing himself for his first line. As the background vocals fade in, the choir members start turning around to face the audience, and Zuko waits for a beat, and then another. Slowly, he starts moving around the others, heading for the front of the stage.

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone, turned on some music to start my day

Zuko can’t believe he’s singing these words, singing them alone in front of so many people. As his eyes pass over the barely-visible faces, he suddenly wishes his father or Azula could be here. He’s always desperate for their attention, yes, but it’s not really that. If anything, he’s slightly glad they're not here to see this patchwork performance. No – it’s the song. Ursa’s favourite song.

I lost myself in a familiar song, I closed my eyes and I slipped away

Toph joins him for the last few words, coming forward to the front of the stage. She doesn’t know the song as well as he does, so Zuko is still singing most of it, but since the rest of the choir can’t do much more than back up the chorus they agreed that a few lines from Toph would give the performance some much-needed depth.

It's more than a feeling, when I hear that old song they used to play

Zuko’s mom loved this song. She and Ozai had met at NYADA in the 80s, Ursa just as musical and talented as her future husband. But unlike Ozai, Ursa was not ambitious – in fact, it was her income that had kept the pair afloat all the years Ozai was looking for his “big break”, Ursa playing in bars and restaurants while Ozai failed audition after audition. By the time Zuko was born, music had been relegated to the background of Ursa’s life. Ozai had a well-paying job at Carmel High, and she had children to take care of.

I begin dreaming, 'til I see Marianne walk away

As Zuko walks along the front of the stage, the rest of the choir spinning slowly behind him, he thinks of his mother. He thinks of soft, small hands brushing his hair away from his face and tucking him underneath a thick blanket. He thinks of a quiet voice humming lullabies, the fluorescent stars on the ceiling shining around his mother’s dark hair like a halo. He thinks of fresh-baked cookies, and long evenings in front of the fire. He thinks of his mother’s laugh, gentle and full of joy, how that laugh relaxed the tension in his shoulders after she found him with a broken vase at his feet. He thinks of how the smell of her rose-scented perfume tingled his nose as she placed a plaster on his arm, kissing the scratch that Azula had clawed there during one of their many fights. Most of all, he thinks of that feeling of warmth, of safety, and of love.

When I'm tired and thinking cold, I hide in my music, forget the day

“More Than a Feeling” had accompanied his mother wherever she went, whether she was whirling around the room and laughing with Zuko in her arms, or quietly knitting on the couch late at night. It even followed her to the hospital, the tinny sounds quietly playing from the tiny radio that sat on her bedside table. Visitor hours were from two to six in the afternoon, and for those last few months Zuko would go every day his father let him, sitting for hours beside his mother's bed. The Boston song would play in the background as Zuko did his homework and told his mother about his day, as he tried so hard to ignore her pale, sunken skin and her ceaseless coughs.

And dream of a girl I used to know, I closed my eyes and she slipped away

His voice almost breaks on the words. Ursa had slipped away from them. From him. Slipped away, taking with her all the colour and joy from Zuko’s life. His father hadn’t even cried at the funeral, his lip curled in disgust at Zuko’s frequent sobs. Ozai hadn’t even let Zuko put on the song at the funeral, opting for a sombre classical march that Zuko knew Ursa would have hated.

It's more than a feeling, when I hear that old song they used to play

Well, Zuko is singing the song now. There are hundreds of people in front of him, and all of them are listening to this song, listening to Zuko singing about his mother. Zuko has never felt like this about a song, has never let himself feel like this about a song. But his father isn’t here, Azula isn’t here. The whole day has been crazy, Toph seeing Boston listed on his ipod on the bus, coming over later to suggest this song. In the moment, all Zuko had thought of was that yes, he could sing this song, he could save the choir.

I begin dreaming, 'til I see Marianne walk away

But on the stage, the song grew, and spread, and filled with Zuko’s feelings. As he sings the last line and walks to stand at the left hand side of the stage with the rest of the boys, he almost feels like his mother is standing next to him, her soft hand warm on his shoulder. He just wishes someone who knew her could have heard him sing.

More than a feeling

As the audience starts clapping, Zuko moves to the front of the stage to bow with the rest of the choir. The applause is loud and enthusiastic, and Zuko should be looking at the judges, trying to gauge their opinion. Instead, his eyes scour the audience, his heart beating loudly in his chest.

When his eyes find his uncle, for a moment Zuko almost chokes, his eyes blinking against the bright stage lights. Iroh is standing at the back row, clapping loudly. Zuko forgets to bow again, watching as his uncle takes something white out of his pocket and wipes his face. As the choir leaves the stage, Zuko’s eyes feel wet, and he swallows around the lump in his throat.

Before he can decide what to do about his emotions, a shout startles him, and he finds himself at the centre of a pile of other students, all hugging each other and shouting. He should be annoyed, he knows, but all he can do is laugh, the relief sweeping through his body and almost making his knees buckle.

As the rest of the choir rushes back to the dressing room, filling the hallway with joyful shouts, Zuko feels a hand on his arm, and turns to find Sokka standing beside him, a strange expression on the other boy’s face.

“That was…” Sokka says quietly, swallowing. “Really beautiful, Zuko.”

Zuko feels himself flush, the embarrassing heat spreading up his neck and over the right side of his face.

“Thank you,” he tells Sokka. And that could be enough, but for a moment Zuko desperately wants someone else to know what the song means to him. “It was my mother’s favourite song.”

Sokka’s light blue gaze deepens in a way that makes Zuko’s heart twist, the other boy’s hand still a bright point of heat on his arm. “My mother died when I was young,” Sokka tells him, his voice barely audible. “Car accident.”

“Cancer,” Zuko shares in turn, his voice hoarse.

“It’s shit, isn’t it?” Sokka shakes his head. “My dad couldn’t come in the end.”

“Mine probably didn’t even know I was performing.”

For a moment, they just stand there, eyes locked, Sokka’s hand tightening on Zuko’s arm. Then Sokka nods, his face filled with too many emotions for Zuko to parse. He lets go of Zuko’s sleeve, and they both turn, heading back to the dressing room, walking side by side in silence. Sometimes, you don’t need words.

They win sectionals. They actually win.

Ty Lee doesn't think she’s ever been this happy about a Cheerleading championship win. There’s just something about Glee that’s different; maybe it’s being the underdog, or the emotions in singing, or even just the crazy last-minute changes. Maybe it’s just standing here, on the stage, arms around each other’s backs and the trophy raised high in Zuko’s arms. Ty Lee would do a lot for these kids.

Which is why, when Iroh pulls her aside a few days later and asks her to continue to spy on Sue, she agrees.

“I don’t think she trusts me anymore, though,” she tells the teacher.

Iroh nods. “I agree, my dear, which is why I would like you to be present when I confront Sue in front of the principal tomorrow. If you deny knowledge of Sue’s wrongdoing she will once again put her faith in you.”

Ty Lee frowns. “But shouldn’t I tell the principal the truth? What if he doesn’t believe you?”

“Do not worry,” Iroh tells her, smiling. “Both of the other show choir directors have agreed to tell the principal of Sue’s deception. They don’t have much to lose, now that their choirs have not succeeded. According to the mechanist,” he adds, “he had already managed to convince June prior to the judge’s decision. Ogodai was a bit more difficult, but luckily I have known him a long time, and he did owe me a favour.”

Despite his harmless appearance, Iroh is turning out to be quite a match for Sue, Ty Lee thinks.

“Okay then! I’ll stay a double agent.” She savours the words, like she always does, thriving on the intrigue.

ooooo

“Sue, the directors, both from the Jane Addams Academy and Thurston High, have informed me that you gave them the New Directions' set list.”

Iroh, Sue and Ty Lee are in Principal Kuei’s office, sitting in front of his desk. The principal looks tense, his mouth a tight white line. Ty Lee is on the edge of her seat, eyes fixed on Sue, waiting for her moment to support the coach.

Sue simply blinks, calm. “You have no proof!”

Principal Kuei leans forward, his eyes cold behind his pinz-nes. “The set lists were on Cheerios' letterhead,” he says.

“I didn't do it,” Sue says, her eyes shifting sideways.

“They say, ‘From the desk of Sue Sylvester’,” Kuei continues, closing his eyes in frustration.

“Circumstantial evidence.”

“They're written in your handwriting!”

“Forgeries.”

“Sue, there is an orgy of evidence stacked against you!”

The principal has been getting angrier with every sentence, but Sue just sits there, calmly denying the accusations. So when the coach tells Kuei that he’s clearly made up his mind not to be impartial, Ty Lee feels that it’s her moment to chime in.

“She didn’t do it, principal!” she says, her voice high and squeaky with nerves. “I’m head cheerleader, I would have known if Sue was up to something, and she wasn’t.”

Ty Lee shoots a nervous glance at Sue, and is relieved to find the coach smirking at her. Kuei’s frown is even deeper now, but he doesn’t have time to say anything before Sue continues.

“Well,” she adds, smiling. “I think that just about closes it, doesn’t it? So let's see if you can't wrap up this little lecture, slap me on the wrist, and let me get back to whipping my squad of champions into shape. We have to be in Albuquerque in a couple of weeks for nationals,” she adds, rising from her seat.

“Sue!” Kuei shouts, stopping Sue before she can leave the room. “Sit down,” he adds, his voice tight with fury.

Sue walks back to the desk and grips the back of her chair.

“Sue,” the principal tells her. “As of today, you are no longer coach of the cheerios.”

Sue’s eyebrows rise in shock. “I beg your pardon?” she asks, leaning forward over the chair.

“You are no longer coach of the cheerios,” Kuei repeats.

“I beg your pardon!”

“All this time–” Kuei starts, but Sue interrupts him with another, “I beg your pardon!” her voice loud and angry.

“All this time,” the principal continues evenly. “I thought Mr. Iroh was overreacting. And frankly, I was too willing to look past your monkeyshines because you kept winning. But now, you've gone too far! You have embarrassed yourself and besmirched the name of William Mckinley!”

Ty Lee gasps – everyone knows McKinley is the principal’s personal hero. She’s even more shocked when Sue leans forward, shouting at Kuei and calling Mckinley a failed president.

“Oh, please!” Kuei shouts. “The greatest one who ever lived! You are suspended from this school as of today,” he adds, to Sue’s obvious shock. Turning to Iroh, the principal asks, “Iroh, you have anything to add?”

Iroh shakes his head. “You were very eloquent on the subject, my friend,” he tells the principal solemnly.

“My word is official!” Kuei shouts, banging on his desk. “Let it be written.”

Sue is fidgeting in place, her lips tightening. Ty Lee can’t help but lean away from the look of cold fury on the woman’s face.

“Okay, if this is the way you want to play it,” Sue says. “Okay. Ty Lee,” she flicks her head, turning to the cheerleader. “Let’s go.”

Ty Lee rushes after Sue as they leave the room. She tries to keep some distance, though, worried about Sue's infamous temper. But when the coach turns around to face Ty Lee in the hallway, her face is calm and composed.

“Well, Ty Lee,” Sue says. “It seems I underestimated that little walking tub of lard. His blackmailing material may have been weak, but unfortunately it does make what I had useless.” She shakes her head. “All right, here’s what happens. I'm gonna head down to my condo in boca to brown up a bit, get myself back into fighting shape. You, meanwhile, will stay here and continue being my little spy in the club, capisce?” Ty Lee nods. “And you can tell Iroh that I am gonna return to this school,” Sue continued, her eyes narrowed, “even more hell-bent on his destruction.”

“Yes, Coach Sylvester,” Ty Lee says quickly.

Sue gives her a small smile, shaking her head. “Tell him,” she continues, “that he just woke a sleeping giant, and that he will be crushed.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Zuko!”

It’s Sokka, standing outside the choir room door and watching Zuko with a smile. Zuko smiles back, stopping to greet Sokka and ask him if he’s heard of Sue’s suspension. A few other choir members join them in the hallway, all excited over the cheerleading coach’s comeuppance.

As he walks into the choir room, the others following behind him, Zuko feels as light as air. They won Sectionals, Sue is suspended, and Sokka is smiling.

He stops in the middle of the choir room, body freezing in fear, eyes fixed on the chairs lined in front of him. A girl is sitting on one of the front chairs, legs crossed elegantly under a short skirt, dark hair tied up in a tight top bun. The hair is fixed in place with an ornate golden pin, and two long locks frame her carefully made-up face. She doesn’t pay any attention to the choir filling into the room behind Zuko, seemingly intent on checking the manicure on her long nails.

Zuko hasn’t seen her in two years, but he would recognise her anywhere.

“Hello, Zu-Zu,” Azula says, looking up at him. She’s smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Azula’s smiles never do.

“What are you doing here?” he barks, wincing at the desperation in his voice. He grasps after the lightness that filled him only moments ago, but it’s gone, replaced by the jaw-clenching sense of vulnerability that his sister always fills him with.

Azula raises one elegant eyebrow. “What, no warm welcome for your darling sister?” she asks teasingly. “You’d think you would be happy to see me after two years apart.”

Zuko crosses his arms in front of his chest, feeling like a sulky little boy. “You’re the one who’s been ignoring me.”

Azula’s eyes widen. “Ignoring you? Zu-zu, I would never ignore you. I just assumed you were busy with your new life.”

“You never answer my calls!” he shouts, trying to hang on to some feeling of certainty.

Azula stands up and walks over to him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, I forgive you for keeping your distance,” she smiles at him. “I know it must have been hard, adjusting to… all of this.” Her eyes sweep around the room in distaste, the corner of her lip curling upwards. It’s such a typical Azula expression that for a moment Zuko is hit by a wave of longing, longing for his old life, for his family. And it’s nice of Azula to forgive him… Zuko shakes his head, frowning down at his sister. He’s not going to fall for that, not anymore. Azula always lies.

He’s going to retaliate, tell Azula it is her fault, when he hears Jet’s voice asking angrily behind him, “And who are you?”

Zuko turns to look over his shoulder. Most of the choir is standing around the piano, staring at Azula, Sokka’s glare particularly angry.

“This is my sister, Azula,” he tells them, shaking Azula’s hand off his arm. Sokka’s glare relaxes slightly.

Azula just looks amused. “Will you introduce me to all your little… friends, Zu-Zu?” she asks Zuko.

Zuko turns back to her, frowning. “What are you doing here, Azula?” he asks. “Did dad send you?” He can’t keep the thread of hope out of his hope, and he can see in Azula’s smile that she noticed.

“You know, Zu-Zu,” she tells him gently, her voice dripping with pity. “Dad is just awfully busy, or else I’m sure he would have gotten in touch. It’s just so much work to direct the nation’s top show choir.” She shrugs. “No, dad doesn’t know I’m here – I just thought I’d come to congratulate you and your little friends on your win last week!”

While Zuko tries to swallow down his roiling emotions, Azula turns towards the choir, smiling widely. “I think it is just so admirable, how you won last week. Against all odds! You all must have worked so hard, I really am very impressed.” The students are starting to smile, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Zuko braces himself. “Really,” Azula continues, “seeing as you have so little to work with, it’s an absolute miracle you made it past the first round!” The frowns return to everyone’s faces.

“What do you mean, little to work with?” Katara asks angrily. “You don’t even know us!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re quite the lovely singers,” Azula says, turning her pitying look on Katara. “And there is a certain charm to this quirky bunch-of-misfits theme you all have going on,” she adds, gesturing around with her hand. “But you must know that real show choirs just have a certain… something. Don't they, Zu-Zu?” she smiles at Zuko. “You know,” she turns back toward the rest of the students. “Zuko used to be in Vocal Adrenaline. But, well, not everyone has quite what it takes.” She raises her hands in mock helplessness.

Zuko grits his teeth, but before he can think of an adequate way to insult Azula there’s a shout of “Azula!” from the choir room door, and his sister is tackled by an excited Ty Lee, Mai following behind her.

“Ty Lee and Mai, well, well,” she says, patting Ty Lee on the back. “It is nice to see old friends.”

Ty Lee lets Azula go, smiling widely. “How have you been, Azula? We haven’t spoken for ages! You have to tell me everything, about Chan, and your cheerleading win, and – oh, of course! Mai told me you’re the lead singer now!”

“What!” Zuko shouts, stepping towards his sister. “You’re Vocal Adrenaline’s lead singer?”

Azula smiles up at him. “Of course I am, Zu-Zu,” she tells him. “Father would have made me lead ages ago, but there are all these pesky rules, so we had to wait for me to enter High School. Aren’t you proud of me?”

Azula’s tone is taunting, and Zuko’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw closed so tight it aches. He should have been the lead singer, back when he still had his life. But no, of course not, because his father had just been waiting for Azula to be old enough.

“If you’re the lead of Vocal Adrenaline,” Sokka says angrily, stepping up behind Zuko. “You shouldn’t be here. You could be a spy.” Sokka is just angry at Azula, but his presence at Zuko’s side feels, well, protective. Zuko relaxes a fraction, still frowning at his sister.

“Oh, and isn’t that a cute idea, spying?” Azula says. “And what sort of information do you think I’m gathering? What colour shoes you like to wear?”

“If I know my brother, to him even the layout of this choir room would be valuable information.”

Zuko turns to see his uncle entering the room. He shifts in place nervously, moving a few inches closer to Sokka.

“Uncle!” Azula exclaims. “How wonderful to see you. I am just here to congratulate your choir on their unbelievable victory at Sectionals.”

Iroh smiles pleasantly. “Thank you, my dear,” he says, moving around the gathered students to get closer to Azula. “And should we expect any other company?”

Azula’s smile widens. “In fact, uncle, I was just going to tell your students that all of us in Vocal Adrenaline are so impressed with your win, we wanted to do a little something for you, just a token of our admiration. The rest of the choir are in your homely auditorium, waiting to perform a song,” she adds.

The rest of the choir starts murmuring to each other, probably wondering what and why. Zuko sees a flicker of anger cross his uncle’s face, but then the old man’s expression is as calm as ever.

“What a wonderful surprise, my dear niece!” he says, smiling. Turning to the rest of the choir, he adds, “let us go to the auditorium, then. It is always a good idea to see our Regionals competition performing.”

This statement visibly disturbs most students, but they start filing out of the room. Iroh gestures for Azula to lead, and she walks past him with a frosty smile. Zuko just stands there, feeling unstable. The last thing he wants is to leave this room, to see his old choir performing with his sister in the lead.

A warm weight is placed on his arm. “Are you okay, Oi?” his uncle asks quietly. “I know it has been long since you have seen your sister, and that you may still have old friends in Vocal Adrenaline.”

Zuko blinks, and looks around the room. Everyone is gone except him, Iroh, and for some reason Sokka. The other boy is standing a few steps away, fidgeting awkwardly. Zuko feels a flash of annoyance – why is Sokka still here? This is none of his business.

“I’m fine, uncle,” he says angrily, wrenching his arm out of his uncle’s hold. “I don’t care about any of them any more. Let’s go.”

As he walks out of the room and towards the auditorium, Zuko tries to push back his roiling feelings. The most important thing right now is to stay strong, and pretend he doesn’t care, pretend it isn’t breaking his heart to sit in the audience seats and watch Azula take his rightful place.

Another one bites the dust

Vocal Adrenaline are incredible. The timing, the coordination, the sheer strength and dexterity. It feels like every one of their students sings like Zuko and dances like Ty Lee.

Are you happy? Are you satisfied, how long can you stand the heat?

Azula is in the middle of it all. She’s the lead more than anyone in the New Directions ever is – she’s singing all of the lyrics, the rest of the choir only backing her up on one or two lines. The whole choreography is centred on her, the boys breakdancing in a circle around her, the girls spinning and flipping their hair behind her.

There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man, and bring him to the ground

As Sokka sinks deeper and deeper into his chair, all hope gone, he can’t help but be entranced by Azula. There’s an intenseness about her, something precise and deadly in all of her movements. She continues singing as she flips over a boy’s lap and jumps into the air, her voice not slipping even for a moment.

You can beat him, you can cheat him, you can treat him bad and leave him when he's down, yeah!

She doesn’t look nice, or relatable. There isn’t any emotion in her words, but she and Vocal Adrenaline are cold and exact, and they’re incredibly compelling. They dance like some terrible clockwork machine, its ticking unstoppable, its gears grinding towards a terrible end.

Out of the doorway the bullets rip, repeating to the sound of the beat

They’re just plain scary, Sokka thinks. His muscles are tight with fear, and he can’t take his eyes off of them, a deer caught in the headlights.

Another one bites the dust

There’s no applause when the song ends. If it wasn’t clear to anyone before, it’s obvious now that this was never meant to be a friendly performance. It was an intimidation tactic, and judging by his own clenched muscles and the pale faces and wide eyes around him, it worked.

ooooo

After a tortuous moment of smug smiling, Vocal Adrenaline moves off the stage, leaving Azula to walk towards the New Directions, step gracefully off the front of the stage and turn to her brother.

“Well, Zu-Zu?” she asks. “What did you think? It must have been wonderfully nostalgic for you to see this performance.”

Sokka has never seen Zuko this angry. He’s practically seething, arms crossed, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed into slits.

“Oh come on, brother, what did you think would happen?” Azula laughs cruelly. “That Vocal Adrenaline could be beaten by our pathetic disgrace of an uncle and a few lumpy misfits?”

Sokka’s fists clench at his sides, and he’s itching to interfere, but Zuko just turns and walks away, pushing past the other choir members, his face red. As he passes Iroh, the old man grabs his arm and murmurs in his ears for a moment, and Zuko shrugs before rushing up the stairs and out of the room.

Azula laughs again, but Iroh steps in front of Sokka before he can reach her.

“I think you should leave now, Azula,” Iroh says, his voice cold. “And I would prefer it if you don’t bother my students again.”

Azula turns her smug smile on her uncle. “Whatever you say, Uncle. Mai, Ty Lee, with me.”

She turns to leave, and Mai and Ty Lee follow her, Ty Lee pulling Mai along and shooting an apologetic look over her shoulder. Sokka doesn’t like that they’re going with her, but at least they don’t look happy about it.

“For the rest of you, dear students, I think we would do well to reconvene in the choir room, so that we may discuss this afternoon’s surprise performance,” Iroh says, turning towards the choir.

ooooo

Zuko is already in the choir room when they all file in, curled up sulkily in one of the corner chairs. Sokka goes to sit next to him, but Zuko doesn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the floor. The other students are also subdued, quiet as they drop down into the seats, faces drawn.

“Students,” Iroh says, looking at them one by one. “I know you must be disheartened by the performance you just saw. But you must know that this is what Vocal Adrenaline wants you to feel – this performance was an intimidation tactic.”

“We know, Mr. Iroh,” Aang says plaintively. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s just a fact that they’re way better than us.”

“In some ways, yes,” Iroh says, “they are better than us. But we have things that they do not. Enjoyment, for one –”

“Oh don’t give us some bullshit about how love conquers all!” Zuko shouts, sitting up and glaring at his uncle. “Being enthusiastic is all good when we’re up against convicts and small-town boys. You know very well that Vocal Adrenaline has an unlimited budget and the best singers from all over the country. They rehearse every day from 2:30 to midnight – they literally get IV drips before the competitions!”

Shit, Sokka thinks. He looks around at their choir room, the faded walls, the empty trophy case, the chipped and discordant piano. The New Directions don’t stand a chance.

“Zuko,” Iroh says patiently, “do not let your anger at you sister–”

“I’m not angry at her!” Zuko shouts. “These are just the facts, we’re going to lose!”

Iroh takes a deep breath. “Please let me finish, nephew, and do remember that although we would all like to win, that goal is not as vital to others in this room as it is to you.” Zuko slumps back in his seat, grumbling to himself under his breath, his voice quiet enough that Sokka can’t make out any words.

“As I was saying,” Iroh continues. “Vocal Adrenaline does indeed have many more resources than we do. But when I talk about emotions and passion, please believe me that these are not mere platitudes.” He gives Zuko a pointed look. “Remember that I was the coach of Vocal Adrenaline for seven years, and we won Nationals five years out of those seven. I am not quite as much of a spring chicken as I might look, eh?”

There’s a few chuckles around the room, and Sokka starts to relax. Iroh is sometimes such a doddering old man that it’s easy to forget that he knows how to do this, that he’s a professional, in a way. And when Iroh continues, something about the way he speaks feels different, as though he’s letting them see an authority he usually hides.

“What Vocal Adrenaline has is well choreographed, impeccable dance routines, paired with note-perfect singing. What they do not have is emotion, diversity in range or diversity in singers. This was different when I was the director, but the songs my brother directs are all like the ones you saw today – a precise execution of motions that shows a lot of skill, but one that cannot elicit any other emotion than fear or awe.”

Iroh stops for a moment, so Sokka asks, “But what does it matter what emotions they cause or whatever? Like, isn’t the competition about performing with the most skill?”

Iroh turns a smile towards him. “If there were agreed upon criteria for judging competitions, you might be right, Sokka. But show choir competitions at Sectionals and Regionals are always judged by a panel of three local celebrities, many of which have no experience or expertise with show choir, and thus mostly make decisions based on the whim of the moment.” Sokka frowns – that seems like a terrible system. “And whilst that is not an ideal system,” Iroh continues, smiling ruefully, “it does mean that what is important is the impression we leave on the judges. They can be swayed by competence and spectacle, yes, which is why my brother’s singers often win. But Vocal Adrenaline will inevitably perform three similar songs, all with Azula in the lead - that is their way. If we can sing a range of different songs, using all of our different, beautiful voices, and if we can truly make the judges and the audience laugh and cry with us as we find joy in the music, the judges will walk out of that room remembering how we made them feel, not how Vocal Adrenaline looked. And I believe that we can do that, with all my heart.”

It’s a great speech. Sokka feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and looking around, he sees the rest of the choir’s faces mirroring his own relieved smile. It’s not just having a strategy, Sokka thinks. It’s that Iroh took them seriously. He didn’t try to persuade them that it’s okay not to win, that participating is enough. Iroh knows that everyone in this room has something to lose, that there’s a reason they want to win. So he simply told them how they would win, calm and honest. Sokka hopes that one day he can give a speech like that.

Iroh continues speaking, telling them that this week they’ll practise a song that highlights their difference from Vocal Adrenaline. But Sokka stops listening, because he can’t help but notice that the renewed cheer of the choir has not spread to Zuko.

The other boy is still frowning, chin resting on his chest above his crossed arms. Sokka keeps glancing at him all through the rest of the practice, and when everyone else starts leaving he hangs around, worried.

Zuko doesn’t stand up, though, not moving from his seat, so Sokka moves a few steps closer. “Is everything okay, Zuko?”

Zuko doesn’t say anything.

“What do you call a helpful sister?”

Silence.

“Assister!”

Not even a blink.

“Vocal Adrenaline really turnip-ed the beet, didn’t they?” Sokka asks desperately, hoping nostalgia would work where pure humour didn’t.

Zuko does turn to look at him, but his gaze is dark, brow still furrowed in anger. “Go away, Sokka.”

Sokka winces at Zuko’s tone, but he won’t be deterred that easily. “You heard what your uncle said, Zuko. We have a good chance at winning.”

“Yeah,” Zuko spits, standing up and turning to look at the floor. “By tricking them with emotions.” He says the word like it’s a curse.

“But I thought you wanted to win, Zuko? You were the one that told me that it doesn’t matter how you win, only that you do.”

“Because I thought winning would be enough, but it won’t.”

“Enough for what? What’s going on, Zuko?”

Zuko looks up at him, eyes furious. “None of your business!”

“Is this about your sister?” Sokka persists. “It doesn’t matter if she’s a good singer, Zuko, she’s an asshole, you shouldn’t care what she thinks.”

“You don’t know anything,” Zuko spits at him.

Zuko is obviously deeply distressed, and Sokka can’t quite understand why. Sibling rivalry, maybe? But Zuko’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears, his face twisted, his hands clenched by his sides. The sight hurts something inside of Sokka, and he’s desperate to help his… friend.

“Why?” Sokka asks, putting a hand on Zuko’s arm. “Is this some version of a singer's dick-measuring contest, just with your larynx, eh?” Zuko just narrows his eyes, arm tensing under Sokka’s hand. He abandons the humour. “But seriously, Zuko, you’re an incredible singer, and you’re also a good team member of the choir now, like you let other people have solos all the time. Do you really want to be like Azula, cold and mean, and lowering the team’s chances by taking all the solos herself? Like maybe you’re not the best dancer, and maybe you’ll never be as good as Azula—” Zuko wrenches his arm from under Sokka’s hand, but he persists, desperate to make his point. “But what does it matter, if we win, and you sing well, and your family can be proud of you, and love–”

“SHUT UP!”

Sokka blinks, shocked. If Zuko was angry before, he’s furious now, his whole body shaking with rage. Sokka meets his eyes and takes a step backwards, the blood draining out of his face. Zuko is staring at him as though he’d like nothing better than to rip Sokka’s throat out.

“Shut your mouth!” he shouts, pushing his finger into Sokka’s chest. “God, why do you have to be such a fucking idiot, always blabbering on about things! With your pathetic, boring jokes, and your ear-splitting singing, always desperate for people’s attention! Why the hell do you think you can tell me what to do, when you just let people walk all over you, you weak fuck.” Zuko steps back and picks up his backpack, swinging it violently onto his shoulder. “I wish I had a fucking slushy right now,” he spits at Sokka, and then turns, walking out of the room.

No, Sokka thinks. This can’t be happening.

He can’t move, he doesn’t dare move. He feels like any movement would make this real, would snap things into place, and if he just stands still long enough then it won’t have happened. Things will go back to how they were before, when Zuko laughed at his jokes and listened to his advice and talked about his mother while Sokka held his arm. But then he chokes, the air comes rushing into his chest, and suddenly his whole body starts shaking, his breaths coming faster and faster, the shock flowing over him like a wave. His knees give, and he falls backwards onto a chair, dropping his backpack onto the floor and gripping the edge of his seat so tightly it bites into his palm.

“Sokka?”

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, but suddenly Iroh is in front of him, his hands on Sokka’s shoulders, his face pinched with worry.

“Sokka breathe – with me. In, and out. In, and out.”

Iroh’s presence is calming, and the breathing helps. Sokka feels the vise around his chest give, the breaths warming and relaxing his tight muscles. He looks up and gives Iroh a nod.

The old man steps back, brow still furrowed in worry.

“My nephew has a lot of anger in him,” he says sadly.

Sokka squirms in embarrassment. “You saw that?”

“Do not worry,” Iroh tells him. “It is not shameful to react when someone dear to you lashes out. It shows that you care.”

“I don’t…” right now Sokka really wishes he didn’t care about Zuko. “I just don’t understand. I thought we were getting on so well. And I get that it must be hard to see his sister when she treats him like that, but I told him that, I was trying to help!”

Iroh looks at him for a long moment and then sighs, moving to pull one of the other chairs so he can sit facing Sokka.

“Try to understand. My nephew is a complicated young man. He has been through much.” Iroh looks into Sokka’s eyes. “I will tell you something now that must not be widely known. I do this because I believe you are a good friend to my nephew, and can help him through his struggles.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Sokka says, eager and curious.

Iroh takes a deep breath. “Two years ago my nephew still lived with his father and Azula. He attended Carmel High as a freshman, and was already a rising star in Vocal Adrenaline.”

Sokka nods – he knew most of this already, greedily gathering any small bit of Zuko that came his way.

“You must understand that at the time I myself was already living in Lima, and since Zuko will not speak on the topic, I have had to gather much of this story in pieces.” Iroh grimaces. “To my knowledge, the problems began when some of Vocal Adrenaline’s new singers did not perform to my brothers’ exacting specifications. As you know, Vocal Adrenaline has substantial resources. One way they use these is by bringing in talented singers from other countries and giving them and their families green cards.”

Sokka’s mouth drops open. Giving green cards to foreign singers? For a school show choir?

Iroh gives a small chuckle. “This is a practice my brother started – if you think my nephew is obsessed with winning, you should see his father!” he shakes his head. “Unfortunately, that year the singers Ozai brought in from Mexico and the Philippines did not prove to be as talented as he had hoped, or perhaps did not bow down to his harsh training methods. I do not know. What I do know is that a few months into that year Ozai decided that he would replace these singers, and remove them from the glee club entirely, thus revoking their families’ green cards.”

“What? Their whole family would get deported just because Ozai didn’t like their singing?”

“I am afraid so,” Iroh nods sadly. “Their residency would only become permanent after half a year. It is a terrible thing to do,” he agrees, seeing the furious look on Sokka’s face. “My nephew also thought so, and, still new to Vocal Adrenaline, voiced his disapproval during practise, in front of all of the choir.”

“Is that bad?” Sokka asks. “We disagree with you all of the time.”

Iroh gives him a small smile. “Alas, my brother does not understand the value of hearing his students’ opinions. He cannot tolerate disrespect, especially not from Zuko, and especially not in public.”

Sokka felt a shiver run through his spine. “What did he do?”

“I was told by the other students present that Ozai became very angry, and that he told Zuko that they would discuss the topic in private later.” Iroh frowns. “I do not know for sure what transpired that evening. I only know that at 10pm that night, my brother called me to let me know that Zuko would be moving in with me and transferring to McKinley. I was to pick up Zuko the next day from the Akron hospital, where he was being treated for burn wounds.”

“Burns?” Sokka gasps. “You mean – his scar – that was –”

“From that night, yes,” Iroh says sadly. “He was burnt along the side of his face and on his hands and arms, although only the burn on his face became a permanent scar.”

“But, you don’t think that his father…” Sokka can’t even finish that horrible thought.

“Zuko maintains that it was an accident, that he slipped and fell into the fireplace,” Iroh says, his tone betraying his thoughts on the matter. “And while I do not believe that my brother would deliberately wound Zuko, I have always suspected that he is… rough, with his children.”

Sokka feels sick. So many things are falling into place – Zuko’s sudden anger at any mention of his father, his deep distrust, his mood swings. Sokka thought he understood some of it – he basically gave up on his own father after the “busy, can’t come” text at Sectionals last week, but he’d spent plenty of years before that twisting himself in knots for his absent father. But that’s the thing – he’d assumed Zuko’s father was just absent like Hakoda. Not that he was… well, abusive. But he’s never seen Zuko angry at his father, only at his sister. He feels like he still doesn’t understand everything.

“But… What does all of that have to do with Azula? Did she also hurt Zuko?”

“Not to my knowledge. She and Zuko have always had a competitive relationship, but from what I could tell in their youth they were fond of each other.” Iroh sighs. “The first thing that Zuko told me when I picked him up from the hospital was that I needed to teach him to sing better. He seemed convinced that his father had removed him from Vocal Adrenaline because he was not a good enough performer, and that the only way he would be accepted back is if he reaches some… undefined level of skill.”

Sokka leans back in his chair and runs his hands over his face. He feels like every new revelation shakes him, tides of understanding crashing through his thoughts.

“So that’s why he was always so obsessed with solos, and with winning,” he groans into his hands. “He thinks it’s his way back to his father.” He drops his hands, and sees Iroh nod. “And…” Sokka frowns. “Did he just realise today that him winning with the New Directions would not actually convince his father?”

“Zuko is…” Iroh starts, and stops for a moment. “My nephew has a tendency to get obsessed with one thing, and not think ahead. I did not realise that seeing his sister perform and hearing me describe our differences from Vocal Adrenaline would shock him quite so much.” Iroh frowns. “He was in Vocal Adrenaline only for a few months, and was perhaps not aware that Ozai is only interested in a particular type of success.”

“I still can’t get over how evil all of this is!” Sokka exclaims. “Kicking out your son because he criticised you once? Telling him he can only come back home if he gets good enough at singing? And the burn… Those aren’t things parents do! You don’t abandon your kid because they’re not talented enough!”

Iroh’s eyes are sad, their shining amber full of depth. “I have spent the last two years trying to help my nephew, but he does not want to be helped, especially not by his failure of an uncle.” Sokka’s heart breaks at the sorrow in Iroh’s voice. “I had hoped being part of the glee club would help, but… well, I will try to talk to my nephew. And I hope that with this new knowledge, you will be more understanding if he approaches you.” At Sokka’s grimace, Iroh raises his hand. “I do not mean that you should forgive him without thought, only that if he approaches you, you should enter that conversation with an open mind.”

Sokka takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know how he feels about Zuko any more. Understanding his motivation doesn’t make the words hurt less, and it doesn’t change the fact that Zuko threw their friendship away at the slightest, unknowing slip from Sokka.

“I can’t be… friends with him if he’s like that all the time,” Sokka decides. “But he’s already changed so much since the start of the year, he can change again.” He says that with forced certainty, wanting, needing to be right. “I can give him a second chance.”

“So, Ty Lee. Tell me how things are between you and Mai.”

Ty Lee eyes Azula carefully. Her friend has always been perceptive, but she isn’t sure what Azula has noticed. Mai’s feelings towards Ty Lee? Remnants from their old fight? Ty Lee’s feelings about… the whole situation?

They’re sitting together at the Lima Bean, empty plates and mugs of coffee crowding the small table between them. Ty Lee finished her tall caramel macchiato in a few fast gulps, but Azula is still sipping her coffee, the dark liquid stark against the porcelain white of the cup.

It had been nice for a while when Mai was still with them, the three friends reunited after years apart. But Mai had to leave for a family dinner, and now it’s just Ty Lee and Azula, and suddenly Ty Lee feels nervous. Azula’s smile is too sharp, her eyes too intent. She had always been a clever child, but there is a coldness to her now, something rotten twisted in her aura.

“Things are good, Azula! I’m so lucky Mai’s family moved to Lima, it’s so fun going to school with Mai – we just miss you!”

Ty Lee feels her tone was too cheerful, but Azula is still smiling.

“So everything is well? No tension, no disagreements?”

“Well… we did have a small fight a few months ago. But we made up and it’s all good now!”

Azula leans forward, still smiling, and Ty Lee swears that she can feel the dark colour of her aura intensify.

“Come on, Ty Lee. Aren’t we friends? We’ve known each other since we were babies. You can trust me.”

Every sense Ty Lee has is screaming at her not to say anything, but it’s Azula, her childhood friend. And as much as Ty Lee likes to talk about auras and feelings, it’s difficult to trust your gut when your friend is in front of you, smiling widely and saying all the right words.

She takes a deep breath. “The reason we fought is because… well, basically, Mai told me that she has feelings for me.”

She expects Azula to be as shocked as she was, but her friend barely reacts, one perfect eyebrow rising up a fraction. “Oh?”

“Why are you not surprised? I was shocked! She’s supposed to be dating your brother!”

Azula leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, I’ve known about that fake relationship for ages. My brother has always been painfully gay, and well,” Azula gives her a small smile. “I have it on very good authority that Mai likes girls.”

Ty Lee’s mouth drops open. “You mean… you…”

“That sort of thing doesn’t really interest me,” Azula shrugs. “But yes, Mai was interested, so we shared a kiss.”

“But… When was this? How? Why?”

Azula frowns. “A few summers ago, I think? The holiday you had that gymnastics camp and we all went to Martha’s Vineyard without you. I thought you knew she was gay.”

“No… I, I didn’t know,” Ty Lee says, distracted. She can’t get the image of Mai and Azula kissing out of her head. Was it just a peck? Was it open-mouthed, with tongue? Did Mai enjoy it, did Azula enjoy it, did Mai’s lips feel as soft as they look, taste as sweet as she smells – no. She shakes her head, focusing back on Azula.

The other girl smirks at her. “Why, Ty Lee, does it bother you that we kissed? I would have never thought you of all people would oppose that sort of thing.”

“No, no, of course not – I just –”

“Hmm,” Azula leans forward. “Do you, maybe, feel that it was you who should have been kissing Mai?”

Ty Lee blushes, heat filling her cheeks. She wants to protest, to say that no, of course not. But then she thinks of Mai’s sharp tawny eyes, her low, monotone voice, the adorable way the top of her nose scrunches when she frowns.

“You do want to kiss Mai!” Azula says gleefully. “Why don’t you, then?”

“It’s just…” Ty Lee’s hands come up to grab and twist her braid, a nervous habit. “It’s not that simple, Azula.”

The perfect eyebrow rises. “Why not? Is it that she has feelings for you, and you don’t care for her?”

“No!” The word rushes out of Ty Lee before she can think, and her blush deepends. “I care for her, of course I do, she’s my best friend. But it’s just… I don’t know if it’s that sort of caring.”

“Look.” Azula sighs, her long fingernails tapping on the table. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to give you this advice, but you want to spend time with Mai, yes?” Ty Lee nods. “You want to kiss her?” Ty Lee squirms in her seat and stares at her lap for a moment before giving a small nod.

“Hmmm,” Azula continues. “What else do couples do? Oh, yes. Do you want to, uh, hold her?”

Yes, Ty Lee thinks. Just the thought of it makes her heart sing with longing – having Mai soft in her arms, feeling that steady heartbeat against her chest, slowly carding her fingers through that thick dark hair…

“Yes,” she whispers, open and raw.

“Well, then.” Azula’s voice is decisive, and Ty Lee looks up to find her friend smiling at her, cooler and sharper than before. “I don’t see why the two of you can’t be together.”

There are so many reasons why they can’t. Mai’s parents. Ty Lee’s popularity at school. The fact that this could so easily ruin their friendship. Ty Lee knows that the moment she steps out of this coffeeshop, all the reasons will be there, waiting for her.

But here and now, sitting in a small, warm room far away from anyone else – nothing seems important except for how much she wants Mai.

“Okay,” she tells Azula, a small smile on her lips.

“I am so glad,” Azula says, leaning forward to take Ty Lee’s hand. “And you’ll have to make sure to keep me updated on all the details.”

Ty Lee shivers, but she pushes down the apprehension rising in her gut. Azula is her friend, she’s Mai’s friend. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt them.

Zuko is in hell.

He can’t believe what an idiot he’s been, thinking that winning would be enough. What did he think? That winning against his father’s team would impress him somehow? That his father would see him there on stage singing Iroh’s soppy songs and suddenly decide to forgive him?

He goes through the next few days in a red rage, not talking to anyone, not listening in class, not moving from his chair in glee club practice.

The truth is, Zuko has gotten sloppy. It was just so fun, being in the glee club. He kept forgetting why he was there, lost in the music and the sweet taste of success. He even allowed other people to have solos, he allowed himself to enjoy the songs, to let his emotions seep into his voice.

Well, Azula showed him what that was worth. Seeing her… she was just so good, every movement precise, every note exactly right. Zuko could barely watch the performance, jealousy and anguish warring in his chest. It all always came back to Azula. She was good enough for Ozai, and Zuko wasn’t.

On Wednesday the substitute football coach has them doing tackling drills, and Zuko rams the other players with his whole body, trying to get rid of his anger. It scares him, how angry he is, how no amount of shouting or tackling or slushy throwing is making it better.

It’s why he stops to listen when he overhears Jet talking to Pipsqueak in the locker room. Jet is talking about some advice Bumi gave him, telling his friend how singing helped him get through some issue Zuko couldn’t care less about.

Zuko doesn’t know how he feels about singing right now. Part of him longs for it, longs to shut out the world and roar. But singing feels tainted for him – it has for years. It’s his dearest love and his biggest enemy. The thing that drives him, and that which destroys him.

Sort of like Azula, he thinks; and then suddenly, he knows exactly which song he needs to sing.

ooooo

Huh, after all that you put me through, you'd think I'd despise you But in the end, I wanna thank you, 'cause you made me that much stronger

Zuko stands in the middle of the basement, mouthing along to Christina Aguilera’s starting lines. He’s moved the family photo to the middle of the mirror, and now he’s staring at tiny Azula’s face, muscles tightening with rage. Then, the music explodes.

Guess I, I couldn't trust, called your bluff, time is up 'cause I've had enough

Azula. Manipulative, confident, competent, insanely talented. Daddy’s perfect little girl.

After all of the stealing and cheating, you probably think that I hold resentment for you, but uh uh, oh no, you're wrong

Hate, love, anger – those words are too simple to describe the roiling mess of feelings he has towards his sister. He still remembers throwing her up in the air as she screamed with joy, splashing water at each other and laughing, their feet in the ocean, helping his baby sister with her first homework assignment.

So I wanna say thank you

Everything he did, Azula did better. Everything he wanted, Azula got. Always there, watching, judging. Always there, lying.

'Cause it makes me that much stronger, makes me work a little bit harder, it makes me that much wiser, so thanks for making me a fighter

But this is why he chose this song, the thing he wants to focus on. Not how much Azula’s lies hurt, but how much he’s learnt from them. Not how jealous he is, but how her talent drives him.

'Cause if it wasn't for all of the torture, I wouldn't know how to be this way now

And it was torture. His grandfather, openly admiring seven-year-old Azula’s performance while mocking Zuko’s. His father, always asking why he couldn’t be like his sister. Azula, lying, lying about his friends, lying about his talent – lying about the reason for mother’s death. Lying.

I am a fighter and I ain't gonna stop, there is no turning back, I've had enough!

Zuko’s eyes are closed now, and he’s bent forward, belting the words with all his might. He is proud, proud of how hard he works and how far he’s come. But if this week proved anything to him, it’s that he won’t get anywhere, always following in Azula’s footsteps, desperately trying to catch up as she gets farther and farther ahead. It made him sink into despair, at first, realising that. But now, singing these words, shut in his own small little world, he thinks that maybe it isn’t the end. There’s no turning back, but maybe there’s another direction.

Made me learn a little bit faster, made my skin a little bit thicker, makes me that much smarter – so thanks for making me a fighter!

After shouting the last line he puts his arm out to lean against the wall, panting. The song has taken a lot out of him, but as he wipes his sweaty forehead on his other sleeve, he feels lighter than before. Less angry. Still miserable, of course, and full of longing and desperation. But there’s a hole where his anger was, and although it feels vulnerable, it’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“Zuko?”

He turns around quickly, tearing the headphones off his ears.

“Uncle.”

“I apologise for intruding, Oi,” Iroh says gently, stepping down into the basement. “But you did not come to glee practice. I was worried, and the door was, well…” he gestures at the open basement door.

Zuko blushes, embarrassed. He can’t believe he forgot to close the basement door. What a sight that must have been, a dishevelled teenage boy throwing himself around and screaming lyrics without music.

“You may not have intended an audience, nephew, but I was impressed nonetheless.”

Zuko tenses, annoyed. “Don’t tease me, Uncle. I’m not in the mood.”

“No, no, I am serious!” Iroh exclaims. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you expressing your emotions. Your singing touched me.”

He sounds sincere, and Zuko can’t help the warmth that spreads in his chest. He’s so weak, always thirsting after compliments, when he should just be confident, like Azula. But no – maybe it’s okay to not be like Azula.

“What do you want, Uncle?”

“I just wanted to see how you are feeling, nephew. It must have been hard for you, seeing Azula and Vocal Adrenaline.”

Zuko’s annoyance flares. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Iroh raises his hands. “Of course, Oi. But know that I am not the only one worried about you – Sokka has been asking after you.”

“Sokka?” Zuko pales, remembering their last conversation. It was more of an argument than a conversation – no, if he’s honest, it was Sokka trying to help, and Zuko shouting insults at him.

He can’t even remember what set him off, just that he’d felt so, so angry. Zuko feels sick, thinking of the things he shouted at Sokka. He likes Sokka, he likes his jokes, his loud words, his sharp mind and clumsy mouth. He’s had thoughts about that mouth. Zuko turns away from his uncle, grabbing at his face. Why does he never think, why does this always happen to him?

A warm, strong hand grips his shoulder. “It is not too late, Zuko. I believe Sokka will be willing to forgive you, if you apologise.”

“How? After what I said?”

The hand on his shoulder tightens. “I took the liberty of telling young Sokka some things about your past,” Iroh tells him gently. “Including the reason you live with me.”

Zuko wrenches his shoulder out of his uncle’s grip and whirls around, glaring. “You told him – about – how –” he splutters.

Iroh raises his hands placatingly. “Calm, Oi. You know I know nothing more than what is public knowledge in Carmel High. And Sokka has promised to keep this knowledge in confidence.”

“You had no right!” Zuko shouts at him. “That’s – I don’t want him to know!” He turns his back to his uncle again and steps away, clenching and unclenching his hands. “I’m quitting your stupid glee club, for real this time. Go away.”

“No!” Zuko looks over his shoulder, surprised at his uncle’s sharp tone. “You are not leaving the club, Zuko, not like this,” Iroh continues, teeth gritted. “You never think these things through! You hurt that boy, a boy who cares about you, who is willing to forgive you. And now you want to leave the club instead of apologising to him? And for what?”

Zuko looks down at his feet. “I know my own destiny, Uncle.”

“Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?”

No, no, it was his destiny, his. To lead Vocal Adrenaline to Nationals. To graduate with honours from Carmel High. To make his father proud.

“Stop it, Uncle! I have to do this!”

“I'm begging you, Zuko!” Iroh’s words are harsh, desperate. “It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?”

Zuko screams, and kicks at the wall in front of him. The mirror shudders and slips down the wall, and Zuko leaps forward to catch it and hold it in place, his uncle grabbing the other side. They stabilise the mirror and manage to set it down, but Zuko watches, horrified, as all of the magnets and medals clatter down to the floor, followed by dozens of slowly fluttering papers. Setlists, photos of him on stage, bills from his favourite shows, photos of famous performers. The photo of his family. All of them pile haphazardly on the floor, some of them already smudged and dirty from the muddy basement floor. His destiny, filthy and torn beneath his feet.

Zuko feels like he can’t breathe, a vise tightening around his lungs. Desperate, he looks back up at the mirror. His left hand is still gripping the edge, knuckles white with tension. And there, right next to his hand is the only photo still stuck on the mirror, the glue too fresh to get dislodged. The New Directions, lifting up their Sectionals trophy, with Zuko in the middle, Sokka’s arm around his shoulders.

“Zuko–”

“I’ll do it, Uncle,” he says suddenly, standing up and turning to face Iroh. “I’ll – I’ll apologise to Sokka.” He’s so afraid he doesn’t want to, but he also wants to. “I won’t leave the glee club.”

Iroh smiles, and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes as he steps forward to grab Zuko’s shoulder again. “That is the right thing to do, nephew.”

Zuko shakes his head, not even sure if he’s disagreeing. He decided not to try and follow Azula any more, right? Maybe he could make something here, with the New Directions. It doesn’t feel… enough, not even close, but it could be okay. Especially if Sokka is still his friend.

“Do you really think he’ll forgive me, Oji?”

Iroh’s smile widens. “I am sure of it, Oi.”

ooooo

“I’m sorry.”

Sokka’s arms are crossed over his chest, and it feels as though his bright blue eyes can see right through Zuko.

“For?”

Why was saying sorry not enough? Why did they have to drag this out? “For… getting angry at you. When you were just trying to help. I… it was a lot for me, seeing my sister perform, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He looks into Sokka’s eyes, hoping his own gaze can convey his regret.

Sokka’s stance relaxes a bit, but he’s still frowning. “Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” he says. “I get that you were angry, I understand that, but I’ve thought about this, and I’m not going to just say it’s fine, because it’s not. If you ever say something like that to me again, we won’t be… friends any more, ever.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it! You’ve bullied me for years, you’ve bullied other people. And I’ve overlooked it, because you were getting better, and I like you, but…” Sokka looks away, one arm coming up to grip his shell necklace. “I can’t do this to myself. You were right about one thing – I do let people walk over me. So if you want to be my friend, you have to stop bullying people.”

Zuko struggles with the mix of emotions rising in his chest. He can’t help but feel a sliver of warmth at Sokka saying he likes him, but at the same time this was supposed to be simple, an apology and then forgiveness.

“Why should you be able to tell me what to do?” he says, the question coming out more petulant than angry. “My uncle said you would forgive me.”

Sokka groans. “And I am ready to forgive you! But that’s what friends do, Zuko, we can ask each other to be better. Like, you can also ask for me to do things differently.”

Zuko blushes. He can’t think of anything he would change about Sokka, except maybe to make him more forgiving. Now that he’s actually having this interaction, he finds that he really doesn’t like Sokka being angry at him.

“Okay,” he says abruptly. “I won’t bully people.”

Sokka’s smile is dazzling. Zuko doesn’t really know what he’ll do with his anger if he can’t bully people, but he’s decided to start a new leaf anyways, and well, Sokka’s smile is worth it.

“Does that also include slushies, though, or…”

“Oh, no, slushies are totally allowed – of course not! Those slushies are the worst! Have you never had one thrown at you?”

“Ummm. No?”

There’s an evil glint in Sokka’s eyes. “Maybe we need to remedy that, eh?”

Zuko groans, and stresses that he’ll only agree to being slushied if Sokka is the only other person there – he’s agreed to give up the social clout that comes with bullying, but he’s not ready to drop down to the bottom of the school hierarchy quite yet.

An hour later Zuko is standing in the school parking lot in front of a grinning Sokka, winching and trying to wipe icy blue lumps from the sensitive side of his face.

“Ouch.”

“Right?” Sokka says happily. “Let's get you to a bathroom.”

They trudge back into the school, Zuko gritting his teeth in pain and trying to stop the slushy from dripping into his eyes. He hadn’t thought being slushied was nice, exactly, but this is so painful he worries his skin will be damaged – well, more damaged.

Inside the bathroom Zuko leans over the sink, groaning, and starts wiping his face with his fingers, before Sokka mumbles something about useless idiots and hands him a wet paper towel.

“So…” Sokka says after a few minutes, his voice serious again. “Your uncle told me a few things. About why you live with him in Lima.”

Zuko’s hand clenches on the paper towel he’s holding, staring at his face in the mirror, the scar red and livid against the blue stains of the slushy. “He said.”

“Look,” Sokka continues. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, and that it’s all really private. It’s just, you know, my mom is also dead, and well, my dad is not really around—”

“My dad loves me,” Zuko says angrily, his whole body tense. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Zuko relaxes at the reassurance, but something about Sokka’s gentle tone still grates at him.

“I just wanted to say,” Sokka continues quickly, “that if you ever want to talk, you know, about any part of it… I know I talk a lot, but I can be a good listener. Especially when Toph hits me over the head with her cane,” he adds, and Zuko can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips.

“Yeah. So I guess I just wanted to say,” Sokka’s voice is serious again. “I’m sorry that you’ve been through that.”

There’s something about the way Sokka phrases it that warms Zuko. No-one ever calls the… incident something Zuko has “been through”. It’s always something he did, or, on the one occasion he dared mention it to his uncle, something his father did. Zuko quite likes the abstractness of going through something – if no-one is at fault, maybe it’s okay to be sad, to feel unlucky, to wonder why it all happened to him. If it’s abstract, maybe he can let that terrible day sink into obscurity.

He turns to look at Sokka, his shoulders relaxing. “Thanks.”

Sokka smiles at him again, this time more tentatively, a small curling of the lips. It’s just as beautiful, though, and Zuko has to turn back towards the mirror before he does anything stupid.

They move on to chat about other things, Zuko criticising the song Iroh chose for the glee club this week, Sokka listing his favourite musical dance scenes. The painstaking task of removing the slushy from hair is the worst part, Zuko thinks, at least if you don’t have someone to chat to.

“Done,” he states, turning back to Sokka.

The other boy frowns. “I think you missed a bit,” he says, stepping forward and lifting his hand. Before Zuko can do anything, Sokka's hand is at the right side of his temple, and he freezes. Sokka’s fingers brush against his skin, soft and gentle, and Zuko’s mind is completely blank, his whole world focused on that small point of contact.

Sokka seems to only realise what he’s done when he takes his arm back, freezing as well, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “Ugh…”

Zuko blinks, and turns away quickly, bending to pick up his backpack and taking his time fussing with the zip. By the time he looks back at Sokka the boy has a strangely blank expression on his face, and Zuko can’t help noticing that his hands are shoved in his pockets.

“It’s getting late,” Zuko says, his voice a bit rougher than usual. “I should get home before Uncle gets worried.”

“Yes!” Sokks answers enthusiastically, turning to head out of the door. “Let’s go.”

The walk back to the parking lot is excruciatingly silent, but they manage to exchange a few awkward pleasantries before parting to head to their respective cars. Zuko lets out a deep breath as soon as he closes the car door behind him, leaning back in the seat. His hand goes to his temple almost unconsciously, and he swears he can still feel the ghost of Sokka’s fingers on his temple.

Shaking his head, he shoves the keys into the ignition and starts driving home. This week has been too much, too confusing, too different. It’s going to take him a while to get used to all these new feelings, and he’s still doubtful he’s chosen the right path forward. But as he parks the car at home and walks up to the door, he finds that he isn’t thinking of his father, or sister, or how he can practise more singing tonight. Instead, his mind is filled with the dazzling light of a smile and the feel of warm fingers against his skin.

Chapter Text

Haru tightens his grip on the straps of his backpack and looks up at the doors to William McKinley High. It’s still an hour before classes start, and the parking lot behind his back is empty, a few lone students in sports uniforms entering the building in front of him. Breathe, he tells himself. You can do this.

He squares his shoulders and pushes his chest out as he walks up the stairs. He’s naturally skinny, and started medically transitioning early enough to pass pretty well at 16, but he can’t help being self-conscious of his shoulders. Too slim, with a tendency to slump in a decidedly un-boyish way. Not the worst thing in the world, but it's one of many small discrepancies, and Haru wants everything to be perfect for his first day at McKinley. He wants, needs to blend in, to be just another normal teenage guy.

Inside the school he asks another student for directions, and takes a few turns down the dim hallways until he reaches Mr. Iroh’s office. The teacher shouts, “Come in!” as soon as he knocks, and Haru walks into the small space, nervously adjusting the backpack on his shoulders.

“Ah, Haru!” Iroh exclaims, smiling at him. “Welcome to our school. Please, take a seat, and leave the door open – better circulation that way.”

Haru sits down on the chair in front of Iroh’s desk, looking around. The office is tiny, just enough space for a desk and two chairs, and there are no windows, only a large door that he leaves open behind him. It’s a nice space, though, despite the stuffy air – Iroh has hung large maps on the walls, and every corner and shelf is piled high with books and papers and boxes of tea. There are also multiple used mugs scattered around the room, and the whole space smells pleasantly earthy and floral.

“So,” Iroh says, taking a file off one of the piles on his desk and spreading the documents down on the desk. “Has your registration gone smoothly? You have talked to principal Kuei?”

Haru glances nervously at the files on Iroh’s desk. Some of them still have his photos from middle school, and he doesn’t like seeing them displayed like that, seeing his face look so distinctly feminine, framed by long dark hair. He runs his fingers through his current hair, a short cut that his father’s barber reassured him is all the rage these days.

“Yes,” he says, looking back up at Iroh. “We met him last week, and everything is in order. I’m still not sure about all the particulars, though…”

“Well, as you know, only principal Kuei and I know that you are trans. I would like to say I can trust my colleagues to be discreet, but, well… let us just say I am happy we could make this arrangement work. No-one but myself and the principal have access to your old files, and in McKinley’s records you will simply be marked as Haru, a boy.”

As Iroh continues to talk about arrangements, Haru starts to relax. His father and Mr. Iroh are old friends from their Pai Sho club, and it isn’t easy being trans in Lima – when Haru decided to look for a new school, McKinley seemed like the best option.

“You will be excused from PE, of course, as we have discussed,” Iroh continues, “although I believe that for some of the after-school sports you would be able to change separately without raising suspicions. But I am afraid that most sports clubs do not take on new members in the middle of the year.”

“So I can’t join any clubs?” Haru asks, panicking. He needs to establish who he is at this school as soon as possible, and that means joining a club, preferably a club that screams “boy”. A sport like football or basketball would have been ideal.

“You could join a non-sports club! Here,” Iroh takes out another piece of paper from under his desk and hands it to Haru. “A full list of clubs at this school.”

Haru scans the page. Celibacy club, God Squad, Black Student Union, Gardening Club, Mock United Nations Club… none of these sound right. And why is there a Fruit Sculpture Club? This school is weird.

“If I may make a recommendation?” Iroh asks. “I myself am the director of the school’s glee club, and I can see here that you are a talented singer,” he points to the file on his desk where it details Haru’s many years in his old school’s choir. “I am biassed, of course, but I do believe that it is a wonderful club to be part of, and that you could find many friends there.”

Glee club… Haru is tempted. He loves singing, and he misses his old choir. But glee club is social suicide, a sure way to be labeled as queer. He can’t risk it.

“I don’t think that’s for me,” he starts, but his explanation is interrupted by someone barging in through the door behind him.

“Mr. Iroh!” the new person shouts. “I need to ask you–” they stop, noticing Haru. The office is so small that the new person is right behind Haru, and he turns to find a boy looming over him, his light blue eyes wide in his dark-skinned face.

“Good morning Sokka,” Iroh says patiently. “Haru and I are almost done. Could this question wait, perhaps?”

“Yes, of course,” Sokka starts, and Haru can see his curious eyes roam over Haru’s face, and then move to the files spread on the desk in front of Iroh. “I–” Haru tenses, moving to block Sokka’s view of the table, but he’s too late. He spots the moment Sokka sees his old photos, perhaps even noticing the large “F” printed on some of the papers. Sokka looks back at Haru for a moment, eyes wide. “Sorry,” he gulps, and turns, rushing out of the room.

“Shit!” Haru turns to Iroh, wanting to ask for permission to leave, but the old man is already waving him out of the room.

“There is nothing urgent left for us to discuss,” he says as Haru quickly shoves papers into his bag. “But do not worry, Sokka has a good heart – he will not say anything.”

The words barely register through Haru’s panicked thoughts. He has to catch up with Sokka. No-one can know, not now, not so soon. It isn’t even the first class of the day and he’s already failed.

Luckily Sokka hasn’t gone far, just a few steps down the corridor. He looks nervous, his fingers playing with a hairband on his wrist. His eyes widen when he sees Haru approach him, and he steps forward to meet him, both of them standing in the middle of the empty early-morning corridor.

“I’m sorry–”

“Please don’t tell anyone–”

They blink at each other. “I’m not even sure what I saw,” Sokka tells him quickly. “But I promise you I won’t tell anyone.”

Haru knows he should relax, but he can’t. He’s used to students lying to his face, reassuring him that they get it and then laughing at him behind his back, spurring on the bullies. Still, he’s learnt that once the cat is out of the bag it’s better to be clear than to leave the other person curious.

“I’m trans,” he tells Sokka quietly, taking another step forward. “That means that I was assigned female when I was born, but I’m a boy. I can’t change my legal gender because of stupid Ohio laws, which is why you saw ‘female’ on my documents, but I’m a boy. No-one except Mr. Iroh and the principal know about this. Is that okay?” He knows he sounds too defensive to be friendly, but he can’t help it.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I know what being trans means,” Sokka says, visibly tensing. “I told you I won’t tell anyone.”

“Just…” Sokka seems sincere, but Haru just can’t quite believe him. “Don’t even mention something like it to anyone, okay? Please? If you think you might get confused, just please don’t say anything about it, or I don’t know…”

“Hey,” Sokka steps forward, raising his hand to Haru’s arm without quite touching it. “Don’t worry. I know how it is, how rumours spread. I’ll be really careful, I promise. I…” he seems to be considering something. “Okay, you still look way too scared, so I’m going to tell you something, and then we’ll both know a secret about each other, and we’ll be safe, yeah?” Haru nods. “I’m… well, I’m also queer,” Sokka tells him. His mouth moves strangely around the word, as if he’s sounding it out. “It’s hard to be sure, you know, but I think I’m bisexual. So there,” he smiles at Haru, “now you also know a secret.”

Haru’s mouth spreads in an answering smile. It’s more than a secret – it’s community. There were a few students at his old school who he was pretty sure were gay, but they were never on his side, either avoiding him or actively supporting his bullies. He gets it, he really does – high school is a ruthless place. But all that just makes Sokka’s admission even sweeter.

Still, it seems this day was just meant to be unlucky. The moment Sokka finishes speaking there’s a loud sound from behind him, and they both turn, shocked, to find a small girl blowing a raspberry up at them.

“Oh snap! Turns out squirrel-head is gay!”

Haru stares in horror as the girl turns and runs back down the corridor, shouting, “Gay Sokka is gay! Gay Sokka is gay!”

Haru starts to follow her, angry, but Sokka grabs his arms. The boy looks resigned.

“No – don’t,” he says. “Becky will already be halfway down the school, and either way she works for Sue…”

Haru doesn’t know who Sue is, but he doesn’t like the dead look in Sokka’s eyes.

“Hey, it won’t be so bad, right? Like, it will die down, right?”

Sokka shakes his head. “I don’t know. There’s no-one else that’s out in this school, and I was already being bullied just for liking to dance and being in the glee club.” He sighs. “Oh, well, it was bound to come out at some point, eh? Come out – get it?”

Sokka’s smile seems half-hearted, but Haru still tries to smile back. He doesn’t know what to do, and he feels like the last person who could help Sokka. After all, if he knew what to do about this sort of situation he wouldn’t have had to move schools.

“Thanks for being supportive,” Sokka says miserably. “I’m going to go find my sister.”

Haru stares after him, conflicted. He feels a bit bad about how insanely relieved he is it wasn’t him. He tries to tell himself that these days just being gay isn’t so bad, that Sokka will be fine. But then he thinks of the dead look in the other boy’s eyes, and he knows it will be bad. What can he do, though? Or more to the point, what can he do without risking everything he’s worked for in the past few years?

In McKinley High, nothing travels faster than rumours. By the time Sokka sits down next to Suki in Biology, everyone is staring at him, mumbling to each other and pointing. There’s even a few laughs, and offers from some boys to, “suck their dicks” – Sokka has to grab Suki’s arm to stop her from going after them. They all fall silent when the teacher walks in, but Sokka can still feel their stares on his skin, and he’s filled with dread for the day ahead of him.

It’s worse than anything he could have imagined. It feels like every student in school is intent on proving to him that they now know he’s gay. Most of them just shout things at him, from the harmless but annoying, “Hey, gay Sokka!” to the objectively frightening, “Suck my dick, faggot!”. But he also gets shoved into lockers when he walks down the hallways, and some kids he doesn’t recognise dump a whole plate of mash on his head during lunch.

His friends try to help, but there’s not much they can do. Katara, Aang and Toph don’t share any classes with him, and he doesn’t spend enough time in the hallways to see them there. Suki just gets shoved into lockers with him, and Sokka has to ask Teo to stop trying to protect him after the boy’s wheelchair almost overturns when some big Seniors push him aside. The only person that manages to help is Zuko, who storms into English with a furious expression and proceeds to sit next to Sokka and glare at everyone else. Sokka can see Zuko tensing at taunts of him being Sokka’s “boyfriend”, and it says something about his mental state that he doesn't even try to figure out what that reaction could mean.

In fact, by the end of the day Sokka isn’t feeling much of anything. His last class is AP Physics, and with none of his friends in the room to sit next to him protectively he zones out, barely hearing the taunts and murmurs surrounding him. When the bell rings he blinks and packs his backpack, dreading the long walk back to the choir room. Just the sight of the hallway outside the door makes him nauseous, and he decides to leave the building through the back entrance and walk around the school to the front.

He relaxes the moment he breathes in the cool winter air, and sighs deeply, pushing himself to start walking. The day is not too cold for the season, and there’s no-one around outside the school, so he tries not to think as he walks, his only goal reaching the choir room and the safety of the glee club.

“Hey, faggot!”

The shout comes from behind him, and Sokka doesn’t even bother looking, he just starts to run, his heart beating in his throat. The thump-thump of many running feet gets louder, and Sokka makes the mistake of glancing back above his shoulder. It looks like most of the football team is chasing him, and the sight of all those large, angry boys is so frightening that he trips over his own feet and barely has time to reach out and push himself off the wall.

The boys reach him in the next moment, forming a menacing half circle around him. Sokka tries not to look up at their grinning faces, too afraid to see someone he knows. But their clenched hands and approaching feet are just as bad, and he finds himself flattening his body against the wall behind him, flinching at every small movement.

“So… it looks like we caught ourselves a little fairy.”

“Not so proud now, are you, cocksucker?”

“What are we going to do with him?”

“How about the good old toilet shove?”

Sokka recognises the last voice, and he raises his head to meet Sneers’ eyes, throat tight. He hasn’t interacted much with the guy, and Sneers has definitely voiced some problematic opinions, but… he’s in the glee club, for Christ’s sake. He’s been singing and dancing with Sokka all year. He cheered and raised the trophy with the rest of them less than two weeks ago!

“But… you’re in the glee club.” The words come out weak and hoarse, but the expression on Sneers’ face makes it obvious where he got the nickname from.

“What?” he asks, moving forward defensively. “So I can’t sing just because you faggots think you own show business? I’ll have you know that my dad’s a musician, and he manages to use his voice without sucking dicks.”

Of course, Sokka’s mind immediately supplies a joke about singing and the gag reflex, and he barely manages to hold in his snigger.

“Are you laughing at me? You fucking freak!”

“Don’t worry, Sneers, we’ll show him not to laugh at us,” one of the older boys says with satisfaction. “Let’s go, boys.”

Before Sokka can do anything, they grab him, dragging him further away from the school and towards the bleachers. He tries to scream, but a large hand grabs his mouth and he chokes on the disgusting taste of dirty, sweaty skin. It only takes them a minute to carry Sokka to the bleachers, and the moment they get there he realises what they’re planning, and starts fighting harder, desperate to get away.

It’s no use. They shove him into the porta-potty with ease, and the door clicks shut behind him. He tries to open it, but they do something to it on the other side, and it stays shut. Sokka hears laughter from outside, and to his horror the cubicle starts to sway from side to side, the floor under his feet moving faster and faster, horrible sounds of sloshing coming from behind him. He flattens his hands on the walls and tries to balance himself as the swaying gets worse, his heart beating so fast he can barely breathe. The toilet seat behind him is lowered, but he can still smell the terrible waves of something sloshing in the tank. He's mindless with fear as he imagines the cubicle flipping and everything pouring out on top of him.

After what feels like hours, the swaying of the cubicle slows, and then stops, Sokka still standing in the middle of the tiny space, shaking. There’s a few more laughs from outside, and some of the boys bang on the walls of the cubicle, making Sokka flinch with fear. Then the voices retreat, and everything slowly goes silent. The only remaining sounds are muffled, noises from the distant road and shouts from the parking lot.

Sokka tries the door, but he’s not surprised to find that it still doesn't open. He tries to throw his weight at it, but there isn’t a lot of room to move inside the cubicle, and he doesn’t want to risk dislodging something. There’s fewer practices on the field in the winter, and Sokka knows he’s too far away for anyone in the school to hear him if he shouts. He tries it anyway, once he’s sure the boys have gone, screaming at the top of his lungs, begging for someone to help. Nothing.

As Sokka starts to calm down, a different sort of panic overtakes him. He isn’t shaking anymore, now that the immediate danger is gone, but – how long will he be stuck here? Will anyone even know where to look? The porta-potties are under the bleachers, far away from the main school building. Pressure grips Sokka’s chest at the thought of sitting here, in this smell, for hours and hours.

No, he tells himself. Breathe. Your friends know you’re being bullied, they’ll be worried, they’ll look for you. Maybe they won’t think of the cubicles right away, but they will eventually. He’s lucky that the weather is so warm for the season, and he has his thick coat on him. His backpack – the boys must have left it somewhere, because it isn’t in the cubicle with him. Pinching his nose and taking a deep breath through his mouth, Sokka uses some toilet paper to wipe down the seat behind him and sits down on a fresh pile of paper. There.

With nothing to do, his thoughts spiral, his imagination spinning out increasingly drastic scenarios. He tries to solve some math problems in his head, and when that fails attempts to design a robot. If only he had some paper… he was never very good at thinking things through inside his head. That’s his problem, isn’t it? Never thinking things through?

That’s what Zuko said last week. And Zuko has apologised for those insults multiple times by now, but Sokka doesn’t think he was wrong, really. Look at him – he really doesn’t stand up for himself. And the reason he got into this mess in the first place was because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

It’s also not exactly nice to know that he was right to be afraid, right to not want to be queer. There’s no helping it now, not after months of research, months of settling into this identity, of realising how much better it fits him. And objectively he knows that it’s the bullies that are wrong, that there’s no problem with being how he is. But he can’t help thinking that maybe… he likes girls, at least in theory. What does it matter that there's one specific guy he's getting hopeful about? If he was just more manly, if he wasn’t so weak…

Before he can sink into self-loathing, he tells himself that he’ll just try harder. He’ll keep his mouth shut from now on, and be less obvious about his dancing, and try to hide anything about him that looks queer. He won't quit the glee club, but, well, Sneers seemed to think that singing was okay. And it was just a rumour, after all, just a stupid rumour Becky started spreading. He hadn’t wanted to deny it because part of him had felt relieved, had felt happy, even, at the thought of not hiding any more. But maybe it wasn’t too late. After all, even a closet is better than a stinky port-a-potty.

Desperate to distract himself, he starts singing songs. He knows he’s a terrible singer, but he has gotten better over the past few months, and it helps. Eyes closed, breathing through his mouth, he sings songs from movies he likes, snatches from pop song choruses, and, of course, all the songs they’ve performed in the glee club. He’s singing loud enough that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approach the porta-potty, and only opens his eyes when the door in front of him squeaks, the lyrics to Valerie still on his lips.

For a moment he can’t see who opened the door, the bright winter light framing the person’s face in a shadow. Then they move forward, and Sokka instinctively flinches back when Jet tries to grab his arm.

“I’m here to help you, idiot,” Jet says angrily. “Come out.”

Sokka gulps. “Help me?”

“You didn’t come to choir practice, and everyone was worried. The others thought you’d just gone home, but Sneers was smiling, and texting people a lot, so I guessed you’d be here.”

Sokka pushes Jet’s arm aside and presses his way out of the cubicle, gasping for fresh air once he’s outside. The relief sweeps through his body like a wave, and for a moment he thinks he might collapse. Finding his balance, he turns to Jet.

“Why did you help me? Your fucking friends put me in here.”

“I… I’m trying to do better. And, well, I wanted to tell you that, umm, I don’t have any problem with you being gay.”

“I’m not gay!” The shout escapes him automatically .

Jet raises an eyebrow. “Sure. But if you were, I, uh – it’s not a problem.”

Suddenly, Sokka feels a wave of rage rising in his chest. “Oh, now it’s not a problem?” he spits. “So what about all those times you called me slurs, or bullied me for supposedly looking at your disgusting naked bodies in the dressing room – that was you liking gay people?”

“Hey, woah,” Jet says, taking a step back. “Like I said, I’m trying to be better. I’m, umm, sorry for all of that… you know.”

“Oh!” Sokka knows he’s overreacting, his voice high pitched and hysterical, but he can’t stop. “Oh, you’re sorry! Well, that’s solved everything, hasn’t it? All the world needed was for fucking Jet to be sorry, and now all those boys that learnt to bully from your example, what, they’re just going to stop? And all the other gay kids you frightened into the closet, what, they can just come out now that Jet is sorry?”

“What other gay kids?”

“Aaaah!” Sokka grabs his head. “What, you think I’m the only one? At least one in ten kids is queer, Jet. And McKinley isn’t some sort of straight anomaly – I can promise you this school is full of gay kids, they’re just too fucking frightened of bullies like you!”

He breathes for a moment, his words catching up with him. Shit, he thinks. He'd decided to deny everything, hadn’t he?

“And I’m not gay, so don’t you dare tell anyone about this, not about me or about the – the toilet!”

He glares at Jet, who just nods, eyes wide. Too shocked by the existence of queer people to speak? Seriously.

Too angry to wait for Jet’s reply, Sokka turns and walks away. His backpack is still by the wall where the boys ambushed him – how considerate. Taking out his phone he finds it full of missed calls and messages, all asking if he’s okay and wanting to know where he is. It seems Katara had to get a ride home from Gyatso and Aang, and Sokka feels a pang of guilt. He couldn’t have done anything, but still…

He tries to draft a text explaining what happened, but he just can’t. It’s too embarrassing, too tied up in all of his conflicting thoughts. In the end he just reassures everyone that he’s fine, and says that he went for a walk without his phone because the bullying got too much for him. Hand clenching on his phone he heads to the parking lot, making sure to look around and walk quietly.

He just needs to be more careful. Deny everything, keep his head down, and watch out for bullies. Hopefully all of it will die down soon.

ooooo

Wednesday lunch period finds Sokka sitting on the bleachers watching the cheerleaders practise in the field in front of him. The weather is still unseasonably warm so the girls are in their uniform sweaters, jumping around with their pom poms, the replacement cheerleading coach shouting instructions through the microphone.

He’s been trying to keep his head down for the last two days, barely even talking to his friends, but the bullying hasn’t stopped. The porta-potty incident seems to have satisfied the football team, but there’s still hundreds of other students at the school, and Sokka is the latest excitement, at best a specimen to question, at worst a freak to harass. He couldn’t face lunch, not after someone spit in his soup yesterday.

His friends tried to come with him, but he gave them the slip when he went to the bathroom. He hasn’t told anyone about the incident, didn’t even go to choir practice yesterday. He couldn’t, not with Sneers there. At least he doesn’t share any classes with any of the boys from Monday.

“Can I join you?”

Sokka looks up at Haru. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

Haru’s face twists with guilt. “I was. I’m sorry – it’s my first week, and I didn’t, well…”

“You didn’t want to be associated with the gay kid and get suspected by proxy. I get it.”

Haru sits down next to him, a foil-wrapped sandwich crinkling in his hand. He’s wearing a dark brown pea coat over a green sweatshirt that matches his eyes, the ends of his short brown hair shifting with the wind.

“Yes. But I decided that’s stupid. Like, no-one’s going to suspect I’m trans just because I hang out with a gay kid.”

Sokka puts his head in his hands. “I don’t even want them to know I’m gay. What if I wasn’t? And I know that everyone just means gay as in queer, and I use it like that myself, but I have this strange urge to correct everyone and tell them I’m actually bisexual, thank you very much.” He accentuates the words with a campy tone and a limp wrist, and then slumps forward again.

Hari gives a quiet chuckle. “There’s no taking it back, believe me. If the secret is out, it’s better to embrace it and be proud.”

“Is that what you did?” Sokka asks, looking up at him.

Haru frowns. “It’s different for me. I’m just a boy – all I want is for people to treat me like a normal boy, and even if the world was perfect I think I would only tell my closest friends that I'm trans. But it’s not like I could hide it, before – everyone in my last school knew me as a girl, and they all saw me cut my hair and start wearing boy clothes. I did try to just fit in. But everyone already knew, so there wasn't any point – it didn’t matter how much I tried to be a normal boy, I would always be a freak to them. And being proud about it helped, because then at least I found a few friends who supported me, and a lot of the curious kids just got used to it.” He looks down at Sokka. “I’m not saying it’s some magical solution, though. It didn’t stop the real bullies. They’re why I moved schools.”

Sokka’s hands clench on his knees. “You moved schools because of the bullying?”

“Yeah. When you’re a trans guy, most people just think that you’re a naive little girl who doesn’t know what she really wants, and that’s bad enough. But the worst assholes, they thought that they could ‘teach me that I’m a girl’ by, well… feeling me up, and things like that. And the school wouldn’t do anything,” he adds, bitter. “They wouldn’t let me quit PE with the girls, or use the boys’ bathroom, and then the girls would complain about me doing I don't-know-what in the locker room and I’d just get detention. But, anyway, my parents complained about the bullying, and the principal didn't listen. He was terrible – he kept trying to get me to stop ‘pretending I’m a boy, because it's making people uncomfortable’. I changed schools because Iroh said it would be different here.” He turns to look at Sokka. “I… I don’t like talking about this. But I saw what you’ve been going through this week, and I want you to know you’re not the only one. And also, I think you should tell Mr. Iroh, because if he can promise me it’s different here, it should be different for you as well.”

Sokka looks down at his hands, the back of his throat filled with bile. Here he was, feeling sorry for himself for a few hours in a porta-potty, when Haru… really, it was just another reason not to complain to anyone.

“It hasn’t been that bad for me. Just a lot of jokes, getting shoved into lockers, a few hours in a porta-potty… nothing like for you.”

“What – wait, what do you mean, a porta-potty?”

Sokka doesn't look at him. “On Monday some boys locked me in the toilet under the bleachers. Just… It wasn't so bad. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Sokka! That is really bad!”

“It’s just embarrassing, nothing happened.” Sokka feels raw, and he wonders if he can leave without seeming rude. “I think the safest thing for me is to just deny everything and keep my head down.”

“Sokka,” Haru leans forward, grabbing his arm. “That won’t help! You need to talk to a teacher. Can your parents contact the principal?”

“My dad lives in DC, so it’s just Gran-Gran, and she isn’t really well enough to talk to principals…”

The look Haru gives him is too close to pity. “Then talk to Iroh yourself. He’s been so good about me being trans, and you’re in his glee club, right? Just go to him after the next glee club practice.”

“I don’t think I’m going to glee club any more,” Sokka says. “One of the boys from Monday is in the choir.”

“Sokka…” Haru’s voice is soft. “What are you afraid of? Why don’t you want to talk to Iroh?”

“What do you mean? Getting bullied! I don’t know what they would do to me next!”

“You think they won’t go further now? This is not going to die down, Sokka, denying it only makes it worse. I know, I’ve tried, but those sort of kids just want to pick on someone. Standing up for yourself doesn’t work by itself, I know, but if you also talk to Iroh you could stop it before it gets bad. And you could actually make a difference in this school.”

“Make a difference?”

Haru leans forward, eyes intense. “I think there are probably people in this school who it would mean a lot to if you came out. I know it would mean a lot to me, to see someone proud about it and see other people support them. I know I have no right to say this, since I’m not…”

“No, it's different for you,” Sokka waves the concern away. It isn’t hard to see that if people knew about Haru it would not only be dangerous, but would also affect his ability to live his life as a guy.

“The thing is, though,” Sokka continues, unwilling to let go quite yet. “I like girls. I could just date a girl, and the rumours would stop, and I wouldn't even be hiding.”

“But love doesn't work that way, does it? What if you find a boy you want to date?”

Sokka shifts, feeling himself flushing, and he can see the spark of interest in Haru’s eyes. “There is a boy, isn't there? Who is it?”

“Uhm,” Sokka coughs, looking away. “Doesn’t matter who. But yes, ugh! Why do things have to be so hard!”

Haru just looks at him, eyes sad.

“Yeah…” Despite his inner turmoil, Sokka is desperately glad to have Haru to talk to. Katara always listens to him, but she doesn’t get it, not really. And after the things he shouted at Jet yesterday about setting an example, Sokka knows he’s being a bit hypocritical. And he’s scared, but at the same time his imagination is also running ahead of him, wondering what it would be like to date Zuko publicly, to hold hands in the hallways and kiss in front of their lockers. It’s a fantasy, but it calls to him.

“Okay,” he says, and a wide smile spreads on Haru’s face. “But I can’t come out in front of the whole school, I’d get murdered.” He’s thinking now, happy to have a practical problem to solve. “But at the speed rumours spread in this school, I don’t need to. I only need to tell a few people.”

“What about coming out to the glee club? From what I’ve seen, you guys are really close, and most of them have already been protecting you this week. It might help you talk to Iroh afterwards.”

Sokka’s chest clenches at the idea. “What, just stand there alone and say it? In front of all my friends? And Sneers?” He doesn’t know what’s worse, the idea that Sneers will find him after school again, or that his friends won’t take it as well as Katara did. “Maybe I should sing about it?”

He’s being sarcastic, but Haru starts nodding his head. “Yeah! Why not sing about it? That’s what you guys do, right?”

“I…” Sokka looks down, embarrassed. “It might be nice, but I can’t sing. Croaking out of tune isn’t really a good way to show I’m confident. I wish I could just dance, but again, dancing alone in front of everyone is embarrassing.”

When he looks up he finds Haru staring into the distance, hands clenched in his lap. “Haru?”

“I’ll sing with you.”

Sokka’s eyes widen. “You’ll what?”

“I can sing,” Haru turns to look at him. “I was in the choir in my last school, and I really wanted to join the glee club here, but… I was worried about bullying, and my voice. But if you can be brave and tell everyone, I can join the glee club.”

“That’s awesome! So you would sing and I’d dance?”

“Yes,” Haru smiles. “Now we just need to find a good song.”

Whether I'm right or whether I'm wrong, whether I find a place in this world or never belong

Zuko loves watching Sokka dance. It’s mesmerising – his movements are so smooth, his body flowing with the twists and turns of the music.

I've gotta be me, I've gotta be me

He isn’t happy that Sokka is performing with the new guy, though. Why him? Why not a more experienced singer, like… well.

I want to live, not merely survive, and I won't give up this dream of life that keeps me alive

But as the song progresses, Zuko gets suspicious. Sokka said at the start of the song that he has something to tell them, and now he’s singing about “being himself”? Zuko can be a bit slow sometimes, but even be can make deductions after a week of non-stop bullying,

I won't settle down, won't settle for less, as long as there's a chance that I can have it all

It has not been a good week. Seeing Sokka bullied like that, just for being gay… especially after their conversation last week, it made Zuko feel terrible. He never bullied anyone for their sexuality, or for anything specific, really. It was just a way to deal with his anger. But this week he tried to support Sokka by sitting next to him in the few classes they have together. And so he saw all the bullying, and experienced some himself, and, well… he was expecting it to hurt, because that’s the point, after all. But he didn’t expect the way it made him feel smaller, the way it made Sokka smaller. Sokka basically stopped talking for a few days, curled in on himself, his usual fast wit and sharp humour gone. Zuko had never really thought of how deep and permanent bullying could be, and it makes him feel sick with guilt.

Daring to try, to do it or die, I've gotta ... be me!

Sokka’s speech after the song is exactly what Zuko expected: Sokka is gay, actually he’s bisexual, yes, that means he likes both girls and boys, no, this doesn’t mean he’s horny for any and all guys, he has taste, no, he’s not going to try to convert anyone, and no, he won’t be answering any more stupid questions. Most of the choir is supportive, Suki and Teo giving Sokka a joint hug, Toph whistling loudly.

Really, the only person not smiling or clapping is Sneers – the boy looks like he swallowed something bad. Zuko looks back at Sokka, and doesn’t miss the nervous way Sokka glances at Sneers. He feels the familiar white-hot rage flare in his gut. If Sneers did anything to Sokka, he's dead.

He also watches Sokka’s interactions with Haru, and as far as he can tell, they’re just friendly, no sign of attraction. Good. But still, Zuko doesn’t like the grateful looks Sokka sends Haru, the way they look like co-conspirators. Trying to tell himself he isn't jealous, he waits outside the choir room while Sokka talks to Iroh.

“Zuko!”

Zuko looks up from his phone, relieved to find Sokka smiling at him. “Did everything go well with my uncle?”

“Yes,” Sokka says, joining Zuko by the lockers, leaning against one of the doors. “He was great. He says he’ll talk to the principal about the bullying, and, well… he’s going to give Sneers an ultimatum for the glee club.”

“Sneers? Why?”

Sokka rubs the back of his head, not looking at Zuko. “He and a bunch of other boys shut me in a porta-potty on Monday, and he called me some slurs.”

Zuko’s fists clench at his side. “He did what? I’m going to beat him up so bad he won’t remember what his name–”

“No!” Sokka grabs Zuko’s arm, then seems to realise what he’s doing and lets go. “I mean, I’m grateful, really, but I need to solve this for myself, Zuko. Even if Sneers forgets his name he can just look in the mirror, right?" Zuko can't help chuckling. "Anyways, Iroh says that either Sneers agrees to apologise, or he’s out of the club.”

“Okay,” Zuko nods, sighing. “But–”

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”

They both turn, and Zuko’s anger flares again at the sight of Sue’s smiling face.

“What are you doing here?”

“What, no hello? I’m officially back, kids! Isn’t that great.”

They both stare at her. Sue shakes her head. “So, I hear there’s some big news I missed? Something to do with you, lady-face?”

“Yeah,” Sokka tells her, frowning. “The school found out about my sexuality.”

Sue shakes her head. “Your sexuality? How old are you, 16?” Sokka nods. “Have you even kissed a boy?”

“No,” Sokka says, blushing, eyes finding Zuko’s for a moment before he turns back to Sue.

“Have you kissed a girl?” “No!”

“Well, then how can you possibly know what you like? You see, that's the problem with your generation. You're obsessed with labels. So you like show tunes. Doesn't mean you're gay. It just means you're awful.” Sue shakes her head. “You know, there's only one person in this world who can tell you what you are.”

“Me?”

“No. Me. Sue Sylvester.” Sue smirks at them. “And she hasn't quite made up her mind about you.”

Zuko wonders if he’s fallen asleep and this is some sort of weird nightmare. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “You don’t have to kiss people to know your sexuality.”

But Sue isn’t listening any more. “Yeah, you know what? I checked out of this conversation about a minute back. So, uh, good luck with your troubles and I'm gonna make it a habit not to stop and talk to students 'cause this has been a colossal waste of my time.”

Zuko glares at Sue’s retreating back. “She’s unbelievable.”

Sokka laughs, and Zuko turns to him, surprised. “You have to admit that was sort of open-minded, at least for Sue.”

“Yeah, but you know she’s wrong, right?” Zuko says. For some reason, it’s really important to him that Sokka knows that. Sokka should know everything. “I knew before I kissed anyone.”

Sokka’s smile vanishes as his eyes widen. “Zuko, are you telling me…” he looks around quickly, but the corridor is empty, everyone gone for the day.

Zuko feels the right side of his face heating. “Yeah. I’m gay. And I didn’t need to kiss anyone to know,” he adds.

“But have you? You know, kissed anyone?” Sokka’s question is oddly urgent. “I mean, sorry, it’s none of my business.”

It’s Zuko’s turn to rub the back of his head, threading his fingers through his growing hair. “Not for a while. But yeah, back in Carmel High, there was a guy.”

“Was he, umm. Were you two together?”

“No!” Zuko has never felt this awkward in his life. “We just shared some kisses sometimes. I didn’t even really like him.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never had… a, a boyfriend.”

The air between him and Sokka feels charged, like any small step could set them off down a road of no return.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

They stare at each other, and Zuko’s heart is hammering in his chest, his breaths fast and shallow. He knows he should do something, kiss Sokka, tell him how he feels. But it’s too soon, too soon after last week’s craziness, and this week’s hell. Zuko doesn’t want to ruin things, and, well, he also doesn’t really know what to do. So he goes for the safe route.

“Umm. Do you want to go get some food?”

Sokka blinks at him. “Uh… sure?”

Zuko can’t help the smile that spreads on his face. “Let’s go.”

“Mai?”

Mai looks up at Ty Lee. Her friend is sitting cross legged on Mai’s bed, a large history textbook spread open on her lap. Mai herself is at her desk, the papers in front of her full of neatly written math equations. “Yes?”

“What did you think of this week, of what happened to Sokka?”

Mai doesn’t really know where this is going, but she knows she has to be careful. Things have been different between her and Ty Lee since they agreed to be friends again. Not bad, just… sometimes, Mai looks up and finds Ty Lee staring at her as if she’s trying to solve some difficult puzzle. There’s a tension between them now, all the small accidental touches they used to share without thinking now filled with meaning. Mai tried to avoid contact at first, but Ty Lee quickly told her off, telling her not to worry. So now they linger in hugs, spend too long fixing each other’s clothes, and get stuck for a moment every time their eyes meet. Logically, Mai knows what this means, what it means that Ty Lee is initiating these moments of intimacy. But she also knows what she wants it to mean, and the fact that these two meanings coincide makes her doubt her judgement.

“Sokka had it really bad,” she says carefully. “But I thought he was brave, to tell us all on Friday.”

“Right?” Ty Lee sits up, eyes bright. “That was so cool! Like just saying, I’m going to own it, because it’s okay to be what I am. His aura was radiant. But it must be so scary, being bullied like that – I heard they shut him in a porta-potty! I couldn’t survive that.” She shudders, and Mai nods. “Mai… do you think it would be like that for you, if they found out you’re a lesbian?”

“I don’t think it would be that bad. Sokka was already everyone’s favourite bullying target. I’m not such a good target.” It’s because she’s not a Native nerd twink who likes to dance, but she isn’t going to say that. It’s not Sokka’s fault people are assholes. “And it might be better because I’m a girl – like, Smellerbee looks like every lesbian stereotype, and she doesn’t really get bullied.”

“But… you still wanted that fake relationship with Zuko?”

Mai shrugs. “That was so my parents would get off my back. I’m not even sure if they would care that I’m a lesbian, as long as I have a relationship with someone they can flaunt to all their town council friends. They might even like it if it was a girl – I know they’re planning on doing some things to get liberals to vote for them.”

“So…” Ty Lee’s voice is quiet, tentative. She’s playing with her braid, something Mai knows is a nervous tick for her. “If you were in a relationship with a girl, you wouldn’t want to hide it?”

For a moment, Mai can’t breathe. Then, carefully measuring every word, she says, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind hiding it. It’s really no-one’s business, is it? But I guess I wouldn’t be too scared of being discovered.” She thinks about her words, and quickly adds, “But if it was important to the… other person, I’d be very careful to keep it secret.”

Ty Lee is looking down at her lap now, eyes fixed on her twisting hands. “I think that I would want to keep it a secret,” she says quietly. “If I was in a relationship with another girl.”

Mai feels like all the air she was missing suddenly rushes into her lungs, and she draws a sharp breath. Ty Lee’s gaze rises to meet hers, but Mai doesn’t say anything, just looks into her friend’s eyes, her love’s eyes.

“Mai…”

“Yes?”

“Would you want to try, uh…” Ty Lee is blushing. Ty Lee is blushing. “Dating?”

Mai feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest, like the joy that overwhelms her is burning her up inside. All of her instincts scream at her to shut down, to draw up walls, to feign nonchalance, because caring this much is dangerous, and she’s been hurt before.

“Yes,” she breathes, and Ty Lee’s sudden smile is worth a thousand years of hurt.

“So…” Ty Lee asks. “Come over here?”

Mai’s hands are shaking as she sits down on the bed, her legs planted on the floor and her chest turned towards Ty Lee. The other girl scoots over to her and takes Mai’s shaking hands in hers, a warm, soft touch anchoring Mai’s racing thoughts.

Ty Lee’s smile is softer now, but her movements are confident, her eyes intense. It suddenly occurs to Mai that Ty Lee is experienced, that she’s not only kissed dozens of guys but slept with some of them. Mai has only ever kissed Azula, a small peck that the other girl declared “interesting.” How can she compare against smooth, confident Jet, or the dashing lifeguard Ty Lee hooked up with last summer? What was she thinking?

Ty Lee seems to sense her anxiety, and she raises one of her hands, her soft fingers brushing away one of Mai’s long bangs. The fingers linger, tracing the lines of Mai’s face, Ty Lee’s eyes following their movement.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Something clenches in Mai’s heart at the sound of those words, her face heating. No-one has ever called her beautiful. She’s too tall for boys, too sharp, too severe.

“You’re the beautiful one,” she tells Ty Lee, her voice hoarse. And it’s true – Ty Lee is gorgeous, all smiles and big eyes and graceful movement. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Ty Lee smiles and shakes her head, obviously pleased with the compliment. “Well, we’re both beautiful!” she says happily. “So… are we going to kiss?” she adds, her fingers moving from where they were lightly placed on Mai’s cheek, tracing a path to the back of her neck.

Mai nods, unable to form words, her nervousness overwhelming all other feelings. Ty Lee leans forward, still smiling.

Their lips touch, and then they’re kissing. Mai is awkward at first, frozen. But when Ty Lee’s lips part against hers, Mai’s open instinctively, and she’s hit with such a wave of want that before she knows it she’s leaning into the kiss, one hand fisting in Ty Lee’s sweater, the other twisting into the lose hair at the base of Ty Lee’s braid. Ty Lee’s hand anchors Mai’s waist and pulls her further onto the bed, and they push closer to each other, desperate to touch.

When Mai comes up for air, gasping, Ty Lee tries to change their positions, hums with annoyance, and jumps off the bed. Mai almost whimpers when Ty Lee’s heat disappears from under her hands, but before she can say anything Ty Lee draws Mai’s legs back towards the floor and climbs onto her, straddling her legs on the bed and fisting her hands in Mai’s hair. Mai looks up at her friend, at her widened pupils and parted, reddened lips, and she can’t believe this is real.

Mai never allowed herself to truly fantasise about Ty Lee, not when she thought her feelings made her friend uncomfortable. But the few times she couldn’t help but think of Ty Lee in her arms, it was the Ty Lee she saw kissing boys in school. Blushing, soft, always letting the boys take the lead, melting back under the weight of their desire.

This Ty Lee is different. If anything, it’s Mai who’s melting, helplessly responding to Ty Lee’s movements. The other girl is forceful in the best possible way, kissing Mai, pushing her back onto the bed, moving to kiss her ear, her neck, the dip of her clavicle. Mai didn’t know kisses could feel like this, Ty Lee’s lips against her skin a burning joy that flushes through her whole body. All she can do is move her own hands against Ty Lee’s back and burrow them into the other girl’s hair, cringing every time a soft moan escapes her lips. When Ty Lee pushes up to look down at her, eyes dark with desire, hair escaping her braid, mouth open and bruised, Mai thinks, I did this, and it’s the best feeling in the world. She embraces it with open arms, lets the feeling’s warmth melt the shards in her heart so completely that she is left open, raw and tender, there for Ty Lee to do with as she wishes.

Later, they lie together on her bed, Mai’s head on Ty Lee’s lap, the other girl’s fingers gently carding through her hair.

“So…” Ty Lee asks, a laugh in her voice. “Was I better than Azula?”

“What?” Mai says, turning to look up at Ty Lee. “She told you?”

Ty Lee blushes, her fingers clutching at a strand of Mai’s hair. “Yeah… she told me you kissed the summer I wasn't at the Vineyard? She actually encouraged me to, ugh, try it out with you.”

While Mai is impossibly glad that Ty Lee “tried things out”, she isn’t happy to hear that Azula knows about their relationship. She shoves her worry aside, though – now is not the time for that.

“Azula was terrible,” she reassures Ty Lee instead. “And you were incredible.”

Mai never uses the word “incredible” – the whole world is so boring and annoying that usually just calling something “fine” feels like adequate praise. But she’s still warm and open, and kissing Ty Lee was so much more than fine that she doesn’t have any trouble saying the stronger word. And from the satisfied look on Ty Lee’s face, the other girl knows how much this praise means coming from Mai.

They spend the rest of the day alternating talking with kissing, their homework forgotten in the joy of being near each other. When the housekeeper knocks on their door for dinner they barely hear her at first, jumping apart when she rattles the (luckily) locked door. Mai finds herself smiling as they fix their clothes and go down to eat, smiling when she locks eyes with Ty Lee over the dinner table, smiling as Ty Lee pulls her behind a statue in the driveway to kiss her goodbye before she leaves. She’s never smiled so much in her life, and it’s, well – it’s incredible.

Chapter Text

Too early on Christmas morning – or too late on Christmas eve – Aang wakes up to the combined sounds of stones hitting his window and Appa whining. Confused and bleary, he tumbles out of bed and pulls the curtains apart. When he opens the window he barely has time to dodge before a small stone flies past him and lands on his carpet with a thud. Appa barks.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, twinkletoes.”

Toph is standing in the snow below his window, a small pile of stones at her feet. For a moment Aang wonders how her aim was so good, but looking around he sees a lot of stones scattered along the driveway – it must have taken Toph some time to find the right window, since she’s never actually been to his house. Good thing Gyatso’s window faces the back, and that he sleeps like the dead.

“Should I climb up?” Toph shouts from below.

“What? No!” Aang has no idea what she would even climb – there’s no convenient drain or vine leading up to his window. “I’m coming down to open the front door. Just wait there.”

He and Appa rush downstairs, Aang opening the door and letting Toph inside the house. She’s wearing a good, thick winter coat, but it’s very cold outside, so he drags her to the kitchen to make her some warming Tulsi tea. The little girl is carrying an overstuffed duffle bag, and Aang is starting to worry.

“Mmm, thanks, twinkletoes, you’re a lifesaver,” Toph says, blowing on her tea and rubbing her hands for warmth.

“Toph,” Aang sits down in front of her, Appa curling up at his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, unlike some people, I don’t like being out in the snow for too long. I can sleep on the couch, no problem!”

Aang rubs his eyes, hoping to push some thoughts into his tired brain. “You can stay in the guest room,” he tells Toph. “But why were you out in the snow? And why did you come here – I mean, I don’t want to be rude, but why not Suki or Sokka’s house?”

Toph ignores the first question. “Suki and Sokka live on the other side of town. You’re the only one I could walk to from my parent’s house.”

“Gee, thanks, Toph, good to know I’m so important to you.”

Toph smirks at him, and slurps down the last of the tea. “So? Bed? Because you look like you’re going to collapse at any moment, Twinkletoes, you really need to get more sleep.”

Aang bites back his reply, even though she’s the one who woke him up at – he glances at the red digits of the oven clock – 3am. He decides all of this can be dealt with in the morning, and leads Toph to the guest room, relieved to see that the bed is made and the room looks fine.

“You’ll be okay here, right?” he asks Toph. “The bathroom is down the hall. Just don’t go through that red door, that’s Gyatso’s room.”

“Ah, red, the one colour I can actually see.”

“Ugh, sorry! It’s the third door on the right, and there’s a beaded thing hanging off the door handle.” He figures Toph wouldn’t know what a Mala is. “Okay?”

Toph just pats him on the arm and shuts the door in his face. Groaning, Aang drags himself and Appa back to bed, and falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

ooooo

When Aang wakes up next morning he finds the guest room empty, and for a moment he wonders if he dreamt the whole thing. Then he hears Toph’s loud laugh coming from the kitchen, and his heart sinks. He rushes down the stairs with Appa by his side, but when he barges into the room there’s no destruction or mayhem, only Toph and Gyatso sitting peacefully around the kitchen table. There are two half-eaten bowls of congee in front of them, and Gyatso is explaining that, “– the trick is to use a lot of water, you see!”

They both look up at Aang. “Ah, Aang, good morning!” Gyatso says, smiling. “There is more congee in the pot, if you would like some.”

Appa nudges Aang’s hand, and Aang gives him the signal for rest, letting the dog go and greet Gyatso and Toph, tail wagging. Aang glances back and forth between the two a few times, and then picks up an empty bowl off the counter and moves to get himself some congee. He loves the smell of the thick rice porridge – it reminds him of the kitchens in the monastery, and the many happy afternoons he spent there “helping” the cooks.

“Can you believe Toph has never had congee before?”

Toph looks a bit uncomfortable, so Aang says, “Gyatso is really into everyone ‘exploring their heritage’. But I know some families eat different things,” he adds, turning to open the fridge and get the jar of fermented tofu. “I still haven’t tried half the things Gyatso always talks about.”

“I haven’t really had any Chinese food,” Toph says as Aang sits down at the table, Appa moving to sit by his feet, fur brushing his bare feet. “I’m adopted, and my parents don’t like that sort of stuff. I asked to go to a Chinese restaurant once,” Toph adds bitterly. “But my mom said it’s ‘not safe’ for me to have that sort of food.”

“That’s horrible!” Aang exclaims, remembering all the times the monks forbade him from doing something he wanted to. At least he always had Gyatso to help him find some way around the restrictions.

“Hmmm,” Gyatso hums, pouring a bit more soy sauce into his bowl. “And you’re here because you’re running away from these parents, yes?”

Toph’s expression turns sulky, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “None of your business.”

Aang wants to say that since she basically invited herself to stay at their home, it is their business, but he swallows the words in time.

“Do not worry, young one!” Gyatso tells her. “We will not send you back if you do not want to go. But if your parents are the same Beifongs that own Kyoshi Factory, I am not sure how much protection we can give you. So instead, I was hoping we could offer you some advice, hmmm?”

“Yep, that’s them.” Toph says, voice tight. “And I know they’ll come after me, but I just couldn’t take any more, I was fucking suffocating, I just had to –” Aang reaches over to grasp Toph’s hand, suprised by the tears misting the girl’s eyes.

Toph wrenches her hand out of his and wipes at her eyes. “Ugh, I hate crying.”

Monk Gyatso sends Aang a look, and the boy sits back down in his chair, his hands nervously tapping on his knees.

“Could you maybe explain to us what you could not take any more of?” Gyatso says gently. “I promise we will keep your secrets, and will try to help you to the best of our abilities.”

Toph sighs. “My parents think that because I’m blind I’m weak, and that I need constant coddling and protection,” she says with contempt. “And I don’t! I can take care of myself. And I know that I was a bit unreasonable about accepting help before, but I’ve gotten better at that, and this is not the same as Aang helping me with the song lyrics or something!”

Toph is on a roll now, fists clenched on her knees. “They just won’t accept what I can do! They have padding on all the walls in my section of the house, and get the maids to remove ‘trip hazards’ – hell, I have to have a fucking maid with me all the time just to help me walk! My mom regularly follows me into the bathroom ‘just to make sure I’m safe’, she still tries to spoon feed me at dinner, everyone is always grabbing me, and they won’t let me do anything. Even letting me stay in the glee club was a fight, and they only agreed because they think I just sit somewhere calmly and sing like their pretty little angel.” She scoffs. “I’ve told them what I can do, that I don’t want all these things, but they just won’t listen.”

Aang blinks, shocked. No wonder Toph was so sensitive about getting help. Yes, he has his own disability-related struggles, but no-one has ever assumed that he’s less capable because of his epilepsy. Being coddled like that sounds like hell.

“But yesterday was the last straw,” Toph continues, voice quivering with anger. “They sat me down after dinner and told me that I would be moving schools next semester, to this private school for blind kids that just opened a few towns over. But I can’t go there, I can’t!” There’s pleading in Toph’s voice. “Most blind kids can’t use their hearing like me, it would be all wrong, and they’d treat me like even more of a baby, and I’d have to quit the glee club – no.”

“Did you express your reservations to your parents?”

“Of course I did, but they didn’t listen! It’s all ‘it’s in your best interests, Toph,’ and ‘I just need to know my little girl is safe from harm’. Safe from life, more like, safe from any chance at getting the fucking future she wants! I told them that, and they didn’t listen, so I shouted, and then they shouted, and then I broke Aunt Susan’s ugly vase, and then they sent me to bed, and then I came here.”

Aang and Gyatso share a look. This is much more serious than Aang thought. He can’t imagine Toph leaving, going to some other school. She belongs with them in the glee club, insulting everyone and recommending an endless list of rock numbers.

“We have to help her, Gyatso!” he pleads.

Gyatso narrows his eyes. “Indeed. I do not like to critique others’ parenting methods, but it does seem you, young Toph, are not being listened to.” Turning to Toph, he strokes his long, white moustache. “I think we should be able to keep you away from your parents at least until the new year. And then… if we could force your parents to sit down and listen to you, do you think you could convince them?”

“I don’t know,” Toph says despondently. “They’ve never listened before.”

Aang leans forward, an idea pushing itself to be heard. “What if you showed them?”

“Showed them?”

“Like, what if we trick them into watching a performance? They could see how well you sing and dance, and that you can do it on your own. And I’m sure everyone in the glee club would support you and explain how independent you are.”

Toph frowns, thoughtful. “That’s not a bad idea, Twinkletoes. I’m not sure if anything could get through my parents thick skull, but a kick-ass performance… I like the sound of that. But Mr. Iroh isn’t back until like late in January, isn’t he?”

Iroh and Zuko have gone to some sort of family winter cabin. “Yeah, but we could do it ourselves,” Aang argues. “We won Sectionals with our own songs, we can convince your parents.”

“Great!” Gyatso claps his hand. “Then our next step is to get in touch with the rest of your young choir members. That will work nicely with my plan to conceal our lovely guest’s location.”

ooooo

Aang and Gyatso don’t celebrate Christmas, but they offer to take Toph to church or buy some things for a Christmas lunch. She refuses, happy to skip a holiday she doesn’t enjoy. Instead they move to the living room, Gyatso carrying a tray of Longjing Green tea. Aang curls up on the edge of the couch, Appa pressed into his side, and starts texting all the choir members he thinks are in town. While he types, Gyatso regales Toph with some of their best pranks from the monastery, the girl laughing wildly, earlier tears forgotten. She’s particularly enamoured with the story about how they dropped filled pies on the heads of meditating monks, and promises Aang they’ll repeat the prank at McKinley.

The rest of the day passes quietly, with more stories in the afternoon, and a movie in the evening. Aang goes through all their DVDs, and finds that his much-watched copy of The Lion King has audio description. It’s strange, watching a movie with someone explaining everything – some of the songs become background tracks in a few scenes, but Aang really enjoys the beautiful, melodic narration. At one point he closes his eyes just to try it out, and finds that he still feels like he’s experiencing the movie.

As they go up to bed, Toph stops Aang in the hallway, and quietly says “Thanks, Twinkletoes,” punching him on the arm. Aang goes to sleep smiling.

ooooo

The next afternoon finds them in the living room, this time surrounded by other choir members. Katara and Sokka are here, of course, as well as Haru and Teo. They had to lift Teo’s chair up the front stairs, but at least the doors and hallways are wide enough for him to pass through. Pipsqueak is busy, and Suki, Zuko, and Jet are out of town, but Mai and Ty Lee arrive together a few minutes late and agree to share the last armchair.

Toph is uncharacteristically silent, so Aang decides to take the lead.

“So, you all know why you’re here, right? We’re going to work on a performance for Toph’s parents. We can practise here in the next few days, which I know isn’t ideal, but after January 1st Teo’s dad can let us into the school, right?” Teo nods, smiling. “We have to be ready to sing before the start of school on the 4th, because we won’t be able to hide Toph after that point.”

“And on that note,” Gyatso interjects from the doorway, “we have another favour to ask of all of you.”

Eight curious pairs of eyes turn towards him, and Gyatso smiles. “We assume that Toph’s parents are already searching for her. They will not do it publicly or go to the police, as they will wish to avoid public scandal. But they may hire a private investigator or some such professional, and although Toph’s parents will not connect her escape with the show choir, any professional will soon make the link.”

They discussed all of this yesterday, and it still makes Aang feel uncomfortable. He’s completely on Toph’s side, but he also understands why her parents might panic, even if Toph did leave them a note – knowing Toph, it was probably brief and rude. The thing is, they need time to prepare a song. And although he’d never say so to her face, he does think that Toph needs more confidence to face her parents, and the support of her friends might make her arguments more rational and less confrontational.

“So,” Gyatso continues. “We would like to ask all of you to act as if Toph is staying at your place. Yes, yes,” he smiles at the many raised brows, “Toph will not actually be staying at your place. But please tell your friends, your peers, your extended family that she either is or will be a guest. This is our way to ‘confuse the scent of the trail’, as it were.”

Everyone agrees, excited to take part. Only Mai opts out, saying that her parents move in the same social circles as the Beifongs, and that no-one will believe Toph is staying with her. Aang thinks it’s a reasonable excuse, but Ty Lee looks a bit annoyed with her friend.

He pushes Toph forward to speak, then, and she describes the song they’ll be singing, and their preliminary thoughts for the arrangement. Aang is very happy with the song choice. If anything can get through to Toph’s parents, this song will.

As they’re putting on their shoes and coats in Aang’s hallway, Haru turns to Mai and Ty Lee.

“Hey, so some of us are going to check out the Christmas lights on Maple Street,” he tells them, smiling. “Do you guys want to come along? I live near there and it looks amazing this year.”

This sounds like a wonderful idea. Ty Lee loves Christmas lights – she loves everything about Christmas.

“That sounds like so much fun!” She turns to Mai. “What do you think?”

“Meh,” Mai answers, not looking up from her boots. “Christmas lights are boring. I don’t even see why kids like them.”

Ty Lee cringes internally, her fingers going up to twist her braid. “Well, maybe another time then, Haru!” she tells the boy, trying to force some cheerfulness into her voice.

“Okay – see you in a few days then!”

Ty Lee watches enviously as Haru, Katara, Sokka and Teo gather around on the driveway, probably discussing who will go first. Then she sighs, and follows Mai to the other girl’s car. Relationships are supposed to be give and take, right?

“You could have gone without me,” Mai tells her as they pull out of the driveway.

“No, you were right,” Ty Lee says sadly. “Christmas lights are a bit boring. Just shiny colours.”

“Right? All of this holiday is so pointless. Christmas is so stupid.”

“Yeah…” Ty Lee answers, with a bitter taste in her mouth. She turns to look out of the window at the snow covered houses, trying to tell herself that it’s okay to feel like this, sometimes.

ooooo

Ty Lee is doing… okay. Some things are good, like the fact that they have no school, or that they’re planning this song for Toph. But in the last few days of school Sue asked Ty Lee to help Becky rile up Sokka’s bullies, and Ty Lee had to refuse, blowing her double agent cover. Iroh said that he didn’t mind, but Ty Lee felt useless. Even though she can’t really manipulate Sue with Becky around, she should have tried harder, or found some other way to stay in Sue’s good favour. And as much as she loves Christmas, spending so much time with her family always makes her feel more insecure – there’s only so many times she can take an auntie telling her to be more like her sisters.

And even though Ty Lee could really use some support, this girlfriend thing is also more complicated than she thought it would be. She and Mai have been dating for a few weeks now, and Ty Lee has been getting progressively more annoyed every day. Yes, it’s wonderful to be with Mai, to kiss her, to curl up with her, to joke and tease while doing homework. But Mai just hates so many things. It was never really a problem when they were friends – Ty Lee could just laugh at Mai’s boredom and go do something else. But now they’re dating, they’re together, so they should do things together. Ty Lee keeps suggesting things, movies to watch, music to listen to, places to go, food to eat. And it feels like every time Ty Lee suggests something, Mai says that it’s boring or stupid, and Ty Lee is left feeling small, both ashamed and annoyed.

Ty Lee knows that Mai cares about her – her confession started all of this, after all! But if she cares, shouldn’t she show it? She understands why Mai hid her feelings before, but they’re together now, and they spend so much time in private. Shouldn’t Mai be complimenting her, or getting her gifts, or something? Instead all she gets are complaints about her suggestions half of the time, and apathetic agreement the other half.

The problem is, Ty Lee does care. She cares so much it’s painful sometimes. It’s as if kissing Mai that day opened the floodgates, and now Ty Lee can’t stop thinking about Mai. She wants to be with her all the time, she wants to impress her, she keeps imagining things they could do, things she could say. She compliments Mai all the time, and she brings Mai some sort of token every few days. She loves doing those things, but it’s just… it makes her feel insecure to not get anything back.

She knows relationships are not like the give and take of swapping jewellery at the flea market. But Ty Lee feels like she’s the desperate one now, scrambling and chasing after Mai, the other girl never initiating anything. Yes, she sometimes tells Ty Lee she’s beautiful, but only in the heat of the moment, and only if Ty Lee compliments her first. Yes, she seems to enjoy the kissing and the tiny bit more that they’ve done, but she’s always passive, letting Ty Lee take the lead. And Ty Lee has found that she really likes that, actually, she likes that around Mai she feels like she can let go and enjoy a sense of control, enjoy making beautiful, wonderful Mai squirm and moan underneath her. But she needs to get something in return, because this is not like any relationship Ty Lee has ever had before. She’s pretty sure she’s in love with Mai, and she’s constantly afraid that Mai doesn’t love her.

ooooo

Ty Lee breaks the next evening. She already spent what felt like most of the afternoon trying to find a movie Mai would agree to watch, and now they’re standing in Mai’s driveway in front of Ty Lee’s car, arguing about where they could go to get food.

“There’s the new Thai place on Main Street?”

Mai’s lip quirks in disgust. “I have enough Thai food at home. It’s boring.”

“Okay,” Ty Lee sighs, trying to breathe and not let her annoyance get the better of her. “What about sushi then? It’s on the other side of town, but I really like their food.”

Mai shakes her head. “Sushi is stupid – why wrap up all these little flavourless rice packets when you could just have a bowl of rice with a proper sauce?”

“Ugh,” Ty Lee huffs in frustration. “Mario’s then? We went there last week and the pizza was good, right?”

“But that place just smelled bad –”

“No!” Ty Lee shouts, losing control of her temper. “I’ve been listing places for almost ten minutes, Mai! We have to decide on something, so you either need to give a real option or stop shutting down everything I try to suggest!”

Mai takes a step back, eyes wide. “I’m not –”

“Yes, you are! You do this all the time. Everything I like is ‘stupid’, or ‘boring’. It’s hard to remember sometimes that you have other emotions!”

Mai’s face goes blank. “I have other emotions.”

“I know you do, of course, sorry,” Ty Lee backtracks. She knows Mai doesn’t really like people thinking she’s emotionless – when they were young, people would call her a ‘robot’, and Ty Lee knows Mai hated that. But she doesn’t understand. “But I don’t know if I can take any more of this, Mai. I keep trying to suggest things, but you just hate everything, and it’s so frustrating.”

“But… is this just about dinner?”

“No! It’s about everything, about choosing a movie, or deciding which music to listen to. You don’t want to do anything!”

“But you could just do those things anyways.” Mai looks confused. “Just without me?”

“But we’re in a relationship, Mai,” Ty Lee says, trying to keep her voice low. “It was fine when we were just friends, but we’re more now. We should do things together, and we should be interested in similar things.”

“But, I, I don't understand… I just don’t like these things. That doesn’t change anything about us, right?”

Ty Lee stares at Mai’s face, but all she finds there is slight confusion. It makes her unreasonably angry, somehow, that Mai can’t even feel anything about this argument, that Ty Lee is flailing and shouting while Mai just looks at her with bewilderment, as if Ty Lee is the one behaving strangely. She feels so small, and so alone.

“Doesn't it?” she asks sadly. “You hate so many things Mai. Your aura is just this dingy, pasty grey all the time. Is it weird that I wonder if you hate me too sometimes?”

“I don’t–”

“You won’t even go see some stupid Christmas lights with me! I’m not even worth that little inconvenience, am I? And you know what the worst thing is, Mai? You know what? That you don’t care, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

She didn’t mean to say those last words, and now that they’re out, she wants to take them back, just so she won’t feel so vulnerable. Is this how Mai felt all those months ago? But Mai had just talked about caring, and Ty Lee said love, she said the l-word, and Mai is just standing there, eyes slightly widened in an otherwise emotionless face.

Ty Lee doesn’t notice Mai’s hands, clenched into fists at her side. She doesn’t see Mai’s throat working, desperately trying to swallow so she can reply. She can’t hear how wildly Mai’s heart beats with joy and fear, can’t feel how Mai is trying to force herself to say something, anything, and the words just won’t come, as if there’s a barrier in her brain for four letter words beginning with L. All Ty Lee sees is the girl she loves staring at her without emotion, so before Mai can hurt her even more she turns and climbs into her car.

“I think it’s best if we talk about this another time,” she tells Mai through the car window, trying to control her voice. “My aura is seriously perturbed right now, and I need to rest.”

She sees Mai step towards the car and try to say something, but Ty Lee really can’t take any more, so she just drives away, tears streaming down her face, Mai a lone, tall figure in the receding dark driveway.

Mai is furious with herself. She finally got what she’s always wanted, and now she’s ruined it. Why was it so hard for her to just say those words? She knows she’s in love with Ty Lee, she has been for months. And the truth is she would happily do anything with Ty Lee, she would watch the worst movie and eat the most disgusting food. But every time she should have said that, she just complained instead. What’s wrong with her?

Well, she’s got a plan. If Toph can use a song to reconcile with her parents, maybe music can fix Mai’s relationship before it’s too late.

Mai gives Ty Lee some space that day, and the next, and works on her plan. Then, on the 29th, she comes up to Ty Lee after a long practice at Aang’s house, and asks her if she can take her somewhere.

“Sure?” Ty Lee looks curious, less angry than before. They’ve been exchanging surreptitious looks all afternoon, Mai’s heart aching at the gulf between them. She needs to fix that, she needs to take the leap, no matter how nervous she is or how her hands shake on the steering wheel.

As Mai takes the final turn, Ty Lee gives a small gasp. “Mai – is this?”

Mai just nods, too afraid to look at Ty Lee. Maple street is spread down in front of them, a long stretch of shining colours. Each and every house is strung up with lights, their front lawns full of lit-up figures, the trees dripping with snow and shining stars. In the dark, it looks magical, and as they slowly drive down the street Mai can’t help but turn her head, noticing windows filled with figures in one house, arches of colourful lights framing another’s driveway. She still thinks the individual houses are pretty boring – most of them are just uninteresting blobs of light covered in snow that’s hard to see in the dark, the inflatable figures on the lawns cheap and gaudy. But put together the street feels like it’s something out of another world, or something that’s between worlds – light and colour and static figures, but not one person in sight, everything human overwhelmed by snow and shining decorations. Mai imagines the inflatable figurines coming to life, wobbling and rolling down the street, and a small smile spreads on her face.

Ty Lee is quiet. When Mai risks a look at her, she finds her girlfriend staring out of the window at the houses they pass, eyes wide. The decorations light Ty Lee’s face in a blend of shining colours, small glinting drops reflected in her eyes. She’s beautiful, and Mai’s heart aches. She needs to get this right.

She parks the car at the end of the street, where a small park sits next to a tiny church, both covered in snow and decorated with twinkling white lights. She zips up her thick coat, takes out her old CD player from the back seat, and gestures for Ty Lee to follow her.

“Mai?” the girl asks, her voice low, uncertain. “I… what are we doing here?”

“I need to tell you something,” Mai says, walking over to the bench next to the church, brushing off some snow and setting down the CD player. She adjusts the volume, making sure it’s not too loud – they’re far enough from the last houses along the street that Mai’s singing won’t bother anyone, but she still wants to be sure no-one will interrupt this moment.

She turns around, and looks at Ty Lee for a moment. The girl is still surrounded by light, the bright colours of the street framing her from behind. Despite the darkness of the evening, Mai feels like she can see every little detail on Ty Lee’s face, as if her own nervousness is strengthening her eyesight, highlighting the graceful arc of Ty Lee’s throat underneath her scarf, the tiny flakes of snow trapped in the hair that peeks out from under her woollen hat.

“I know…” she starts, gathering her courage. “I know it can look like I don’t care. And I don’t, about a lot of things. I do hate a lot of things.”

“Mai–”

“I’m not good with words, Ty-Ty, not like you” Mai pleads. “So please – let me sing to you?”

Ty Lee nods, eyes wide. Mai turns to click on the CD player, and then faces Ty Lee again, working to calm her frantic heart. She can do this.

When I was younger I saw, my daddy cry and curse at the wind
He broke his own heart as I watched, as he tried to reassemble it

She lets the words out, sweet and mellow. They’re not exactly right for her, but they’re close enough. There had been no crying in Mai’s childhood home, no hearts open enough to be broken.

And my momma swore she would never let herself forget
And that was the day that I promised, I’d never sing of love if it does not exist

Maybe it would have been better if there had been crying. Instead there were cool dinners around a long, empty table. Careful, sharp words, and sharper jabs into her spine to make her sit straight. A room full of toys she didn’t want, a long line of nannies and housekeepers that weren’t her parents. Repeated reprimands to behave, to be a good girl and keep out of trouble. And hanging over everything, the looming shadow of her parents’ ambition, the ups and downs of their political careers dictating every smile and every frown.

Maybe I'd know, somewhere, deep in my soul that love never lasts
And we've got to find other ways, to make it alone, keep a straight face

So Mai learnt. She learnt not to smile, not to shout, to take her feelings and box them up somewhere deep inside her. She learnt that gifted paintings were thrown into the trash, she learnt that small birds with broken wings got hurled out of the door.

And I've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance
And up until now I had sworn to myself, that I’m content with loneliness

Wanting things got you hurt. Caring got you hurt. So why care?

Because none of it was ever worth the risk, but darling, you are the only exception

And then, a tiny little girl came into Mai’s life. A girl with boundless energy, a constant smile and bright brown eyes. Just another family friend, for so long, just another person dragging her out to play over the summer holidays, laughing at Mai’s complaints with Azula and Zuko. And then, a fellow student, a fellow cheerleader. A better friend, then a best friend, and then… everything.

I've got a tight grip on reality but I can’t, let go of what’s in front of me here
I know you’re leaving in the morning, when you wake up, leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream

She tries to put everything she feels into the song, everything she finds so hard to say. How Ty Lee cracked the icy walls around her heart, bit by bit, melting them with her smiles. How scary it is to care, how impossible it is to show she cares. How just admitting she likes something feels like opening herself up to get hurt. But how, in the end, Ty Lee is worth the risk.

You are the only exception, you are the only exception
And I’m on my way to believing

The music winds to an end, Mai’s words still hanging in the air. The town is quiet around them, the snow muffling most sounds. Mai feels like the two of them are the only people left in the world, and she wishes for a moment that she could just stay here, like this, staring into Ty Lee’s eyes. But there are still some things she needs to say.

“I– I love you, Ty Lee.” The words are easier than she thought they would be. Maybe it’s the song she just sang, or the eerie quiet of the world around them, but it doesn’t feel so scary to admit it, to open herself up.

“Oh, Mai,” Ty Lee says softly, and Mai’s heart warms at the joy in her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was scared. Not of you,” she adds when Ty Lee’s eyes widen. “Just… of showing I care. But everything I said in the song is true. I am so, so, scared, but you’re worth the risk, Ty Lee. And I don’t care what restaurant we go to, or what movie you want to watch, because nothing is boring when I do it with you.”

There’s a rush of footsteps on snow, and Mai finds her arms full of Ty Lee, the smaller girl winding her arms around her neck and burying her face in Mai’s shoulder. Mai raises her own arms, wrapping them around Ty Lee, pulling her into her chest. They stand there for a moment, holding onto each other desperately, and then Ty Lee tilts up her head, bright eyes brimming with joy, and they kiss, deep and passionate. For a moment, Mai can’t think of anything but the softness of Ty Lee’s lips against hers, the annoying layers of clothes still between them. But then Ty Lee leans back, and Mai finds that she’s filled with relief, all the worry and hurt of the last few days gone as if they were never there.

“I love you too, Mai,” Ty Lee tells her, smiling widely, and despite the strengthening wind that swirls the snow around them, Mai has never felt more warm.

Toph takes a deep breath, and runs through the dance moves and lyrics in her head. Two steps to the right, stop, turn, hands to the side… the dance is complicated, designed to show off Toph’s abilities, but they’ve been practising a lot over the past few days, and it’s not a problem for Toph to imagine the whole sequence. She can do this.

She’s standing on the auditorium stage, surrounded by all the choir members that have agreed to help her. It’s strange… So many people are helping her do this, but it doesn’t make her feel smaller – if anything, it’s been what kept her going over the past week. She’s realised that it’s not about doing things alone, it never was. It’s about taking charge of her own life.

Her gut churns with nerves and excitement, and she’s glad she didn’t have any appetite at lunch. So much hinges on her performance this evening, on her parents’ reaction. Toph won’t be sent to some bullshit private school, she won’t. She’ll show them.

The sound of voices drift in from the corridor outside the auditorium, and everyone on stage falls silent.

“You said you had some information about Toph?” her mother’s voice is anxious, and Toph feels a pang of guilt. She didn’t want to cause her parents pain, especially not her mother, but what could she do?

“Just follow me…” Gyatso’s voice is cheerful. It’s been wonderful, spending this week with him and Aang, a taste of what life can be like in a home that takes her seriously. She still can’t believe Gyatso agreed to this level of trickery, but then the elderly monk is slightly mad, and she loves it.

“Well, you better not have led us on a–” her father’s voice comes from the auditorium stairs. “Toph! Where the hell have you been!”

She can hear his leaps as he runs down the stairs, followed by her mother's more dainty steps, the latter giving out a desperate cry of relief. Gyatso soft clomps sound as runs down after them, and Lao Beifong curses as Gyatso and Teo’s father stop him from climbing onto the stage.

“Your daughter has something to say to you, Mr. Beifong,” Gyatso tells him. “Please listen to her before you make your judgement.”

The sounds of struggle stop, and she can hear Lao step back, Poppy’s small sobs coming from beside him. “You better have a good explanation for all the trouble you caused us, Toph!” her father says angrily.

Toph desperately wants to run away, to go back to Aang’s warm guest room and hide under the covers. But she can’t, so she grabs onto her anger and straightens her spine, puts steel into her tone.

“Dad, Mom, I can’t go to school for blind kids. I know it's probably hard for you to see me this way, but the obedient little helpless blind girl that you think I am just isn't me. I love singing and dancing. I love being a performer, and I'm really, really good at it. I know you do things to protect me, but you don’t know what I’m capable of. So, I’m going to show you who I really am, and I just hope it doesn't change the way you feel about me.”

“Toph–” her mom says desperately, but the music is already starting, the choir members moving into position behind Toph.

This is a story about control. My control.

“What is this outrage?” “Sssh, let them sing.”

Control of what I say, control of what I do. And this time I'm gonna do it my way.

Toph’s father is still complaining, but the music is already picking up, and the choir starts to dance, Toph leading them from the front of the stage. The movements are fast and strong, and it feels so good, so good to move her body and sing and be on stage, that Toph feels her rage shifting, turning into steely conviction. She can do this.

When I was seventeen, I did what people told me, uh
I did what my father said, and let my mother mold me

Toph doesn’t listen to what’s happening in the background, focusing on the music. She can’t let her parents distract her, not when they always make her feel so small, make her feel so angry and idiotic.

(Control) Never gonna stop, (Control) To get what I want

The choir softly sings the word “control” as Toph goes through the lines. The dance becomes more complicated, and Toph’s feet move as if of their own accord, in perfect synchronicity with the music and the pitter-patter of steps behind her.

(Control) I’ve got to have a lot, (Control) And now I’m all grown up

Toph can admit that life isn’t always easy when you’re blind. She can’t read most books, she can’t drive, she can’t tell bank notes apart. She can orient by sound, but so much of the world is built around visual cues. But here she is, dancing, singing, jumping and spinning around a stage in perfect rhythm. There’s so much she can do, and all she wants is for her parents to recognise that.

Rebel, that's right, I'm on my own, I'll call my own shots

Toph is enjoying the dance, enjoying the song. But she can hear some commotion happening in front of the stage, her father shouting something, her mother and Gyatso answering back.

Got my own mind, I wanna make my own decisions

Toph is in the middle of a complicated step backwards when her elbow is caught, and the words catch in her throat, the choir quieting around her.

“Stop!”

Her father’s shout is too loud, too close, too angry.

“I have no idea what’s going on here, but I know one thing – I've let you have far too much freedom, Toph. From now on you'll be cared for and guarded twenty-four hours a day.”

“But, Dad!” It didn’t work. He didn’t listen.

“No,” her father’s voice is tight with anger. “This is for your own good, Toph.”

He starts dragging Toph towards the stairs at the corner of the stage. Someone has stopped the music, and except for the sounds of Toph struggling with her father, the auditorium is quiet. Toph is sure the others want to help, but she made them promise before the start of the performance not to oppose her parents directly. They’re legally in charge of her, and they’re very powerful figures in Lima. Toph doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt.

She almost stumbles on the stairs down from the stage, but her father’s grip on her arm is like steel, almost lifting her into the air. She hates it, the pressure caging her in, her breaths short and desperate.

“Lao,” Toph’s mother says softly, and her father stops to look at his wife. Toph doesn’t want to listen, doesn’t want to hear whatever harsh words her mother has for her. But then her mother continues, still soft and quiet. “I think you should go to the car, and let me talk to Toph. We need to talk about some female issues.”

Toph bristles at the implication that, what? She did this because she’s on her period? But as her father drops her arm and leaves, grumbling, she decides that at least Poppy can’t overpower her like he can.

“Please, can all of you give me and my daughter some privacy? Thank you?”

She hears Gyato and the mechanist climbing onto the stage, the choir members moving farther away. Her mother asks her to sit down, and Toph does, reluctantly. She’s still on edge, still ready for the next blow, for the next explosion of anger. Her mother has always been the calmer one amongst her parents, but she can be just as bad as Lao in her own way, all suffocating soft worries and exclamations about her small sweet baby girl.

“Toph…” her mother’s voice sounds weak, uncertain.

“What? Are you going to shout at me like dad?”

“No, not at all,” Poppy says quickly. “I… I was so worried about you this week, Toph.” Toph feels that pang of guilt again. “You ran away! Your father thought you were just overreacting, being emotional… but I know you’re not like that. You feel things deeply, yes, but you also think things through.”

Toph clenches her hands in her lap. She can’t trust this.

“And I, I just… is that why you ran away Toph? Because you don’t want to go to the new school?”

“Of course that’s the fucking reason!” Toph shouts, exploding. “I told you that, I told you both that, but you didn’t listen, you never listen!”

Toph only realises that she’s beating her own legs with her fists when her mother grabs her hands, fingers soft and thin.

“I know, Toph. I’m sorry.”

Toph is too shocked to speak.

“I thought… I thought it was normal. For teenagers to rebel, to not want to go to a new school. But then you ran away, and I…” Poppy seems lost for words.

“Did you listen to me today, mom?” Toph asks, tentative.

“Yes, I did, sweetheart.” Toph doesn’t like endearments, but she doesn’t really mind it now, not with the hope rising in her chest. “And I watched you dancing, and it was… you’re incredible, Toph. You were so good. I was so scared, seeing you on stage, but then you were dancing as if it was easy, singing about, about what you need, and–”

Toph realises that her mother is crying, her hands lifting up from Toph’s to wipe her eyes.

“I told you, mom.”

“I know, darling,” Poppy sobs. “And I didn’t believe you, because you were my little baby girl, the little baby that I held in my arms, so fragile and small with your huge unseeing eyes. I just want you to be safe, Toph.”

“But I am safe, mom,” Toph says, getting annoyed. “It’s not like I’m bungee jumping or anything. I’m just dancing, just going to a normal fucking school like the normal fucking kid that I am.”

Poppy gives a weak little laugh. “That mouth of yours…”

“Mom!”

“Yes, okay.” Poppy puts her hands on Toph’s again. Her fingers are shaking, but her voice is firm. “Toph… if you could choose how we go forward, what would you change?”

Toph is silent for a moment, blindsided by the question. She’s always thought in terms of what she doesn’t want, not what she does.

“I want you to stop coddling me,” she starts, still thinking. “I want to stay at McKinley, and stay in the glee club. I… I want you to let me get around on my own, stop getting the maids to help me at home, let me go on school trips. Because I can, mom, I can.”

“Of course, darling. Is that all?”

Toph is getting a bit angry now, because her mother’s voice is too placating, and none of those things are really enough. “No, of course it’s not all!” she wrenches her hands from under her mother’s. “Those are just the symptoms, mom, the shitty symptoms of a fucking rotten core. I… you don’t see me, you don’t listen to me, you don’t believe me. That’s the core. I can’t give you some bullshit list now, when you’re feeling bad, and you say yes, and then in a month you forget and don’t let me do something because you’re too fucking scared, okay? You have to trust me. I’m not that little baby anymore.”

Poppy is crying again, Toph can hear it. She feels a bit bad for shouting at her mother, but it also feels so good, to get to the core of the issue, to give her mother a real ultimatum, not just a band aid solution. Because Toph loves her mother, she really does, but right now she hates her, and something fundamental needs to change.

“I’m so sorry, Toph,” her mother sobs. “I’m so sorry, darling. I’ll trust you, I promise, I will. It’s going to be so hard–” her voice breaks. “Because I just get so scared. The world is not–” another sob. “Not a good place, and it can hurt you, and I just want you to be safe.”

Toph is slightly shocked at the emotion in her mother’s words, how she seems to be talking about more than just Toph.

“It’s going to be hard, but I’ll do it, I’ll listen to you, I promise,” her mother continues, and then gives a small, teary hiccup. “I want you to have everything you want.”

For a moment, Toph feels buoyant with joy. Her mother actually listened. It’s everything Toph ever wanted. She can stay in the glee club, she can go on school trips, they can go home and–

“But mom… what about dad? Can you convince him?”

“Oh, Toph…” her mother’s voice is strangely apologetic. “Your father and I, we, uh, we haven’t been getting on. Not for a while. So I don’t think I could convince him.”

“So what are your promises worth!” Toph shouts, a wave of despair making her lash out. “Dad is in charge, he’ll just send me to the blind school anyways, you heard him!”

“Not if I get custody.”

Toph’s shouts die in her throat. “Mom?”

Poppy takes a deep breath. “I have been considering divorcing your father for a while now, Toph. I didn’t want to do it because I thought having both of us together was best for you. But if your father will not listen to you… maybe it’s better if it’s just the two of us.”

For a moment, Toph doesn't really understand what that would mean. Her parents have always been a unit, a united enemy. But living with just her mother… a mother that has just promised to listen to her…

“Yes!” she shouts, then catches herself. “Yes, mom, we should do that.” Then, she has a thought, her stomach gripping with fear. “But, isn’t divorce difficult? Are you sure you would get custody? You can’t leave me with just dad, he’ll never let me out of the house again!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Toph. Your father… It will take him time, but I believe he can come around. And don’t worry about custody.” There’s a smile in her mother’s voice, a satisfied little twist Toph has never heard before. “You might not know this because I, uh, try to spare your father’s feelings, but we bought the factory with my money. Your father is the one that married up, and I made sure he signed a very good prenup. And, well, there are some private reasons that mean I will have no problem getting custody.”

Toph doesn’t really know what a prenup is, and can’t imagine what these “private reasons” might be, but she doesn’t care. Her mother sounds sure – even better, her mother is planning for Toph, together with Toph. She leaps forward and envelopes Poppy in a rare hug, her mother laughing in her arms.

“It might take some time to finalise everything, darling,” Poppy says, tightening her arms around Toph. “But with the whole private school argument, I think we already have good legal grounds to move out. Where would you prefer to go – the penthouse on Main Street, or the house in South Lima?”

Chapter Text

“Here boy! Yip yip!”

Aang frowns at Appa, confused. The dog should have responded to that command, but he’s still lying on the floor by Aang’s bed, unmoving. Aang shoves off his blankets and slips off the bed, crouching to get a better look at his dog. Appa’s eyes are closed, and he’s breathing heavily. He doesn’t move when Aang places a hand on his back, and Aang can feel him shuddering with every breath. Worried, Aang peers closer at Appa’s head, noticing the thin line of mucus that's dripping from the dog’s nose. He tries to wipe it away with a tissue from his bedside table, but the moment he touches Appa’s nose the dog’s mouth opens, and a big chunk of the same mucus drops onto the carpet, making Aang winch.

Aang’s heart is beating fast, and he tries to think of what to do, what the next step should be. But he can’t think of anything, not with Appa lying like this in front of him, so he just shouts “Gyatso!” as loud as he can.

The sound of rapid footsteps comes from outside the room, and then Gyatso is there, pushing the door open and asking what’s wrong.

“It’s Appa,” Aang says, his voice breaking. “I don’t… he won’t answer me, Gyatso, he won’t stand up, and there’s this mucus, and he’s wheezing, and I think he’s dying Gyatso, I don’t know what to do, I–”

Gyatso places a calming hand on Aang’s shoulder. “We can take him to the veterinary doctor right away, Aang. Just get his documents, and I’ll carry him down and get the car ready.”

Their local vet diagnoses Appa with severe pneumonia, and sends them to a nearby veterinary hospital. Aang shifts from one foot to another as he watches the doctors examine Appa, trying not to think of how strange it is to see his dog lie so still, how much he hates the bright lights and sterile metal counters of the hospital.

“So he has pneumonia, like your vet thought,” the doctor tells them, gloved hand still placed on Appa’s throat. “It is pretty severe, but he’s probably going to be okay, it might just take a couple of weeks.” Aang breathes out in relief. “He’s severely dehydrated, though, and having trouble breathing, so we would like to keep him here for a few days.”

“Here?” Aang asks, chest clenching with fear. “You mean hospitalise him?”

“Yes. We’d like to keep a watch on him, make sure that he doesn’t get worse, and give him some oxygen and intravenous therapy.”

“But…” Aang is crying now, the tears flowing down his face. “Where will he sleep? How will we know he’s okay? How… just…”

Gyatso steps in at that point, putting a reassuring arm around Aang and pulling him into his side. Aang clings to Gyatso’s robe like he did when he was a toddler, trying to concentrate on the feel of the rough fabric. Gyatso talks to the doctor, asking him when they can expect Appa to come home, what they’ll need to prepare, when they can visit. Aang isn’t really listening, though. All he can do is stare at Appa’s slumped form lying on the metal table.

The way home is torture, but it’s not half as bad as walking into the house, alone, with no Appa by his side. In the car Gyatso tries to talk to Aang about a replacement support dog, but Aang refuses point blank. No-one can replace Appa.

ooooo

“Good afternoon, dear students. So, we will start today’s lesson with a special performance. As some of you may have already heard, our beloved Appa has fallen ill.”

Aang doesn’t like Iroh calling Appa “beloved”. The choir doesn’t love Appa. They think he’s cute, yes, and are nice about him being around. But Aang is the one who loves Appa, Aang is the one who takes care of him, who sets out his food and cleans his ears and brushes his fur. And Aang is the one who failed him, who let him get ill, who didn’t notice in time.

“Aang will now perform a song for Appa, and we can all spend a moment in silent support.”

Iroh is annoying Aang today, but then everyone has been annoying him since the moment he had to leave Appa at the hospital. No-one understands. He doesn’t even feel like singing a song in front of them any more, but he can’t sing at the hospital, and he somehow feels that singing to an audience is better than nothing.

Yeah, I'll tell you something, I think you'll understand
When I'll say that something, I wanna hold your hand

Aang is so scared for Appa. Quite a few dogs die from pneumonia, and Aang can’t face that, can’t face a world without Appa in it.

Oh, please, say to me, you'll let me be your man
And please, say to me, you'll let me hold your hand

Aang got Appa pretty soon after he was diagnosed, so the dog has been with him for more than five years. Not such a long time in human years, but long enough that Aang can’t remember a time when Appa wasn’t by his side. Instead, all his memories are full of Appa. Appa running by his side as he sprints through the monastery courtyards, long tongue hanging, happily lapping the water that Aang sets out for him. Appa curling up with him in bed, first in his small monastery room, then in his bigger room in Lima, his soft fur tickling Aang’s face. And of course, Appa’s cold nose nudging his hand, Appa’s warm weight anchoring Aang as he lies on the floor, convulsing. Support, companion. Friend.

And when I touch you, I feel happy inside
It's such a feeling that my love I can't hide
I can't hide, I can't hide

Aang’s life has so much good in it now. Katara, the choir, his friends. But Aang doesn’t know how to do it without Appa, doesn’t know how to be alone, not really. And most of all, he just really, really wants his best friend to be okay.

Yeah, you've got that something, I think you'll understand
When I'll feel that something, I wanna hold your hand

Aang sings the last note, and then blinks, coming back to reality. He drifted away during the song, thinking of Appa, letting the feelings rise. But now he sees the choir members in front of him again, and there’s tears in his eyes and on his shirt, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how raw and exposed he feels. He wipes his nose on his sleeves, and wonders if this song was a mistake.

After a moment of silence, the choir starts clapping quietly. They’re respectful, their faces sad, some of them tearful, and Aang hates it. What right do they have –

Aang is running out of the choir room doors before he can finish the thought, driven by the need to get away, get as far away as possible from those stupid people and their stupid sympathy. It was a mistake to sing in front of the choir. He feels exposed, as if everything inside him is on display – he stops outside the school, unsure where to go. He could call Gyatso, but he doesn’t want to go home, doesn't want to return to a house full of Appa’s dog beds and toys and food. He could also ask Gyatso to take him to the hospital, but then the monk would want to go in with him, and right now Aang doesn’t want to share Appa with anyone.

Nothing feels safe anymore, not without that steady presence by his side, that warm, soft comfort always a touch away. It’s not even about the epilepsy – Aang couldn’t care less about his own health right now. All he knows is that Appa makes him feel safe, and Appa is gone.

Out of options, Aang sits down on the curb. There’s not many people around in the parking lot at this time of day, the students either already gone or busy at their afternoon activities. He lets the feel of the cool air on his face calm him down , and dips his hand into a small pile of dirty snow that sits at the edge of the row, smashing the sludgy mixture in his hand. A few minutes later he’s shivering in his thin pullover and starting to regret his hasty escape – all he has on him is his phone in his pocket, and both his bag and his winter coat are back in the choir room.

Before he can decide what to do, he hears the school doors open behind him, and turns to see Katara pushing her way out, already wearing her thick blue winter coat and carrying Aang’s bag and coat in her arms.

“Aang!”

Katara sits down next to him, handing him his coat first, and then giving him his bag. He tightens the coat’s lapels around himself, closing his eyes for a moment and enjoying the warmth.

He’s starting to feel a bit guilty about running away when Katara asks, “Is everything okay, Aang?” and her voice sets him on edge again. He opens his eyes quickly, feeling his mouth tighten into a thin line.

“What do you think, Katara. Appa is in the hospital!”

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry, Aang.” Katara’s soft, placating voice is even worse, somehow, and Aang continues to stare out ahead, refusing to catch her eye.

“That song was really beautiful,” Katara continues. “I… I know that we can’t even imagine what you’re going through, Aang. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. Anything you need, just say.”

Aang breathes, warming a bit at Katara’s reassurances. “Could you drive me to the hospital and let me go in alone?”

“Of course!” she says immediately. “Let me just go back in and get the pickup keys from Sokka, and he can get a ride back with Zuko or Suki or someone.”

ooooo

They don’t say much on the drive to the hospital. Katara seems to understand that Aang doesn’t want to talk, and he’s grateful for the silence. There are no words that would be right, and silence is better than listening to more grating sympathy.

After Katara parks the car in the veterinary hospital parking lot, she turns to look at Aang, reaching out to put a warm hand on his arm. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

Aang just shakes his head. “I can wait here for as long as you need,” she continues, “and if there’s anything else, like if you need to pick up some medicine, or… when will he be coming home?”

“I dunno,” Aang says sullenly. “Maybe at the end of the week? But we’ll still have to watch him at home for a few weeks then.” Aang doesn’t really want to admit it, but having Katara’s help then might be useful.

But Katara is frowning. “So you’ll be without a service dog for at least three weeks, right? Do you need any help picking out a substitute, like, how does–”

Aang tears his arm from under Katara’s hand, and whirls around to face her. “I’m not going to get a substitute! You think I can just, what? Get some other dog to replace Appa? Like he’s a toy, or a machine? He’s my friend, my best friend! No-one can replace him!”

“Of course, Aang, but–”

“No! No-one understands! You think he’s just some cute pet, and of course I’m sad, like you were sad when your goldfish was ill or something. Well, he’s not a pet, he’s my friend, and he’s with me through everything, and no dog or person can replace him, okay?”

Katara tries to say something, but Aang pushes the car door open, letting it bang noisily on a pole outside the car. He doesn’t check to see if it’s dented, doesn’t care, scrambling out of his seat as fast as he can.

“Don’t bother waiting for me,” he tells Katara, angry. “I can get Gyatso to pick me up, and you can go home and forget all about Appa,” he adds, slamming the car door shut on Katara’s hurt face and turning to walk towards the hospital doors. Somehow, he still feels bad after all that shouting, as if letting out the rage only made it sink deeper into his heart. But at least he’s at the hospital now, and everyone will finally leave him alone, instead of pretending that they can make it so he isn’t.

Iroh hates hospital waiting rooms. He’s had plenty of bad experiences in operating rooms and general wards, but there’s just something about a waiting room that brings bile to the back of his throat. It’s all those hours of waiting, the worry and uncertainty looming over you, the clock ticking much too slowly, the nurses reluctant to tell you anything. And Appa’s illness couldn’t have come at a worse time, because it’s Lu Ten’s birthday tomorrow.

But he’s come here for Aang, so he steps into the room and looks around. The veterinary hospital is small, and the waiting room is comfortable, with large windows along one wall and pictures of animals lining the others. Aang is sitting on one of the chairs in the corner, hunched forward over his knees, his head in his hand.

He doesn’t look up when Iroh approaches, and when Iroh greets him only raises his head up a fraction, eyes red-rimmed. “What do you want, Iroh?”

“I just wanted to see how you are doing, Aang,” Iroh tells him. “When a student rushes out of my practice like you did, I am bound to worry.”

“I’m fine,” Aang says through gritted teeth, lowering his head back into his hands.

Uncertain, Iroh puts a hand on Aang's shoulder, and has to quickly redraw it when Aang flinches at his touch.

“Is there anything I can do, Aang? Would you like me to call someone, or just sit here with you?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“I know Appa means a lot to you.” Iroh tries a different approach. “So this must be very difficult for you, but I am here if you want to tell me about it, and perhaps I understand some of what you are feeling.”

“Why does everybody think they understand!” Aang sits up, glaring at Iroh. “This isn’t the same as your pet rabbit getting sick, or something! Do you know I have to wait out here, and I can’t even visit Appa? They have him in a cage, hooked up to so many different things, and they won’t tell me anything, so all I can do is wait in this stupid room and just hope that people will leave me alone. But oh, no, of course you have to come and bother me and pretend you know what it’s like. Just — just go away!”

Iroh takes a step back, surprised by Aang’s anger. Iroh himself tends to depression rather than anger in these sorts of situations, and he hadn't noticed how thin Aang's facade had gotten. And this anger – it’s exactly how Lu Ten would have reacted. Iroh feels a wave of sorrow grip his heart, and for a moment he can’t breathe.

“I—” he says, the word barely audible. He tries again. “I apologize Aang. I merely meant to say… well, you know my son died while in hospital. But it is different, of course, so I will leave you. Just — well, please do call me if you need anything.”

Aang pales and starts apologizing, but Iroh doesn’t really listen. He waves away Aang’s concerns and walks out of the hospital, barely noticing anything along his way. The chilly January air helps clear his head a little, but it’s not enough to stop the downward spiral of grief, and he sinks down into its dark depths. When he first lost Lu Ten, anything could set off this feeling – an old sock in the corner of the dryer, a song Lu Ten loved playing in the supermarket, the sound of a child laughing. It would hit him that his son was gone, that he would never grow up, never go to college or get married. And Iroh would feel as if he was drowning, his libs frozen, unable to move. There was no way he could have led a show choir back then, no way he could have done anything but sit on the couch and stare into the air, wondering if the pain would ever end.

The pain did end though, or at least it got better, and these days he never shuts down completely. Little things can still set him off, but the grief feels more like a light shower than like an overwhelming wave. He doesn’t sink – he’s just reminded of that deep, dark pit that's always lurking under the happy surface of his life.

And seeing Aang’s anger in the hospital reminds him of that last afternoon, when it was his hunched form that filled a waiting room chair, watching the clock and fearing the worst. And then the nurse had come out, face emotionless, and –

Iroh blinks, stopping the car and looking around. He doesn’t know how long he’s been driving, but it’s getting dark outside, and he’s surrounded by fields. Squinting at the road signs a bit further down the road he reads the word “cemetery”, and understanding dawns. He must have subconsciously wanted to visit Lu Ten’s grave today. He was planning to make the long drive to Akron with Zuko next weekend, but if he’s already here, he might as well go in.

The cemetery is quiet and well-kept, the small paths cleared of snow, the clean gray of the graves a sharp contrast to the muddy white of the ground. The scattered trees are bare of leaves, the thin lines of their brown branches stark against the dark gray sky. Iroh concentrates on the crunch of gravel beneath his feet and the sound of the wind rustling the branches of the trees he passes, and before long he reaches Lu Ten’s grave.

The gravestone stands out amongst the others, tall and thick where other stones are short and wide. The kanji are large and dark against the light gray stone, the small containers on the base full of old flowers, frozen and rotting. Iroh saw a few other people near the entrance to the cemetery, but there’s no one around now, and the only sound is the wind weaving through the trees.

Sighing, Iroh pulls off his right-hand glove with his teeth and starts to clean. He visits pretty often, but it’s incredible how fast the grave gets dirty, leaves and dirt and snow covering the stones. He throws away the rotten flowers, annoyed that he can’t replace them. At least he always has incense in his bag, and he takes a stick out now, lighting it in the tiny red incense holder, the flame a small burst of brightness in the dark. The water bowl is still full, so the only thing left for him to do is to wipe down the picture that leans on the gravestone. It's a framed photo of Lu Ten looking handsome and stoic, the smile curling his lips so much smaller than his usual wide grin.

Iroh sits back on his heels, staring at the photo. Overwhelmed with emotion, he starts to sing.

Leaves from the vine
Falling so slow
Like fragile tiny shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
Come marching home
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home

His voice breaks on the last line, tears streaming down his face. He doesn’t wipe them away, doesn’t try to stop crying. He just sits there, looking at the face of his beautiful boy, letting the grief pull him down .

ooooo

“Uncle?”

Iroh doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting in front of Lu Ten’s grave. Turning to look up at Zuko, he can barely make out his nephew’s face in the darkness, so it must have gotten pretty late. Standing up and dusting the dirt off his knees, Iroh notices his hands are shaking in the cold, and he tightens his coat over his chest, trying to keep in some warmth.

“What are you doing here, nephew?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“I was worried about you,” Zuko tells him, and Iroh’s chest warms at the concern in his nephew’s voice. “You didn’t come home after practice, and Sokka said that Aang was at the hospital alone when Katara called him. It was getting late, and, well… I thought you might be here. Are you okay?”

“I am fine!” Iroh lies. “Do not worry, Zuko. But I am grateful you came to get me, I must have lost track of time! Shall we go home? I could do with a nice, warm cup of tea, eh?”

Zuko is close enough that Iroh can see him frowning, even in the dark. “Are you sure, Oji? We were going to visit on the weekend, and I know it’s his birthday tomorrow, but you’ve never come here without telling me before.”

“I just forgot to message you – you know how I am with phones. But everything is fine!” Iroh tries to force cheer into his voice. “I am getting colder by the minute, though, so let us go.”

Zuko still seems unconvinced, but he doesn’t say anything as they walk back to their cars. Waving to his nephew and getting into his own car, Iroh tries to take deep breaths. He can continue crying once he’s alone in his room – right now, he needs to be strong for Zuko.

“– and Katara doesn’t know what to do, because he won’t even answer his messages!”

Zuko picks up his glass and takes a sip from the straw, keeping his eyes on Sokka. It’s Wednesday evening, and they’re sitting in Breadstix, the table between them covered in half-empty plates of pasta and tall glasses of coke. Sokka is currently ranting about how Aang won’t talk to anyone, and how it’s making Katara miserable and how it’s very hard for Sokka to live with a miserable Katara. The rant is a little bit selfish, since Aang is the one whose dog is dying, but Zuko is enjoying it – he can’t stand people who pretend to be saints.

“It’s like my uncle, you know,” he tells Sokka once the other boy stops to take a breath. “I think seeing Aang at the vet must have set him off, or something. I found him kneeling in the snow in front of Lu Ten’s grave really late on Monday evening, and he had definitely been crying, but he just kept saying he was fine! And he’s been depressed all week, but he won’t talk to me about it, just keeps smiling and saying there’s no problem. It’s driving me mad.”

Sokka leans forward, frowning. Zuko really likes that frown, likes the cute little twist of Sokka's mouth that always accompanies his angled brows.

“That sounds frustrating. But who’s Lu Ten?”

“Oh!” His uncle is so open and affectionate that it’s easy to forget how private he really is. “Lu Ten is Iroh’s son, my cousin. He was eight years older than me, and a really great guy. But he died, like six years ago I think? I’m not actually sure from what. We didn’t live in Akron back then – we moved there later that year when Uncle left Vocal Adrenaline and my dad became the director, and my mom was already sick back then, so I don’t think we even made it to the funeral.” Zuko feels a small pang of guilt, thinking of Iroh sitting alone at that funeral.

Sokka’s eyes are wide. “I didn’t even know Iroh had a son! That sounds like a really hard time for all of you. So is that how he came to teach at McKinley? I always wondered.”

“Yeah,” Zuko nods. “I don’t know if he officially resigned from Carmel – he may have just stopped showing up, or something. And I don’t think he moved to Lima right away. It was probably a hard time for him, all alone – Lu Ten was adopted, you know. But my mom was in the hospital all the time, and we weren’t that close back then, and I…”

“Hey.” Zuko hasn't noticed how agitated he's become, but now Sokka’s warm fingertips are on his arm, grounding him. “You were a kid, Zuko,” Sokka tells him gently. “It wasn’t your responsibility to help.”

“But I still feel bad that I didn't! And I want to help now, but he won’t let me!” Zuko clenches his fists, nails biting painfully into his palms.

“Zuko…” Sokka wraps his hand around Zuko’s fist, gently pulling the fingers apart and loosely interlacing a few of them with his own. They touch a lot, these days. They haven’t really talked about anything, haven’t confessed any feelings, but every touch feels like a promise to Zuko, and he relaxes, looking up into Sokka’s bright blue eyes.

“You could still help now,” Sokka tells him. “Maybe Iroh just needs to know how much you want to. You know people always think they’re bothering others when they complain. You just need to convince Iroh he can tell you stuff – if all of his friends are like Bumi, he probably isn’t used to someone actually listening to what he says.”

Zuko smiles. “People say Bumi gives good advice, but how? By telling them about his cats?”

“Maybe his cats are like metaphors for emotions,” Sokka laughs. “He’s compared me to Nugget – does that mean he thinks I’m scared like a chicken?”

Zuko laughs, tightening his grip on Sokka’s hand. He loves Sokka’s sense of humour.

“But seriously,” Sokka continues. “Maybe you need to pull a Toph here, and sing to him.”

“Sing?”

“I mean, I know it’s cheesy, but Iroh lives for this stuff, right? Expressing all our emotions through music? You could sing him something about how you want to help, get the whole choir to join in.” Sokka frowns. “Actually, maybe you could make it a duet with Katara. So it would be like a double thing, for Aang and Iroh together.”

“That could work,” Zuko says, nodding. Usually he’d prefer to sing alone, but making the song a combined gesture could make the whole thing less embarrassing. “Do you have any idea what song we could sing?”

ooooo

Two days later Zuko is standing on the large stone steps behind the school, rubbing his hands for warmth and watching as Sokka leads Aang and Iroh into the courtyard below. He sees the moment they notice the choir, both of them stopping to stare at the students arrayed on the steps behind Zuko.

“Aang, Mr. Iroh,” Katara says, raising her voice to reach them as Sokka quickly climbs up to join the choir. “We know you’re both having a hard time right now. So Zuko and I, and well, the whole choir, we wanted to sing this song for you.”

Zuko can’t really see Iroh’s expression from where he’s standing, but he thinks he can make out a smile on the old man’s face. Aang’s displeasure is more obvious, though, since his arms are crossed over his chest and he’s resolutely not looking up at the choir. But before either of them can say anything, the assembled students start to sing.

Hum-hum-hum-hum-hum, hum-hum-hum-hum, hum-hum-hum-hum-hum

Zuko used to hate songs like this, back when he was in Vocal Adrenaline. There’s not much choreography to learn – just a few places to snap their fingers, and a bit of wandering around. Other than that, it’s just them and the song. There’s nothing to hide behind, in a song like this.

Sometimes in our lives, we all have pain, we all have sorrow

Today, Zuko doesn’t mind that the song is simple. It feels easy to fill the words with emotion, easy to watch the others and respond to their movements. Part of it is just practice, months and months of singing with the New Directions. But part of it is also that he means the words he sings, in a way he hasn't before. It's not the first time a song has made him emotional, but before it always felt as if the song was wringing the feelings out of him by force. This time it’s different – he knew what he was feeling before the song started, and now he sings with intention, putting everything he can into his voice.

Lean on me, when you're not strong, and I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on

It’s easy because he wants Iroh to lean on him. Because his uncle has been there for him through thick and thin, and god knows there’s been a lot of thick. The past few years have been hard, yes, but they could have been so much worse, and he owes every moment of happiness to his uncle.

We all need somebody to lean on!

Zuko moves with the music, looking around at the rest of the choir. The song is beautiful, Zuko’s low voice alternating Katara’s sweet words, their lines weaving in and out of each other’s. The rest of the choir backs them up, harmonious and lovely, all of them smiling as they snap their fingers to the rhythm. Zuko feels something tighten in his chest, a painful clench of warm emotion. Fighting to keep his voice even he turns back towards the courtyard, and sings the last line.

Oooo, It won't be long, 'till I'm gonna need, somebody to lean on

The applause is loud and strong, and completely unexpected. Zuko was so engrossed in the rest of the choir that he hadn’t noticed the gathering audience, and now the courtyard is filled with students, all of them clapping and cheering, some of them holding their phones out to film the performance. It’s exhilarating and overwhelming in the best way possible, but Zuko only has eyes for one person.

Iroh is standing in the middle of the crowd, and he moves forward as Zuko runs down the stairs. Iroh’s eyes are bright with tears, and Zuko’s heart clenches again at the look on his uncle’s face. When Iroh clamps a hand on Zuko’s shoulder and pulls him into a one-sided hug, Zuko doesn’t resist, leaning into his uncle’s warmth, his throat tight with emotion.

“Thank you, Oi,” Iroh tells him, voice hoarse. “That was a beautiful song. You do not know what it means to me, to hear you sing like that.”

“I…” Zuko blushes. “Thank you, uncle. And I meant what I said.”

Iroh’s arm tightens, pulling him closer. “I know you did, Oi. It was in every word you sang. And I promise, I will confide in you.” Iroh wipes his eyes with his free hand. “It is hard, for an old man like me, to rely on others. But I will try.”

Zuko doesn’t say anything, just nods his head and leans into Iroh. They spend a moment like that, Zuko feeling warm and safe, and then there’s a shout and they both step away, turning to look.

“I told you to leave me alone!”

It’s Aang, shouting at Katara. They’re both standing at the edge of the crowd, Aang angled away as if he wants to leave. Zuko is too far away to hear what Katara says, but he doesn’t have any trouble hearing Aang’s answering shout.

“No, you don’t understand! So just let me go, Katara, and leave me alone!”

At that, Aang turns around and walks back into the school, leaving Katara standing alone, slumped and defeated. No-one else approaches her, and with an impulse that surprises him, Zuko wonders if he can do anything to help her. But Katara really put everything into that song, and if that’s not what Aang needs… Maybe they should leave him alone.

And well, Zuko thinks, as Sokka comes over to congratulate and hug him. He has more important things to do.

Dear Journal,

Miss me?

As much as it pains me to see those pathetic glee club freaks parading around the school, even Sue Sylvester has to admit when she's beaten. So I did my time away, ran a few marathons, spent the holidays on a sex retreat with Michael. And now, when those rubber-brained idiots least suspect it, I will pounce.

You see, Journal, Sue has learnt from her mistakes! The long-haired midget may have proven to be more formidable than he seems, but that cannot deter me. No – there is a very simple solution. Sue Sylvester needs allies.

Luckily, before she was proven to be a despicable turn-coat, Asian cheerleader 1 lets slip some crucial information about the imbeciles’ Regionals competition – namely, the vicious animosity between strawberry-face and his sister, and the boy's past in Vocal Adrenaline. A little more digging quickly revealed the connection between Carmel High and Iroh. So once I cleansed my surroundings of treacherous asians, all I had to do was wait for the perfect bait.

And oh, journal, how perfect! The dramatic song on the stairs, the cheering crowd, the tearful hug. All I needed to do was to Commandeer a few students' phones and get Becky to upload the video. Buy a few Russian bots, and, Voila! Instant viral hit.

Look out, freaks of the world. Sue Sylvester is hunting, and she's out for blood.

ooooo

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: The New Directions problem

1 video attachment

Chapter Text

Ding!

“I’ll get it,” Zuko tells Iroh, stepping away from the kitchen table to go answer the door. He isn’t sure who it could be on Sunday morning, but it’s probably one of their neighbours wanting to borrow the snow shovel or something. Zuko hopes it won’t take too long, because he needs to finish his homework before lunch if he wants to get in any practice before dinner. He’s meeting Sokka at seven to get some food, and they usually end up spending the whole evening together, so he needs to get everything done before then.

Stopping for a moment to stretch in the narrow hallway, he walks up to the door and turns the handle. There’s a friendly greeting on his lips, but the words die in his mouth as soon as he sees the person on the other side of the door, his muscles clenching with instinctive fear.

“Good morning Zu-Zu!” Azula tells him cheerfully. She looks sleek and elegant in her long black coat, the red scarf around her neck matching the color of her lipstick. Zuko squirms, suddenly embarrassed about the faded sweats he’s wearing, all too aware of the old ketchup stain on the sleeve of his shirt and the hole in the left knee of his pants.

“What are you doing here, Azula?”

“No warm welcome?” Azula asks, one eyebrow raised. “Well, if you must know, I was in the neighbourhood, and I thought I would pop by to visit you and dear old Uncle. So why don’t you invite me in, and we can have a nice little chat.”

Grumbling, Zuko lets Azula in, taking her coat while she carefully unlaces her boots and leading her into the kitchen with a sinking heart.

“Azula!”

Iroh is standing by the stove, pouring something into a mug. He and Zuko usually spend weekend mornings together in the kitchen, both of them working quietly on their own. Zuko feels a rush of anger at Azula for ruining this moment – things have been so good between him and Iroh since the “Lean on Me” performance, and Zuko was really looking forward to spending this morning with his uncle.

“Hello, Uncle,” Azula says brightly. “I just thought I’d pop by and say hello.”

“That is wonderful, Azula. We are so happy to have you here!” Iroh turns around, taking a tray from the counter and placing it on the table. “Would you like some tea? I just brewed a fresh batch of Genmaicha. Zuko’s favourite, you know.”

Azula looks at the tea filing the small ceramic cups that stand on the tray, nose scrunching in disdain. Zuko loves the roasted taste the popped brown rice gives the tea, but he knows the mushy brown and green residue can look weird, and not everyone appreciates the distinctive smell.

“No… thank you, Uncle,” Azula says carefully. Turning to Zuko, she asks, “Zu-Zu, why don’t you show me your room? I’m sure it’s delightful, and a sister must be interested in how her brother lives, right?”

Zuko frowns at her, suspicious, but at Iroh’s encouragement leads Azula up the stairs to his room. He really doesn’t want to let her in there, but he can’t see a way out that isn’t incredibly rude. Not that he would mind shouting at Azula, but she always manages to use his temper to her advantage.

“Well…” Azula looks around the room, her disdain obvious. “How cosy.”

Looking around, Zuko sees the room through Azula’s eyes and cringes. Their old house in Akron, the one Azula still lives in, is large and modern, every surface smooth, every room spacious and elegant. The bedrooms in that house have large windows overlooking the garden, with a queen-size bed in one corner of the room and a spacious desk and huge wardrobe lining the other wall.

In comparison, Iroh's house in Lima is shabby. It’s clean and warm, but the rooms are small, the paint is peeling off the walls and all the furniture is worn and rough. Zuko loves his room in this house, but the small window only lets in a sliver of light, and he can see how one metal-framed twin bed and one scratched chest of drawers might pale in comparison to the stylish furniture Azula is used to. She wouldn’t care that Iroh crocheted the colourful bedspread himself, or that the yellowing book on the bedside table is a gift from Sokka. When Zuko still lived in Akron Azula’s room was always the same – clean, bright, and devoid of any sign of personality, more like a hotel room than a little girl’s space.

But Azula isn’t really little any more, Zuko thinks as his sister gingerly moves some old clothes off the bed and lowers herself to sit on the edge of the mattress. She looks almost like a young woman now, the confident star of the country’s best school show choir. Zuko has always envied Azula, but the feeling overwhelms him now, seeing her calm self-assurance and elegant clothes in sharp contrast to his own shabby room. It doesn't matter how many songs he sings about their rivalry making him stronger – Azula still has the ability to make Zuko doubt the worth of things he thought he liked.

“What do you want, Azula?” he asks again. She wouldn't have come here without an ulterior motive.

“Straight to the point, brother?” she asks mockingly. “Well, here it is: father saw the video, and he wants you back in Vocal Adrenaline.”

Zuko freezes, his heart clenching around those words, the words he has longed to hear for two long years. Father wants him back. He wants to scream with joy, but holds himself back – this is Azula, after all, and she can't be trusted.

“What video?”

Azula’s brows rise. “The video, Zuko. The one in which you feature, quite prominently, singing some lovey-dovey song in that dingy school courtyard of yours.”

It must be a video of him singing “Lean on Me”. “Some student must have filmed us… But how did father see the video?”

“Oh, Zu-Zu, this is too good,” Azula laughs. “You're not telling me you got famous without even knowing about it?”

She smiles wider at Zuko’s frown. “Someone uploaded that video to YouTube, dear brother, titled something ridiculous, like ‘I CRIED watching this Ohio choir sing’. I’m sure you can find it later.” Zuko is itching to start up his computer and look, but he just nods, trying to tamp down on the wild hope bubbling in his chest.

“Anyways, it seems that your little soppy tune was exactly the sort of thing the internet loves,” Azula continues with a small wave of her hand. “I can't say that I was very impressed by your performance, but father must have seen something in it. And, well. He wants you back.”

“He really wants me back.” That… it makes sense. Zuko can't believe it, but it sounds as if he really has just gotten what he longed for for years. A place back by his father's side. It hurts him a bit that Ozai sent Azula as his messenger, but it's understandable. Zuko messed up, and getting a second chance doesn't mean that he's forgiven.

“Yes, Zu-Zu, that's why I'm here. You can move back as soon as you want – your old room is the same as you left it, once you move a few boxes out. I’m sure you'll be happy to leave all these Lima nobodies behind.”

Lima nobodies… Zuko blinks, feeling as if he's just woken up from a dream. The choir, Uncle… Sokka. He’d be leaving them all behind.

“I… I’m not sure, Azula.”

Azula's eyes widen with what looks like real surprise. “You're not sure? Zuko, are you hearing what I’m saying? Father wants you back. Your family wants you back. You did something unforgivable, and you’re being offered a chance to earn forgiveness. Are you really going to give up the second chance that is being graciously granted to you, for what? A life in Lima, Ohio?”

Azula gestures around the room, wrinkling her nose. Her contempt hurts, but Zuko gets it. Two years ago he was the same, disgusted with every run-down strip mall and badly dressed loser in this town. But now… he feels like he was just starting to carve out a small bit of happiness for himself in Lima. Can he give that up?

Zuko groans, clutching at his hair. He’s never felt this conflicted in his life. Akron, Vocal Adrenaline, his father – that was the life he was supposed to have. His destiny. But if he leaves Lima…

“Well,” Azula says, watching Zuko carefully. “It seems this decision is not as easy as I thought it would be. Not to worry, brother. Let me see…” she hums thoughtfully. “We’ll be working out the set list for Regionals next week. You really won't be able to join after that is finalised, but why don't you take some time to think about it, and you can let us know by Sunday? I was quite looking forward to telling Chad he’s out of the choir, but, you know, I can wait.” Azula’s smile is sharp.

Zuko lowers his hands and breathes in deeply, trying to calm himself. A few more days to decide… that would help.

“Thanks, Azula. I’ll think about it.”

Azula stands, brushing some invisible dust off her skirt, and turns to leave. On the way out, she gives Zuko a small pat on the shoulder.

“Make sure you think about what you’d be turning down, Zuko. This is not only about family. Vocal Adrenaline is a straight path to Nationals and Broadway, and you know Uncle’s little club is going nowhere. And if you’ve made some friends here… you can always visit.”

Zuko arrives at Breadstix ten minutes late, the air around him thick with tension. Sokka is waiting for him at their usual table, but the rush of joy he usually feels at the sight of Zuko disappears when he gets a closer look at the other boy’s expression. This brooding, angry person looks more like the old slushy-throwing Zuko than the kind and cheerful boy Sokka is friends with.

“What’s wrong, Zuko?” Is this about their meetings? Has someone found out? Sokka is out at school now, basically, and most of the bullying has died down. Zuko doesn’t seem to treat his sexuality as a secret so much as something that isn’t anyone else’s business, but Sokka has been a bit unsure about where their meetings stand. To be honest, he’s a bit unsure about what these meetings even are, but as long as he gets to spend time with Zuko, and maybe work towards something more… he’s not complaining.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Zuko grumbles, picking up a menu. Okay, if he’s planning to order then it’s not about meeting Sokka.

“But, did something happen? Is everything okay with Iroh? Can I help?”

“No, nothing like that!” Zuko says, putting down the menu and pushing his hands into his hair. He’s been growing it out for the past few months, and Sokka is always distracted by the way the thick black strands move silkily between Zuko’s strong fingers.

“Then what?”

“My sister came to visit this morning,” Zuko confesses, dragging his hands down over his face.

“Your sister?” Sokka doesn’t know much about Azula, but he definitely doesn’t like what he knows. “What did she want?”

When Zuko doesn’t answer, something starts to tighten in Sokka’s gut. “Zuko? Is everything okay? Did Azula do anything?”

“No!” Zuko puts his hands down on the table and looks to the side, away from Sokka. “It’s… it’s really good actually. Have you seen that viral video of our performance last week?”

“Yeah… It’s pretty cool that people like it so much. I mean, it’s mostly you and Katara, but I felt a bit like a celebrity, watching myself in it.”

Zuko nods. “My father saw the video. And according to Azula, he liked it, and wants me back in Vocal Adrenaline.”

For a moment, Sokka is happy – finally, that asshole Ozai is appreciating Zuko’s talent! But then he looks at Zuko’s blank expression, thinks of the other boy’s blank tone, and the penny drops.

“He wants you to move back to Akron. Like the past two years never happened?”

“Yeah. He’s being very kind.”

“Kind!” Sokka can’t help the shout. “Zuko, he should be grovelling for your forgiveness, after the way he treated you!”

Zuko turns his head sharply to glare at Sokka. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know what Iroh told you, but what happened two years ago was my fault. My father was right to send me away.”

“Your fault? Zuko, a parent should never send his kid away, no matter what they do. Do you mean he hasn’t apologised? Just what, graciously allowed you to come back?”

“Yes!” Zuko shouts, standing. “Because it was my fault. I undermined his authority in front of all of his students. It was unforgivable, so yes, I’m really grateful he’s asking me to go back! I thought you understood!”

Shit. In the heat of the moment, Sokka forgot how sensitive Zuko is about his father. Sokka knows from bitter experience that there’s no point in arguing with Zuko about his father, so if he wants to convince Zuko to stay, he needs to back off. And even more shit… now that he’s thinking about it, the most important thing is to get Zuko to stay in Lima.

Sokka leans forward and grabs Zuko’s raised arms. “Yes, I do, I do. I’m sorry, Zuko. I understand. I just… you know I have my own problems with my father. I was just projecting,” he lies, closing his eyes to hide the truth. “Your situation is different. I’m really happy your dad wants you back.”

“Yeah.” Zuko slides his arms through Sokka’s hands, interlacing their fingers and pulling them both down to sit again. “I’m also sorry, Sokka. You know I can overreact about this stuff.”

Sokka opens his eyes to find Zuko looking at him, his expression open and a bit ashamed. Zuko’s hands are warm, and Sokka would happily tell him anything if it would make him stay. The other people in the restaurant are probably staring at them, both for the handholding and the outburst, but he couldn’t care less. He’s survived being the only out student at Mckinley, he can survive a few stares.

“So what are you going to do? Are you moving back to Akron?” Sokka tries to keep his voice calm.

It’s Zuko’s turn to close his eyes. “I don’t know. I mean, this is all I’ve wanted for so long, and, well, it would be great to be in Vocal Adrenaline again. But I also… I like it here in Lima, in the New Directions. And…” Zuko’s right cheek flushes. “I would miss hanging out with you.”

In any other circumstance, this admittance would make Sokka squeal with joy. But now being missed means being left, and he won’t settle for that.

“So you’re going to stay.”

“Sokka…” Zuko opens his eyes, accusing. He pulls his hands out of Sokka’s, but as much as Sokka misses that touch, he won’t back down.

“Come on, why would you want to go to Akron? Lima has everything you need. An incredible cultural scene, lots of theatres to visit, beautiful buildings, an accepting and liberal community…”

Zuko laughs, sudden and loud. “Really, how could I find anywhere better?”

“I know, right? And where else would you find…” Sokka picks up a menu, making a show of glancing through it. “Sweet chilli popcorn noodles?”

“No-where,” Zuko says. Sokka looks up at him, and for a moment their gazes meet, and Sokka’s heart stutters. Maybe he should –

“Are you boys ready to order?”

It’s Sandy, the waitress, and Sokka feels a bit grateful for her terrible timing. He doesn’t want to scare Zuko away with any talk about feelings. They make their usual orders, and Sandy walks away to the kitchen, leaving Sokka and Zuko looking at each other again, the earlier tension gone.

“Jokes aside. You’re staying in Lima, right?”

“I don’t know, Sokka.”

“I get that it’s good your dad forgives you, I really do. But couldn't you just visit? Talk on the phone? You have a life here, Zuko.”

“It’s… I don’t know if he’s really forgiven me. I think it’s more of a chance to prove myself – I’m not sure he’d want to talk to me if I stay in Lima.” Sokka frowns, but before he can say anything Zuko continues. “But it’s not just about family. Vocal Adrenaline… that’s my destiny, Sokka. I was making peace with being in Lima, even having fun, but now I’m being offered a place back in the big leagues.”

“What does Vocal Adrenaline have that the New Directions doesn’t? Do you really want to be Azula’s supporting dancer?”

Zuko shakes his head. “You just don’t understand, Sokka. Yeah, if you want to be an engineer, you can just graduate from a normal school and go to college, and even if it’s not the best you’ll probably get a job. But I want to sing on Broadway. For that I need to go to the best academy possible, and for that I need to be in a show choir that wins Nationals. And even that’s just to get my foot in the door. I can’t afford to turn down a chance like this. It’s not about fun, it’s about my destiny.”

Sokka doesn’t know who gave Zuko the idea that he has a destiny, but sometimes he really wants to bash their head in. What does it even mean, having a destiny? Still, Sokka can admit Zuko’s argument makes sense. Personally, he doesn’t think a better chance at a Broadway career is worth leaving all your friends and moving in with your abusive father and evil sister, but, well, it’s Zuko’s choice.

“That makes sense,” he says, trying to think of an argument. “But are you really so sure Vocal Adrenaline are going to win? You heard Mr. Iroh. We’re really good, in ways that are different from them, and we could win.”

“No, we can’t, Sokka,” Zuko says sadly. “Iroh is just trying to give you hope. My whole family is in the industry – my grandfather was a Broadway star. I know how this works, and Vocal Adrenaline are going to win.”

“Okay…” Sokka is still unconvinced, but he decides not to argue any more now, and just nods. “So what happens now? You think about it?”

“I have until Sunday to decide, but I don’t know if I want to talk about it right now.”

Great, a stupid deadline. “Uh… okay, I won’t push any more. But I’m here if you change your mind.” Zuko gives him a grateful smile.

“So,” Sokka changes the subject. “Have you finished that detective book I lent you?”

Sokka can’t stop thinking about Zuko leaving Lima. They talk about other things for the rest of the evening, and on Monday Zuko doesn’t bring it up. But Sokka wants to talk about it, so much so that he can barely concentrate in class.

Zuko can’t leave. He can’t. Not when things are just getting good, when they’ve only just started, well… dating, basically. They haven’t defined anything, but it’s pretty obvious that’s what they’re doing, with all the long dinners and hand holding. And Sokka was being good, taking it slow and not pushing Zuko too much. Still, that doesn't mean he doesn't have very detailed plans of when and how he'll kiss Zuko for the first time, and he’s not going to let little evil Azula get in the way.

There are, of course, less selfish reasons to want Zuko to stay in Lima. Sokka knows what it’s like to try to please an absent father, and the thing is, Hakoda is actually a pretty good parent when he’s around – he’s just never around. From what Iroh told Sokka Ozai has always been abusive, and living with him and Azula can't be good for Zuko.

Unable to concentrate on anything else, Sokka lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. His mind keeps running through scenarios, and every single one where Zuko leaves ends up badly. So, fuck it. There’s no other option – he needs to make sure Zuko stays.

The only logical argument Zuko has for moving is that Vocal Adrenaline are better than the New Directions. And Sokka doesn’t have any way to dispute that, not when Vocal Adrenaline have won so many National championships. Part of him just wants to grab Zuko and tell him that he should stay for Sokka, and fuck his destiny, but he knows that won’t work – Sokka isn’t worth more to Zuko than a career on Broadway.

But maybe he can meet Zuko where he’s at, and show him that staying at Lima doesn’t mean giving up on his destiny. The New Directions are good, Sokka is sure of that. He just needs a way to prove it, and he needs to act now, before he goes mad with worry.

Turning to check the clock on his bedside table, Sokka decides it’s not too late for a call. A quick text to Ty Lee gets him the number he needs, and he pushes himself up to sit cross legged on the bed and dials.

“Hello.”

He hates how bored Azula sounds. “Hey.” Suddenly, Sokka feels awkward. “You, um, probably don’t remember me, but I’m Sokka – I’m a member of the New Directions.”

“Oh, one of Zu-Zu’s little friends! To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

“I, uh…” He probably should have thought this through. “We all know you want to poach Zuko,” he lies, “and we don’t think that’s okay. So we want to challenge Vocal Adrenaline.”

“You want to challenge us?” Azula sounds like she’s laughing.

“Yes! To a song competition.”

“Oh, that’s adorable.” Azula is definitely laughing. “And tell me, little boy, who would judge this competition? Because I assume you would not accept anyone I choose, and I’m definitely not having one of your pathetic little teachers deciding the outcome.”

Shit. Sokka frantically tries to come up with something else. “Then we don’t need to sing, we can just do something where it’s obvious who wins. Like football, or baseball, or… dodgeball. Umm, we could just play a dodgeball game.”

“So, let me get this right. You want to challenge us to a competition where we, what? Throw balls at each other? And this will prove you to be the superior choir?”

He knows Azula is teasing him, but in a way that only makes Sokka double down, Azula's smug voice grating on his nerves. “Yeah. What's wrong with dodgeball? It'll prove that we're, I mean, not superior, but umm, more passionate? We’ll beat you all and show Zuko he needs to stay.”

“Well,” Azula’s voice has an edge to it that Sokka doesn’t like. “Aren’t you creative? And does Zuko know about your little… idea?”

“Umm,” Sokka doesn’t know if he should lie or not. “I– we, uh, haven’t told him yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree, and–”

“Oh, don’t tell him on my account. He can’t participate on either side anyway, can he? And we wouldn’t want him to interfere.”

Sokka agrees, ignoring the guilt churning in his belly. “I’ll just record the game and show him later.” And when he sees the New Directions beating Vocal Adrenaline, he’ll have to stay.

“Well, that seems about it, doesn’t it?”

“You– you accept?”

“Of course. I’m sure Vocal Adrenaline will love coming out to your quaint little school and participating in one of your… rougher traditions. We’ll be there.”

Sokka continues on instinct, telling Azula that he’ll text her the date and time, and agreeing on a few more rules. When she finishes the call with an ominous “good night”, he mechanically puts down the phone on his bedside table, and sits there for a moment, staring at a stained patch on his wall.

Shit, shit, shit, shit! What did he just agree to?

“So… yeah. That’s what we need to do.”

Sokka starts playing with the hairband on his left wrist, fidgeting under the incredulous scares of nine angry choir members. They’re all in the choir room after school – all except Aang, who’s at home taking care of Appa, and Zuko, who wasn’t told about this meeting.

“And… just remind me,” Jet says, his voice mocking. “Why do we need to play in this ridiculous dodgeball game?”

Sokka flinches. Jet has been pretty nice to him since the porta-potty incident, and has definitely tried to be friendly to others in the choir. But he’s bullied Sokka too many times for this to feel like anything but an attack.

“We need Zuko,” Sokka says, trying to be convincing. “He’s one of our best singers, and he’s definitely the most experienced. He’s seriously considering leaving the school to sing for our competition! We need to show him we’re worth staying for!” He ignores the meaningful look Katara tries to give him from the other side of the room.

“But Sokka,” she says gently. “Is a dodgeball game really the right way to do that? What does it even prove? Shouldn’t we talk to him, and tell him that we want him to stay because we like him?”

“No,” Sokka shakes his head. “You know Zuko. The most important thing to him is his destiny. It doesn’t matter if we want him to stay, we need to show him he’s not going to ruin his life by staying!” He takes a deep breath. “I know the dodgeball game is… a little weird. But give it a chance, please? Our strength as a choir is that we’re passionate, so we can put that passion into the game. And we have some pretty good players, right?” He looks at Haru, eyes pleading.

“Yeah,” Haru says, sounding a bit uncertain. “I mean, I used to play in middle school.”

“And I know from gym class that Suki and Jet are really good!” Sokka adds, smiling at Haru. “So we have a team. Vocal Adrenaline spend all their day in show choir practice – how good can they be?”

Really good, it turns out. It’s not hopeless – none of the members of Vocal Adrenaline are nearly as good as Haru, and Suki and Jet can also hold their own. But the rest of the New Directions are pretty dismal. Katara and Teo are out within five minutes, and Pipsqueak not long after them. Mai and Ty Lee are very good at running and ducking, but their aim is terrible. It could be because they don’t want to hit their childhood friend, but from the few times Sokka has seen them play in mixed gym classes, they’re not great players at the best of times. Sokka himself isn’t too bad, but the Vocal Adrenaline kids are just too fast for him. It must be all that dance training – their aim is average at best, but they jump and slide around like they’re made of air.

As Sokka runs and ducks and throws balls, the knot of guilt in his stomach tightens. This was a bad idea. He’d always known it was ridiculous, but ridiculous things had worked for him before. That's probably why the rest of the choir agreed to this - they're all used to doing ridiculous things. But this… what had he been thinking? Dodgeball? It’s not like the game is hopeless – having a few excellent players instead of a whole team of average ones might actually give them an edge if they can eliminate enough of Vocal Adrenaline’s members. But faced with the pathetic reality of the game, Sokka's fantasies wither and die - even if they win, then what? How will the sight of this pathetic spectacle convince Zuko of anything? Sokka had told everyone that it would show Zuko they’re willing to fight for him, and they believed him because Sokka is Zuko's best friend. But as first Mai and then Ty Lee are eliminated, he watches the cool smile on Azula’s face and worries that all this game would tell Zuko is that Sokka is a spineless, pathetic idiot, like he always knew he was.

A few minutes earlier.

Zuko is in hell. He’s been going back and forth on his decision all week like some giant emotional yo-yo. One moment he’s eating breakfast with Iroh, or singing in choir practice, and his heart feels so tight at the thought of leaving that he knows he has to stay. But the next moment he’s dancing in the basement or listening to a Broadway song in the car, and his heart races at the thought of giving up his destiny. The worst moments come late at night, though, when he’s lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. It’s then that he lets himself think of his father, of how it would feel to be welcomed back home. Those thoughts are both intoxicatingly sweet and unbearably painful, and they always end up with him curled up on his side, his wet face buried into the pillow he’s clutching in his arms.

He’s tried to help himself decide a few times, spending more time talking with Iroh in the kitchen, or trying to chat to the choir members after practice. But while Iroh has been happy to indulge Zuko, it feels like the choir members are avoiding him, always saying they’re too busy. Even Sokka has been unusually distant, preoccupied and serious. Zuko doesn’t think he’s heard him tell one joke all week.

And it’s not like Zuko really expected anything – he knows none of them like him, except maybe Sokka. He’s been a real asshole to most of them, and he knows he’s not very likeable at the best of times. Really, it’s a surprise that they tolerate him as much as they do. He can’t expect anything, not when they probably have their own troubles, and don’t even really know that he’s having a hard time. There were a few nights when he was tempted to pick up the phone and call Sokka, but he always decided against it. They were… something, yes, but a very tentative something. Sokka doesn’t owe him anything, so if he wants to distance himself, Zuko should let him.

Still, it weighs on Zuko, and on Friday afternoon he hangs about after classes end, feeling lost. It would have been nice to talk to someone, but the school seems oddly empty, so he just sits down on one of the staircases and stares out into space.

“Zuko?”

Zuko looks up, blinking. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting here, but Iroh looks worried, so it must have been a while.

“Are you okay, Nephew?”

“Of course I'm not okay!” Zuko doesn't really have a reason to be annoyed with Iroh, but he just feels so angry. "I don't know what to do.”

lroh sighs, and sits down next to Zuko. “You're not the man you used to be, Zuko,” he puts a hand on Zuko's knee. “You are stronger and wiser and freer than you have ever been. And now you have come to the crossroads of your destiny.” Zuko shudders at the word, and Iroh turns to look at him. “It's time for you to choose. It's time for you to choose good.“

Good. Zuko knows Iroh means choosing to stay in Lima, to stay with him. And it does feel nice that Iroh wants him, that he thinks Zuko is strong and wise and has a destiny. But in some ways, lroh's flowery words are more confusing than ever. What does he mean by good? This is a choice between two cities, two choirs, two families. Yes, Zuko has been learning to be a better person in Lima, but that's not connected to the choice. Yeah, Azula is a bit mean, but part of being a better person is taking responsibility. So shouldn't he go back to Akron, where he can make up for his mistakes, and maybe earn his father's forgiveness?

It's not a question of morality, and that's what makes it hard. It's a question of what's right for Zuko, a question of where he belongs. Does he belong with Iroh? Does he belong, maybe, with–

Before he can finish the thought there's a crashing sound at the end of the hallway as a ball rolls out of the gym door, and the school is suddenly filled with noise.

"Is that drumming?” he asks, starting to walk towards the gym, Iroh close behind.

"It sounds more like a game," Iroh sounds worried, his steps quick. "I was not aware of any team practicing this late.“

Zuko slows down, not really interested in some random sports game. But as they get closer to the door the individual voices become clearer, as do the sounds of balls bouncing around, and his heart sinks.

"Azula is in there!" he shouts, and starts to run. There's no reason for Azula to be here, no reason for her shouts to be mingling with others. Zuko starts thinking of scenarios, each stranger than the last, but nothing can prepare him for the sight that greets him when he pushes open the doors to the gym.

Most of the New Directions are there, some of them standing against the wall, some of them throwing balls in the middle of the room. And on the other side of the court are what must be all of Vocal Adrenaline.

"What the fuck is going on!”

Zuko's voice rings out across the room, and suddenly everyone stops where they stand, balls dropping from their hands as they turn towards the door. Zuko feels a hand on his shoulder, and shoots Iroh a distracted look, finding his own confused feelings mirrored on his Uncle's face. On the floor of the gym, the New Directions look embarrassed, Vocal Adrenaline annoyed. Azula is smirking at him, but Zuko only has eyes for one person.

"Zuko, I can explain –” Sokka looks scared, his face pale. Zuko would very much like an explanation, but before Sokka can continue, Azula starts to speak.

"Well. This seems like a good time for a break, don't you agree?”

"Yes!” Sokka turns back towards the others. "Let's take a few minutes.”

Everyone seems happy to take a break - all the students look tired, their various sports clothes sticky with sweat. They're all wearing fluffy sports headbands, the New Directions in green and blue, Vocal Adrenaline in red, and Zuko wonders if he’s hallucinating all of it.

Sokka whispers to Haru and Suki, and then he walks towards Zuko, something scared in his expression. Azula is less hurried, taking her time to talk to her team, but she still gets to Zuko at the same time Sokka does.

"Well?" Zuko crosses his arms over his chest.

"Zuko, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but we wanted this to be a surprise,” Sokka says quickly. “It's, uh, a game, I mean not exactly, but we had to add in the dodgeball to make it judgeable, you know, and it's just that, well –”

"What the boy is trying to say, brother,” Azula cuts in. "Is that Sokka here had the brilliant idea that we should help you make your decision, Zu-Zu. Show you who's best, you know. And how better to do that than with a dodgeball game!”

Sokka is glaring at Azula, but he isn't contradicting her. "This was your idea?” he asks Sokka, trying to find an explanation in the other boy's face. A dodgeball game? How the fuck would that help anything? “I'm not even here to see it!” Iroh's hand tightens on Zuko's shoulder, but he doesn't say anything.

"We were recording it!" Sokka sounds desperate. "We just wanted to show you that we can beat them, that you don't need Vocal Adrenaline, you can stay in the New Directions!”

Zuko looks around the gym at all their students wearing sports clothes and holding rubber balls. He just doesn't get it, doesn't get why Sokka would think this would work. “So that’s why you did this whole stupid thing? So I would stay in the choir?” He thought Sokka understood.

“No–”

“Of course he did.” Azula basically pushes Sokka aside to make Zuko look at her. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to this choir, Zuko, and they know it. Look at them, scrambling desperately to keep you like some prize possession. Isn't it pathetic?” She moves closer to Zuko, her gaze intense. “You don’t need them, though, brother – you can still side with us and redeem yourself.“

Zuko stares at Azula, and then looks back at Sokka. The boy still has that desperate look on his face, but Zuko doesn't know what it means any more. Maybe he never did, maybe Sokka never wanted him for anything but the choir. Maybe it was stupid to think that anyone would want an asshole like him.

“Zuko.” He must be taking too long to answer, because Iroh moves forward to look Zuko in the face, eyes just as intense as Azula's. "Be careful, nephew. Remember what I said. The kind of redemption she offers is not for you.”

“Why don't you let him decide, Uncle?” Azula says angrily. “I need you, Zuko,” she adds, turning back to look at him, and it feels like her words pierce straight into his heart. His sister needs him. “I've plotted every move of this year, this glorious year in Vocal Adrenaline history, and the only way we win is together. At the end of this year, you will have your honour back. You will have Father's love. You will have everything you want. All you need to do is join us today.“ She has an extra red headband in her hand, and she offers it to him.

And god, he wants the things she offers, so badly. But can he do that? Fight against the New Directions?

“Zuko, I am begging you,” Iroh sounds desperate. “Look into your heart and see what it is that you truly want.”

Zuko looks at Sokka, but Sokka doesn’t say anything.

“Just imagine it, Zuko,” Azula tells him. Her voice is gentle, and when he looks at her her expression is almost fond, and it reminds him of the Azula of his childhood. “You and me, standing by father’s side, the Nationals trophy in your arms. That's where you belong. Are you really going to give that up?”

That’s what breaks him, in the end. It doesn’t matter how much joy Zuko can find here in Lima – it has always been, and will always be, a bandaid over a gaping wound. There’s a hole in his heart, and he’s being offered a chance to fill it. He can’t turn that down.

Taking a deep breath, Zuko turns to Azula and takes the headband out of her hand. He ignores the pained gasp he hears from Sokka, ignores Vocal Adrenaline’s loud cheering. He pulls the headband over his head, and steels himself for what he will have to do. He doesn’t want to fight the New Directions, but it will only last a few minutes, and then – then he will be able to go back to his father, a victor, a son worthy of redemption, of love.

The rest of the dodgeball game is short and brutal. Vocal Adrenaline win, and Zuko leaves with Azula, using every drop of his strength not to look back. This will be worth it. It has to be.

Chapter Text

Sokka stares at the ceiling. That's what he's been doing all weekend, just lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.

He's such an idiot. How could he fuck up so badly? How could he just let Azula manipulate him?

The worst thing was that nobody even tried to blame him. Zuko's betrayal—because there's just no other word for what he did—broke the choir. Fuck, it broke Iroh. Sokka had never seen the man look so devastated.

But wasn’t that also Zuko's fault? Yes, Sokka made a mistake. He can admit, in hindsight, that playing a secret dodgeball game behind someone's back could be hurtful. But at most, that would justify Zuko shouting at Sokka. It would even justify leaving—leaving is Zuko’s choice. But nothing, nothing can justify putting on a red headband and mercilessly throwing balls at your friends. Nothing can justify leaving without a word, just cutting everyone off.

Sokka needs to do something, he needs to find a distraction. He's been spiralling all weekend, bouncing between hating himself and getting angry at Zuko. Even the thoughts are a distraction, in a way. There's a hole in Sokka's heart, and he finally understands why people talk about emotions like they’re physical sensations—Zuko's betrayal hurts. It feels like there's something wrong with Sokka, like Zuko broke something inside him when he put on that headband. If Sokka didn't know any better he would seriously consider going to the doctor. But what would he say? “The guy I was sort of but not really dating got hurt that I organised a dodgeball game behind his back so he threw a ball at me and went back to his abusive father, and now I feel like I'm dying?”

What he needs is to be useful. Everyone has been tiptoeing around him all weekend, and if Katara gives him one more pitying look he's going to explode. And there's definitely things to do—after all, Zuko wasn't just Sokka's almost-boyfriend. He was also the 12th member of the choir, and now that he's gone they need a replacement. As depressed as they all wore on Friday, there was one thing they agreed on—the New Directions won't give up. So maybe that's what Sokka needs to do, find a new choir member. He convinced Haru, after all, so he can do it again.

He spends all day wracking his brain, but he can't think of anyone. With Sneers and Zuko gone, the loser/jock ratio of the glee club has only gotten worse, and he doubts anyone cool would agree to join. Maybe Jet can ask Smellerbee or Longshot? They're both horribly tone deaf, but they could just stand in the background and make up the numbers—hell, they don't even need to perform! But can they beat Vocal Adrenaline without replacing Zuko's voice?

Inspiration finally arrives from the most unlikely source—Gran-Gran's dinnertime gossip.

“Wait, Gran-Gran, do you mean Yue, Arnook's kid?” he asks, suddenly interested in the conversation. “The girl we used to play with when we were small?”

“Yes, that's the one!” his grandmother answers, smiling. “You kids used to be inseparable. As I was saying, Ahnah showed me some videos from her 70th birthday party, and that Yue really has the voice of an angel.”

For the first time in days, Sokka feels something that isn't despair. “And she's homeschooled, right? I remember dad saying she was.”

Gran-gran frowns. “I think so... there was something going on there, but Ahnah—you know, Yue's grandmother—she didn't want to say.”

“Sokka,” Katara says, leaning forward over the dinner table. “Are you thinking—”

“Yes! She'd be perfect for the glee club. I'm sure it doesn't matter which school she's registered at.” Katara is frowning, but Sokka's on a roll. “Gran-Gran, do you have her number?”

Gran-Gran, of course, does not have the mobile number of a sixteen year old girl. But it turns out that Ahnah lives in the same house as her son and granddaughter, and Gran-Gran is happy to give Sokka the landline number.

“It's good for you kids to reconnect,” she says. “Find some community, you know.”

Sokka nods and rushes upstairs, heart beating fast. Yue isn't exactly community—her family are Inuit, not Apache like Sokka's family—but it's more than nothing. Before Kya died Hakoda and Arnook had been inseparable, and the Yue from Sokka's memory is a bubbly blue-eyed kid who would never allow Sokka to kill off his barbies. He hasn't talked to her in years, but Sokka's desperate for something to go right, so he dials the number the moment he gets upstairs.

“Hello?”

“Hi! This is Sokka, Hakoda's kid?”

“Oh, Sokka, good to hear from you!” The deep voice on the other end is probably Arnook. “What can I do for you? Does your father want to talk?”

“No, uh… I actually got this number from Gran-Gran. Is Yue around?”

“Oh, of course! She's in her room, I can get her if you want? She'd be so happy to hear from you.”

Sokka thanks him, and Arnook goes to get his daughter. Sokka keeps getting more nervous as he waits. How should he sell this? Isn't it a bit mean to ignore someone for years and then call them just for a favour?

“Sokka?”

Sokka forgets all his concerns. “Yue! It's so good to hear you!”

“You too.” There's a smile in Yue's voice, and it's so obviously her that Sokka is immediately sent back to his childhood. “How are you doing?”

“Umm…” Sokka doesn't know how to answer. My show choir was betrayed by the boy I like? He settles on, “You know how it is. Life is like an onion, you peel off one layer at a time, and sometimes you cry.” God, Mr. Iroh is rubbing off on him.

“Oh, that's so true,” Yue sounds emotional. “You always were the wise one, Sokka.”

Sokka feels his face warm. “l don't know, I've made some pretty bad choices lately.” He feels his throat tighten. “Including not calling you years ago.”

“Oh, Sokka.” Yue pauses for a moment. “Well, I didn't call you either, so I guess we're even?”

“Even,” Sokka agrees, relieved.

They spend the next few minutes catching up, mostly talking about their families and mutual acquaintances. Yue doesn't tell him why she's homeschooled, but she does talk about her lessons, and how relatively hard and easy different subjects are to study at home. It's really fun to talk to her, as if no time has passed since they were kids, but Sokka can only avoid the glee club topic for so long.

“By the way,” Yue asks, “what made you call me today?”

“Oh, umm. Well, Gran-Gran told us you sang really well at your grandma's birthday, and you see, Katara and I are in the school's show choir, so of course I'm interested in singing, even if I'm more the dance guy myself. And. Actually, we recently lost a member, or, like, he left us,” he tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “So I was already thinking of who we could find to replace him, and then Gran-Gran mentioned you…”

“You want me to join your glee club. “ Yue doesn't sound angry, but it's hard to tell over the phone.

“Yeah, I mean, only if you want to? And obviously I also just wanted to call you, I know how this looks, but it is really good to talk again, and if you don't want to just forget about the glee club, we can talk about something else!”

“Sokka… to be honest, I'd love to join, but I don't think I'm the right person. I, I can't dance, I'm really not athletic, I can't sing for long times… I'd just slow you down.” Yue sounds resigned.

Sokka takes a moment to think. “Yue, if you actually want to join, then those things don't matter. I mean, we need to have another person in the choir to qualify for the competition, but that person doesn't have to actually perform. And the glee club... well, there are a lot of different ways to run a glee club,” he tries not to think of Vocal Adrenaline, “but Mr. Iroh just wants us to express ourselves. I can't sing, and Teo is in a wheelchair. If you just want to join in for one song and stand in one place, I'm sure Mr. Iroh won't mind.”

“Really? And the other students wouldn't mind either?”

“Really.” Sokka wants to ask why Yue thinks she can't do more, but given her reluctance to explain her homeschooling she probably wouldn't tell him. So he just tells her some details about the club and Regionals, and they agree that Yue will already start coming to Glee practise while her registration is being processed.

Sokka and Yue talk late into the evening, and by the time they hang up, Sokka almost feels normal. It's partly that Yue doesn't know about Zuko, so she can't pity him, and partly that talking to her feels like Sokka is doing something right for once. He's still a bit nervous about tomorrow's glee club, but at least he can look forward to seeing Yue in person.

The atmosphere in the choir room isn't as tense as it was after Friday's disaster, but Haru still feels awkward. He's been part of the club for more than a month, but he wasn't there at Sectionals or Invitationals, and he hadn't realised how competitive the show choirs were. Seriously, that Azula…

He feels especially bad for Sokka. The boy was obviously in love with Zuko, and before last week all signs pointed to Zuko at least liking him back. But that dodgeball game… look, Haru loves dodgeball. When it's just a game, it's fun. But when it's being used by two idiots as a proxy for feelings they're too repressed to talk about? Haru should have sat that one out.

At least Sokka looks better today, and the new girl he brought in has improved the choir's mood. No-one has mentioned Zuko yet, not even Iroh, and Yue seems to be the perfect distraction. She sings a beautiful cover of “New York State of Mind” which everyone applauds, and seems very happy and flustered by the attention. She's not quite the star that Zuko was, and she insists that she can't dance and has terrible stamina, but no-one really cares. The important thing is that they have a talented new 12th member, and can throw themselves into planning the Regionals setlist.

After the practice ends, Haru wanders over to where Yue and Sokka are sitting next to Suki and Teo. Aang is still at home taking care of Appa, and Ty Lee and Mai have somewhere to be, but everyone else is hanging around.

“How do you guys know each other?” he asks, looking from Sokka to Yue.

“Oh,” Sokka answers. “Our fathers are good friends, so we spent a lot of time together as kids, and our grandmothers still play poker together. We just stopped meeting as much when my dad started working in DC. I always thought that was sad, though,” he adds, turning to Yue, “since Dad was finally doing what Arnook always wanted him to do.”

Haru nods, thinking. “What does your dad do?” he asks Yue.

“He runs an Inuit art foundation,” she tells him, smiling. “Most of his work is up north, but we live here for my mom's family.”

“That's so cool!” Teo exclaims. “I sometimes wish my dad did something like that. Being a teacher is nice, but it isn't really his thing.”

Since they've all experienced the mechanist's haphazard teaching strategies, no-one can contest that statement, but Haru still tries to cheer Teo up. “Not everyone is going to do a job they love, but you can still find parts of it you're passionate about. My dad doesn't care about the everyday stuff he does at the factory, but he's helping organise the union meetings, and he's very passionate about that.”

“Is that Kyoshi factory?” Haru turns to nod at Suki, and her eyes widen in excitement. “I didn't know they were unionising, my mom didn't tell me!”

“Well…” Haru says slowly. “Your mom's an engineer, right? The union drive is more of a factory floor sort of thing.”

Suki frowns. “But my mom would want to help. She's very pro-union.”

From the stories Haru's father tells, “pro-union” means something different to management than it does to workers. He doesn't want to argue with Suki, though.

“I mean, according to my dad,” he tells her, very aware of the others listening in around him, “it isn't going very well—they've barely gotten any cards signed. So maybe it just hasn't reached engineering yet.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” Suki says, still frowning. “Do you know what went wrong?”

“I'm not sure. I think it's because management hired some sort of union busting firm?” Haru looks over his shoulder, relieved to see that Toph has already left. He knows she doesn't get on with her dad, but he still doesn't want to complain about him in front of her. Turning back to Suki he adds, “If you really want to know you could go to the union meeting tomorrow.”

He'd meant that as a rhetorical question to change the topic, but Suki's whole face lights up at the suggestion. “Really?” she asks. “I've always wanted to go to a union meeting.”

“Can I come as well?” Teo asks. “It would be so interesting.”

“Why not?” Haru shrugs. At most they'll just get bored and leave. “I've been before, we can drive there tomorrow after school.”

Suki and Teo look at each other and squeak excitedly.

“Can I come as well?”

Haru turns to look behind him, surprised he hadn't noticed Jet before. “Sure,” he says, confused. Suki and Teo he can understand—they're the most political kids he's ever met. But Jet?

But then Suki looks up at Jet, and there's some sort of nonverbal communication happening there, and oh. Jet is coming along for Suki.

They spend the next few minutes discussing logistics, and then everyone starts packing and going home. Suki and Teo’s excitement over the meeting makes Haru feel a bit weird, but it’s too late to take back his invitation now. At worst, it’ll just be a bit awkward.

Jet isn't sure if this was a good idea. Kyoshi factory looms before them, a sprawling mess of dull grey buildings. The others have been here before many times, and they walk confidently through the doors, greeting the guards and calmly accepting their visitor badges. Jet is left straggling behind them, still fumbling with his badge as they make their way down the strange-smelling hallways. He also has nothing to contribute to the conversation, which mostly centres around the factory facilities and which coffee machine works best. It's all an alien world to him—he knows schools, offices and even prisons, knows them in the intimate way only the person cleaning them can. But this hallway is too narrow, and there's strange noises coming from the rest of the building. When he peers through the doors’ glass windows it's like looking into a sci-fi film set, all strange machines and workers in masks and hats. And it smells weird, like metal and sour smoke.

He's a bit relieved when they reach the end of the hallway and enter the break room. In here the strange smell is covered up by the scent of coffee and microwaved food, and the atmosphere is familiar—break rooms are the same everywhere, just chairs and tables and fridges and microwaves. There's even a drawing of a penis at the corner of the big whiteboard, just like there always is.

“Haru!”

A man stands up from one of the tables and comes over to them, enveloping Haru in a tight hug. They look very different—the man is tall and broad-featured, while Haru is short with fine-boned cheekbones. But from the way Haru shouts an embarrassed “Dad!” and pushes the man away, it's obvious that this is his father, Tyro. Jet shoves down a wave of jealousy.

After patting his son on the head, Tyro greets the rest of them and leads them over to a table on the other side of the breakroom. There, they're introduced to the union organiser, Ying, and to a few of Tyro's colleagues. Suki and Teo ask Ying some questions which Jet doesn't listen to, and then they have to sit down while Ying goes to the door and greets some new arrivals.

After everyone has settled down at a table, Ying stands by the projector and starts to introduce herself. Jet uses this time to look around, and he's surprised to realise that there are not that many people here. Even with the new group there's only around 20 people, and Kyoshi factory must have hundreds of workers on staff. Jet doesn't know much about unions, but he's pretty sure they only work if a lot of people join. Maybe Haru was right to be concerned.

Ying's presentation is just on bureaucratic details about the structure of the union they're trying to join: fees, rights, procedures and so on. Some things do sound nice to Jet—his mom could really have used the benefits Ying talks about when she was still working—but most of it is pretty boring. When the workers start asking questions, Jet is surprised to find that their working conditions aren't much better than what he got when he was working under the table before his mom got married. You'd think skilled factory work would pay better and come with some level of stability, but apparently not.

The workers spend the rest of the meeting discussing strategy, trying to decide who will speak to which department and team. It seems that management has hired a union “avoidance” firm called Dai Li, and their representative Long Feng has been spending a lot of time at the factory. Ying urges the others not to interact with Long Feng, to keep everything confidential, and to avoid the teams that have been “compromised”. She then opens the floor to general questions, and to no-one’s surprise, Suki raises her hand.

“First of all, thank you for letting us join,” she says, smiling around at the others. “It's really inspirational to be here! But I don't understand why you're being so secretive. Won't you get more people if you talk openly about the union?”

Ying shakes his head, and Tyro leans around to look at Suki. “I wish we could do that,” Tyro tells her. “But the Dai Lee have spies everywhere, and if they know who's signing up they can pressure them in one-on-one meetings, or even get them fired. Once we have a good momentum that will matter less, but right now we need to prioritise staying safe.”

“Okay…” Suki frowns. “That makes sense. But why would some teams be compromised? They can't all be spies, right? Why would anyone even spy for a union? Having a union would help them!”

“Yes, it would help them,” Ying says sadly. “But not as much as the promotions and bonuses that Long Feng offers.” There's angry grunts from some of the others in the room.

“And those union busting maggots are very good at convincing people that unions are bad,” one of the other workers says, turning to Suki. “That's how they've ‘compromised’ some teams. They tell you the unions just want your money, that you'll lose your individual voice or some bullshit like that.” She shakes her head. “I should know, I had to sit through one of those never-ending Dai Li meetings last week, where they pretend to listen and then just keep telling you that management will solve everything. It's fucking brainwashing, that's what it is.”

“Yes, thank you Sandra,” Ying sounds annoyed. “It's not that I don't agree, but maybe tone down the swearing around children.” Jet almost laughs—Ying should hear what they get from Toph.

“But—” Suki sounds lost, and Jet turns to look at her, surprised at how much this is affecting her. It’s all just normal job bullshit. “Is that really all you can do?” Suki continues. “Sneak around? I thought unions were about solidarity.”

“They are.” Tyro shares a look with Ying, his expression wistful. “We've thought about organising some sort of event, reminding people of the bigger issue, of collective power, you know. But anyone who tried to organise that would get fired, and then we'd be back to square one.”

Suki doesn't have an answer to that, so Ying opens up the room to questions again, but the meeting has lost its momentum, and she closes it a few minutes later. The students thank Tyro and Ying and walk back to the car, all of them too dispirited to talk. The meeting was shorter than expected, so in the parking lot they have to wait for Teo's dad to arrive—Jet and Haru have their cars, but it feels wrong to just leave, so Teo wheels over to a bench and the others sit down next to him.

While they wait, Jet watches Suki. They haven't talked much since the woods, since that terrible argument that changed everything. Jet has been trying to be nice, and he is getting along better with most of the choir, if only in a superficial way. He hasn't changed his mind—he still wants to be a good person. He just feels so lost and unsure. He apologised to his friends and they all forgave him, but they're not really a gang anymore—Smellerbee and Longshot have started dating, the Duke is too young, and no-one is talking to Sneers after what he did to Sokka . Pipsqueak still follows Jet around everywhere, but they have nothing in common now that Jet isn't trying to be king of the school.

Nothing is wrong, really—Jet is still on the football team, and that and his charm keep him up on the school hierarchy even without the bullying. But he feels like he's lost his purpose. It's all very well to try not to be an asshole, but being nice isn't really a full-time occupation. Jet has been busy all his life, first taking care of his mom, then working after school, and most recently fighting to stay on top of the school hierarchy. But now he has a stable home, John is taking care of his mom, and he's realised that he’d rather be nice than rule the school. What is he supposed to do?

Maybe that's why he still can't let go of Suki. She's hot, of course, and smart and confident, but it's not like he can't find another girl who's all of that. But Suki stood up to him—not the first to do that, but the first to do it in a way he couldn't brush off. Maybe part of him is hoping that she can help him again, that she can shout some angry words at him and give him a purpose.

So when Jet starts to speak, he isn't quite sure why he does. It's true that seeing Suki so hopeless is bringing him down. But it’s also true that he liked those people at the meeting, Tyro and Ying and the others, and it feels wrong to just leave them to their hopelessness.

“We have to do something.”

The others look up at him, surprised. “You mean, for the union?” Teo asks, and Jet nods.

“But you heard them, Jet.” Suki's voice is flat. “They've thought of all the options.”

Have they, though? In Jet’s mind, union voting sounds a bit like choosing a prom king and queen. In this case, the management is like he was last year—bullying, sneaky, already in charge. How would he win against himself?

“Maybe they're trying to be too logical. Joining the union is risky, but people do risky shit all the time. They just need to get excited enough.”

“Okay,” Haru says. “But Jet, losing your job isn't the same as getting grounded or slushied or something. It's a big deal.”

“You think I don't know that?” Jet can feel his pulse quicken. “That just means you need to make the excitement bigger. Get everyone drunk, or do a sports event, I don't know.”

“But they'd still have the same problem—the organisers would get fired.”

And then—inspiration hits. “Not if they're not the ones organising it.” The others stare at him, confused. “We could do it!” Jet continues, certain he's solved it. “The New Directions could give a concert, we get people excited, and then in the end we say some pro-union stuff. They can throw us out, but they won't connect it to anyone.”

“That ...” Suki blinks. “That could actually work.”

“It's a surprisingly good idea, coming from you,” Haru adds with a smile, and Jet shoves his shoulder, warmth curling in his belly.

Teo is still frowning, though. “But won't they connect it to Haru, and his dad?”

Jet shakes his head. “Toph's parents own the factory, and even if they suspect her there's always Suki's mom, or even your dad. If someone unconnected to the factory gives the speech, and Mr. Iroh goes straight to management to offer the concert, they won't suspect shit. And he'll definitely be up for it.” The old man has a rebellious streak.

“Okay!” Everyone is smiling now, but it's Suki's shining eyes that make Jet's stomach flutter. “We can talk to Mr. Iroh tomorrow. And you should be the one to give the speech.”

“What?” For a moment Jet wonders if she's teasing him, but the others are also nodding, serious.

“Yeah,” Haru adds.

“You'd be perfect for it!” Teo gives him a reassuring grin.

And Jet can’t say no, not in the face of their overwhelming enthusiasm. They spend the next few minutes discussing the details, and when Teo's dad arrives they say their goodbye in much higher spirits than before. Jet feels a bit dazed on the drive home. He doesn't even put on any music, just lets his thoughts run around in circles. He’s had a good idea. He's going to give a speech. Suki smiled at him.

What the hell is he going to say?

Oh, Tommy used to work on the docks

Jet shouts the line into the mic and then spins around with the rest of the choir, moving to the back of the stage. The New Directions are on a makeshift stage in the Kyoshi factory parking lot, singing in their coats and hats to a sprawling crowd of employees. It's not as big a crowd as they had in Sectionals, but it feels bigger—maybe because all of these people are actually here for them, cheering and clapping and singing along simply because they're having fun.

Oh, we gotta hold on, ready or not

This mashup is the last song on their setlist, something they put together in the last few weeks. The audience has appreciated everything they've sung so far, from Beatles to Adele, but they're really going crazy for this one. It's exactly the sort of energy Jet was hoping for—pumped and ready to go.

You live for the fight when that's all that you got

It was surprisingly easy to organise the concert. Iroh was immediately on board, and even the choir members who don’t care about the union are glad to have an opportunity to perform—after Zuko's betrayal the New Directions really needs a win. One phone call from Iroh to someone at the factory, and they had a concert scheduled.

Start me up, oh! Livin' on a prayer

Yue’s high voice rings out on the latest line, a bit strained but still beautiful. It had taken a lot of convincing to get her to take a leading role on the new song, but it seemed only fair since she didn't know any of the old ones. She kept saying she couldn't dance, but from where Jet's standing it looks like she's doing great, her movements maybe not as pronounced as they could be but still very fluid. Sokka did good, getting her to join.

We're halfway there, oh! Livin' on a prayer

Jet jumps up and down and sings another line. He's trying to concentrate on the song, but now that the performance is almost over he can't stop thinking about his speech. He's worked very hard on it, but he's not sure it's good enough. It's all well and good to excite the crowd with their performance, but it's the speech that needs to actually motivate people to join the union, and do that without talking explicitly about unions. He ended up putting a lot of himself into it.

You gotta start me up!

They all shout out the last words together as the music peaks, and then the courtyard is filled with applause, the crowd whooping and shouting in excitement. As they all go to bow at the front of the stage, Jet looks around at the choir, taking in their flushed cheeks and shining eyes. There's something uniquely exhilarating about accepting applause together—a combination of pride and a feeling of deep connection to the other performers. Jet wishes they could all just give the speech together, but of course that's not how speeches work.

He taps the microphone, and it gives out a loud screech, silencing the crowd. “Hey, everyone,” he starts awkwardly. “Thanks for being such a great audience.” There's a large cheer, and Jet smiles and starts his speech.

“I wanted to say a few words to explain why we're here, and what this means to us. You can probably already tell that we're not exactly your average school choir—I mean usually choirs have some white people in them.” There's a ripple of laughter through the crowd, and Jet continues, feeling more confident. “But more seriously, we're different because to be in this choir, all you need is a passion for music. So we have a guy in a wheelchair, a blind chick, kids that can't sing, kids that can't dance.” He told a few of the others to point at him behind his back at the “can't dance” part, and the crowd's laughter tells him the joke landed. “And that's great and all, but in a few weeks we're going to be competing against a show choir that has won dozens of National trophies, and let me tell you, those kids are like machines. It's scary, they don't even have a bald guy!” Another laugh—god, these people will laugh at anything.

Jet takes a deep breath. This is the tricky part, where he has to act as if he's just talking about general struggles and not unions.

“So, yeah. Being here, and seeing how much you enjoy our performance, it means a lot to us. And well, we hope that we can inspire all of you as well. We know that you probably have a lot of shit—excuse my french—going on in your lives, and that it's probably harder stuff than being the underdogs in a choir competition. But underdogs are underdogs.”

“At this point you're probably thinking—what are you talking about, Jet? You're handsome, charming, funny,” Jet gestures at himself, and a laugh breaks the tension that had started to build in the crowd. “You don't know what it's like to struggle, to be the underdog. The thing is,” he takes a deep breath and looks around his audience. “My mom is a cleaning lady, and it was only ever her around. So I know about hard work, and I know about backbreaking work. I know what it's like to wear clothes that are falling apart, and never have any toys or go on any trips. And I know that when you're so deep in the ‘under’ that there aren't even dogs any more, all you can think about is getting out.”

The crowd is silent, listening. Jet knows that Long Feng is somewhere out there, and that some people from management are sitting on lawn chairs near the building, but he deliberately doesn't look at them. They're probably not going to pull him off the stage unless he actually says the word “union”, and that's what matters.

“My reaction to all that hard stuff was to climb up as fast as I could, and to do it by pushing others down. I'm not proud of it—I was the worst kind of bully. But I thought it was the only way.” He swallows. “Joining the New Directions showed me that it wasn't. Because in this choir, we don't push others down to win, we lift each other up. And I've also realised something I never wanted to believe—that even if we don't win, the fight is worth it.”

Jet takes a deep breath. He has everything written out on the cards in his hands, but he still feels like he needs to think things through before speaking. “So many of our problems are connected—the same forces that don't want someone in a wheelchair singing in a choir,” he gestures back at Teo, “they're the same forces that mean kids like me have to go to school without breakfast. The same forces that—” his voice breaks. “That meant my mom couldn't afford health care when the chemicals she used to earn a living ruined her lungs.” He knows this sentence gives the impression that his mom is dead when she isn't, but to be honest, if she hadn't married John she very well might be. And one of the things Jet has had to face is that that's not John's fault.

Jet clears his throat, the sound loud in the silent courtyard. “These forces, they don't want us imagining a different world, one where we have a right to sing and eat, no matter who we are. They want us to push each other down as we scramble to the top. Well, I'm not going to do that anymore.” He gestures to the choir behind him. “We're not going to do that. We're not going to throw out most of our members so a few can win, and we're not going to stop singing from our hearts. And we might not get to win this year, but we can try again next year. And just by trying, we're going to stand up for each other. We're going to stand up for a better world. So what'd ya think? Can we do it?”

There's a moment of silence as Jet lowers the microphone, and for a second he's scared that he got it wrong, that it was too personal, too cheesy, too radical. But then the crowd explodes, their cheers even louder and wilder than before, and Jet feels something warm blooming in his chest.

He turns around to smile at the rest of the choir and find that they are also cheering, whooping and clapping. They all look so happy and proud, and even if the whole union drive still fails after this, well, at least he finally feels like a part of the choir.

He smiles and does a mock bow to the choir, and as he stands up his eyes meet Suki's, and his heart skips a beat. She's so beautiful, her whole face animated with joy, and her eyes are shining at him. Who knew that the way to a girl's heart could be giving cheesy speeches.

It's difficult to look away from Suki, but he manages. They sing an encore, of course—John Lennon’s “Imagine”. Yue and Sokka aren't there for some reason, but everyone else walks to the front of the stage to stand in a line, holding hands and singing. The crowd joins in, using their phones to make waves of light, and Jet feels like he's floating, like everything he said can actually be true. If this is what happens when you lift each other up, he's going to do his best to never push anyone down, ever again.

The moment the last song is over Yue rushes off the stage, holding on to anything she can find and basically dragging herself the last few steps to the bathroom that's just inside one of the buildings. She made sure to find that bathroom earlier that day, already certain that she was going to need it. The only question was whether or not she could make it to the end of the performance, and even as she falls to the floor and starts retching into the toilet bowl in front of her she can't help but be glad that she managed to finish her solo.

She is sad she has to miss Jet's speech, but Yue is very used to missing things, so her sadness is more resigned than miserable. The world spins around her, and she empties the meagre contents of her stomach into the toilet. She hasn't eaten anything since breakfast, because sometimes that helps, but she's regretting it now. She always hates the empty stage of puking, when your body has nothing more to give and you're left spasming and coughing up green bile.

It was probably a mistake to cave in and take on that solo. According to her mother it was a mistake to even join the choir, but Yue doesn't want to believe that. She's had more fun in the past few weeks than she had in the whole of 2009, and a few hours of light practice twice a week aren't too much for her. It's the dancing that's the problem; especially when combined with too much singing, painfully loud music and blinding lights.

Of course, she could have tried to avoid these triggers. She could have held her ground and stuck to singing backup, she could have asked for earplugs and sunglasses. A post-performance crash was unavoidable, and performing was worth a week of lying in bed. This, though… The puking stops for a moment, but she's so tired that she has to rest her head on the disgusting public toilet seat. The only way she won't catch some bug from this is if a spirit decides to bless her with healing.

Idiot. Like her mother always says, Yue's backbone is made of marshmallows. She always thinks that this time she'll be able to properly keep to her boundaries, and then the moment anyone starts to pressure her she folds. It's just so hard to say no! Of course, this would all be easier if the choir knew how sick she is, but if they did she would probably have to leave, and, no. Better to suffer and keep quiet.

“Yue?”

Oh no. Yue raises her head with difficulty and turns to look at Sokka.

“Are you okay?” Even shadowed in the bathroom's weak fluorescent lighting, Sokka still looks like her childhood friend, and Yue is both glad to see him and annoyed that he came.

“I'm—” she starts to say, but then another cough pushes its way up her chest and she has to turn back to the toilet. Bile dribbles out of her mouth as she retches uselessly.

“Yue!” Sokka moves behind her, and then one of his hands is on her forehead, and another is pulling her hair back. His fingers are cool on her skin, and she closes her eyes and wills her body to calm down.

“Are you okay? Should I call someone? Your dad or mom? An ambulance?” Sokka sounds like he's panicking.

Yue shakes her head, and tries to push words out of her burning throat. “No need—this—normal.”

When she looks up she can see Sokka is frowning at her, but at least he doesn't say anything more, just quietly helps her sit back until she's leaning against the wall to her right. They sit like that for a few minutes, Sokka's arm around Yue's back and her head on his shoulder. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe, working hard to ignore how awkward this all is. What if she gets sick on Sokka? She probably already smells and looks terrible, and Sokka is always dressed so well. He's been really nice so far, but she knows everyone has their limits with sickness.

After a good long rest Yue cracks open one of her eyes, and is relieved to find that the world isn't spinning any more. She slowly pushes herself off Sokka's shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“I'm okay now,” she says, turning to look at him. “Thank you.”

Sokka frowns. “Are you sure?” She nods. “ Can I help with anything? Maybe get you some water, or call someone?”

“My parents will be here soon anyways… I just need to rest. But some water would help, thank you.” She knows from experience that she needs to give people tasks so their worry won't drive them mad.

Sokka quickly gets up and rummages in his bag, handing Yue a small plastic bottle. She gives it back after a few unsuccessful attempts at turning the cap, and Sokka opens it and returns it, still frowning. Yue manages to tip the bottle into her mouth without his help, and the cold water soothes her burning throat.

Sokka takes the bottle back, and they sit in silence again. Now that Yue isn't as distracted by pain, she can hear cheers and laughs coming from the stage outside. Jet's speech must be going well.

“You should go back out,” she tells Sokka, voice weak. “You're missing Jet’s speech.”

Sokka looks horrified. “Yue, I'm not leaving you like this!”

“It's okay. This is normal for me, it's nothing to worry about.”

That only seems to make Sokka more agitated. “Yue…”

She sighs and closes her eyes, too tired to care. “I'm sick, Sokka, I have been for years. It's why I'm homeschooled. The performance was a bit too much, so my body reacted. It's not a sign of anything—I'll just have to rest for a week and then I'll be fine.”

At least, as “fine” as she can ever get.

There's a moment of blessed silence, and then the words start pouring out of Sokka. “Shit, I'm so sorry Yue, I'm the one who pressured you into joining the club, and I promised you that you wouldn't have to do so much but then I also pressured you into the solo, this is all my fault, fuck!” Sokka bangs his head into his folded knees. “I always do this, I always think I know what's best for people and then just do it without asking. I’m so sorry, I'm the worst, no wonder Zuko—” Sokka looks up at Yue, eyes wide.

“Sokka.” Yue is touched by Sokka's apologies, but it's obvious he's worried about something bigger than her. “First of all, thank you for apologising, but it wasn't your fault—I wanted to join the choir, and I could have just said no to the solo. You were being nice, giving me the opportunity. But more importantly, Is something wrong? Who's Zuko?”

Sokka looks down and starts playing with the hairband on his wrist. “That's, that's good to hear. I'm still sorry, though. And you remember that I told you a guy left the choir? That was Zuko. He left to join our rival choir, and it's partly my fault for doing something stupid. I can tell you more about it another time, but it's not a big deal, and you probably need to rest.”

“Okay.” Yue is sure there's more to the Zuko story, but Sokka is right, she does need to rest. She places her head down on Sokka's shoulder and takes deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

After another few minutes, they both sit up when they hear the house from the courtyard change from cheers to music.

“I guess we're missing the encore,” Sokka says.

“You could—”

“No, don't worry—”

“But—”

“Yue.” Sokka's voice is firm. “I'm good here.”

They lean back against the wall again, and then Sokka tells her, “you know, you could just tell Mr. Iroh about you being sick. He's really good about that sort of stuff.”

“You mean…” Yue starts tentatively. “He won't make me leave the choir if he knows?”

“What? No!” Sokka laughs. “Yue, haven't you met Teo and Toph? And before you say they're stable, or something, I know you haven't met Aang yet, but he has epilepsy, and he literally had a seizure right before a long performance last year. He's still in the choir. No-one will care.”

Yue feels like a thousand tons of worry have just been lifted off her shoulders. She really wants to stay in the choir, and if her illness is not a problem… Maybe she can actually enforce her boundaries.

Looking up at Sokka, she feels something fluttering in her stomach, and she doesn't think it's another symptom. Sokka is so solid and warm beside her, his profile sharp and handsome in the low bathroom lights. And he's still here, even though he's missing a chance to perform, even though Yue is tired and probably smells terrible.

“You know, Sokka,” she says quietly. “The New Directions are really great.”

“I know,” he answers. “We have something special here.”

>EMAIL DRAFT

Dear Uncle,

Dear Mr. Iroh,

Hi,

Uncle,

Why won't you answer my calls? How are you? I'm great. I've settled into my old room and started classes at Carmel High. It's a bit lonely School is great, I have lots of friends. I'm also practising with Vocal Adrenaline every day, but I feel like it's great to be back. And dad said I can sing a duet with Azula! He said he's happy I'm back. He didn't say anything about the He doesn't really talk to Dad is very busy, but of course I see him every day at choir practice.

I miss you It would be nice to talk on the phone sometime, but you've probably been very busy finding my replacement. I know we didn't part well, but you have no right to judge me I did what I had to do. Let me know when you have time.

Love,

Your nephew, Zuko

>EMAIL SENT

>NO REPLY

>EMAIL DRAFT

Dear Sokka,

Sokka,

Hi.

I miss you. How are you? I'm really great. I have my old room, and dad and Azula, and everything at school is amazing. Vocal Adrenaline are the best, and they're happy to have me – I'm even going to sing a duet!

So you see you were I miss the It's like I never left. It was the right decision to come back here.

I don't

Why did you have to do that stupid dodgeball game though? What was the point?? Is that all I

I enjoyed my time in the New Directions. Especially because you

I just don't understand. I thought Why didn't you ask me to stay? I would

You just didn't care and you were all using me for my talent like Azula said and I'm glad

I'm so

>DRAFT DELETED

Chapter Text

Ring

Ring

“Hello?”

“Azula, hi!”

“Hello, Ty Lee. Is Mai also there?”

“I'm here. You said you wanted to talk to us about something?”

"Maybe I just want to catch up with my two oldest friends.”

“Mai, don't make that face! Of course you can Azula, we always love to talk to you! How are you?”

"I am very well, thank you, Ty Lee. It is good to have my brother back in Akron.”

"Oh… I can imagine, we miss him so much! But of course it's great he's with family. Don't you think so, Mai?”

"Mmh.”

"But anyways, Azula, how are other things? Are you still dating Chad?

"Hardly. That buffoon couldn't keep up with me.”

"Oh.”

"But speaking of romance… you both seem comfortable with each other. I assume you took my advice, Ty Lee?”

"Yes, Azula, thank you so much! We're together and—”

"Ty-ty!”

"Oh, come on Mai, this is Azula! You won't tell, will you, Azula?”

"Well, I am certainly happy for you both. But it seems that you are not ready to go public with your entanglement?”

"Yeah… just because of the way the school is, you know. It's easier just to keep it a secret.”

"That is wise. It would definitely not be good if anyone knew, would it?”

"Uh, yes, that's what I was saying. So you won't tell?

"I am very loyal to my friends.”

"Great—”

"My enemies, though…”

“What—”

"Are you threatening us, Azula?”

"Oh, of course not, Mai! You are my friends, after all, aren't you?”

"And what is a friend to you, Azula? Someone who does what you say?”

"Mai!”

"Oh, nothing that drastic, Mai. My friends are just people who I like. But of course I do expect that once in a while my friends will help me with a small favour. That's not too much to ask, is it?”

"Azula, you're not saying…”

"She is saying that, Ty-ty.”

"Please, girls, calm yourselves! We're all friends here. I'm just pointing out that it would be best for all of us to stay friends, wouldn't it? I really must go now, but it was lovely catching up with you!”

"Azula…”

"I'll be in touch again soon. Have a good weekend, Mai, Ty Lee. Kiss each other for me, won't you?”

Beep

Beep

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: The New Directions problem

Dear Coach Sylvester,

Thank you again for your invaluable help. It is indeed unfortunate that the New Directions have already found a new member, but I don't think we need to worry—I am sure that Zuko’s betrayal is still affecting them emotionally. Either way, I have the morale situation well in hand.

If you are interested in continuing our collaboration, I have a proposition for you: the National Show Choir Committee are currently looking for Regionals judges, and as a National and Local celebrity you will have no problem being chosen. The position will allow you to not only vote against the New Directions, but also to use your considerable charm to influence the other judges.

Do let me know what you decide,

Best Wishes,

Azula

Katara likes to help people. She's been taking care of her family since her mother's death, and she's good at it. She likes doing things for people, and she just can't ignore anyone in trouble. An internet quiz once labelled her an ESFJ, and she's proud of it.

Katara knows that you don't do good things for the rewards. But would a little bit of gratitude be too much to ask? She understands that when times are hard, people need to be a bit selfish. But she's only human, after all. Really, even a quick “thank you” would be enough.

Sokka is usually quite good at showing his appreciation for her help, even if it's just a smile or a compliment for her cooking. Toph was never very good at gratitude, but she had been getting better. And Aang… Aang was always so full of praise and love for Katara. She hadn't even noticed how much that meant to her until it was gone.

She misses Aang. It's stupid—they talk every day, and she goes over to his place a few times a week. But they always talk about Appa now. The dog has been sick for almost a month, and Katara is sorry for him, she really is. It's terrible to see Appa in so much pain and discomfort. And after that first week, she tried to understand Aang's reactions, even if they seemed extreme. Appa was like a brother to him, so of course he would freak out. Of course he would refuse another dog, of course he would stay home to care for Appa. After years at the monastery it was probably not a big deal to miss a few weeks of school.

But although things have been calm between her and Aang, they haven't been happy. She's there for him, but he doesn't let her in all the way, and it hurts.

The worst part is that she could really use some support herself. But Aang’s dog almost died and Toph has her troubles at home and Sokka is broken over Zuko’s betrayal, so Katara’s troubles pale in comparison. She's just tired and annoyed. It shouldn't be this hard to stay strong and help her friends.

Still, by Monday afternoon Katara is very ready to do something for herself. Just something small, to keep her going. So when Iroh mentions a chess course, Katara starts paying attention.

“Pakku is a clear friend of mine, and a well-known chess teacher,” Iroh tells them. “Although of course I personally know him as a mediocre Pai Sho player!” He laughs. “The course is held at the Wallace Community Centre, and you can sign up at any time. I am sure Pakku would be happy to see any one of you there.”

No-one else seems interested, but Katara is itching with excitement. This is exactly what she needs! Katara had started playing chess years ago, back when Sokka was in the elementary school chess club. But while Sokka had switched back to dance after their mother died, Katara had stuck with chess. She never had time to join a real club or course, but she plays with Gran-Gran all the time, and has even won once or twice. She can't wait to learn more.

“Hey, Sokka.”

They're in the car on the way home, and Katara is driving. Sokka looks up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“I think I'm going to try out the chess course tomorrow—do you want to join me?”

“Sorry, Katara,” Sokka answers, already turning away. “I have to work on a project with Yue.”

Katara nods. It's good he has Yue.

At home she sends Aang a quick message.

Hey Aang! I'm thinking of trying out a chess thing at the community centre tomorrow, but let me know if you want me to come over. Or if you want to join me—it could be fun! Hope Appa is feeling better. Love, Katara x x

When she wakes up on Tuesday morning there's still no reply.

The chess course is being held in the community centre's main hall, a long, wide room with glass walls facing a frozen garden. Katara has been here before for the occasional lecture or birthday party, but she's never seen it like this: there are small tables everywhere, all of them bearing a chess set and a clock. Around half the tables are already occupied, and Katara's eager eyes follow the games around her. A knight takes a bishop. A rook moves across the board. A queen threatens a king. Some of the players are talking quietly, but the words are muffled by the constant click-click of moving pieces. Katara instantly feels calmer and happier.

There's a sign pointing new arrivals to the sign-up table, and Katara weaves her way past the players to get to it. A few boys are already standing in line, the one at the front talking to the old man sitting behind the desk, who must be Pakku. She researched him last night, and he really is impressive—he won many championships in his youth, and now teaches at an elite academy in New York. This course in Lima is some sort of outreach initiative. Katara is eager to meet him, and a bit intimidated.

She reaches the front of the line a few minutes later, smiling at Pakku. But while the mad had been kind and friendly to the previous students, his face hardens when he sees her.

“Yes?”

“Hi!” Katara tries to smile. “I'd like to sign up for the chess course?”

“And what experience do you have?” Pakku’s tone is cold, and Katara falters. “Well… I've been playing chess since I was seven?”

“No,” Pakku shakes his head. “Experience, young lady. Have you attended any clubs or courses? Participated in any competitions? You have to understand that this is not a course for beginners, especially not ones as old as you. I can't waste my time reading the basics to people who've just taken a momentary fancy. Chess is a serious sport.”

“I know that! I—I haven't attended any courses or competitions, but I am serious about chess, I swear! My grandma has taught me everything she knows.”

Pakku smiles at her. “Whilst I am sure your grandmother is a lovely woman, unfortunately training with her does not count as experience. If you really are serious, take one of your local courses and come back next year. If by then you haven't lost your interest and started focusing on boys or dresses or whatever girls your age think about.”

“What?” Katara can't believe this is happening to her. “You're not letting me sign up because I'm a girl, aren't you! You can't do that!”

Now that she thinks about it, Katara realises that she didn't see any girls in the room earlier. Turning to look around the packed hall she finds only two girls in the sea of boys, both of them dressed in the local private girls’ school uniform.

“Look at this room!” she tells Pakku, her voice rising in anger. “This is 2010! You can't stop girls from playing chess.”

“Calm down, young lady.” Pakku's voice is infuriatingly calm. “There is no need to be hysterical. As I said, you do not have the requisite experience to join this course.” He sighs. “I am sorry to disappoint you. But I am also a very busy man, so I need to ask you to leave and let others sign up.”

Katara stares at Pakku for a moment, stomach roiling. She desperately wants to punch the smirk off the old man's face, but she knows that would only prove his point. So she turns away and rushes out of the room, trying to ignore the interested stares that follow her. She manages to hold in her tears until she gets to her car, and there she breaks down, hunching over the wheel and sobbing.

All she wanted was just one thing for herself. Was that too much to ask for? Maybe she was being selfish and stupid, getting this upset over a chess course. She really was inexperienced, but what could she do? Go back in and tell Pakku that she had always been too busy taking care of her family to join a club?

She desperately wants to complain to someone, but when she gets home she finds the house empty. Gran-Gran is away at poker and Sokka is probably still at Yue's. Katara stares at her phone for a moment, conflicted, and then she calls Aang.

She doesn't really expect him to answer, so when the ringing tone is replaced by a tentative “Katara?”, the relief almost overwhelms her.

“Aang! How are you? How's Appa?”

“He's a bit better, actually.” Aang sounds happier than he has in weeks. “His breathing is still a bit weird and he's definitely tired, but he ate all of his food this morning! We're taking him to the vet at the end of the week, and if there are no complications we might be able to come back to school next week.”

“That's amazing, Aang!” Katara wonders if she sounds too relieved—but no, it's okay to be happy that Appa is better.

“Yeah…” Aang doesn't sound sure, and he explains that he's afraid there might be complications. “I don't know, what if they don't let him work with me if his breathing doesn't get better? I can't get another service dog. I can't.”

Katara’s heart breaks for Aang, and for a moment she forgets her annoyance. They talk about Appa for a few more minutes, Katara trying to reassure Aang that the dog will be fine. But then Aang asks about Katara's day, and all her anger rushes back and spills into her words.

“Can you believe Pakku?” she says when she finishes retelling the afternoon's conflict. “He doesn't know anything about me! I'm sure he just rejected me because I'm a girl.”

“Katara…” Aang says slowly, his voice tense. “I'm sorry you didn't get into the course. But do you think that maybe you're overreacting? You only heard about this course yesterday.”

“Overreacting!” Katara explodes. “This is about principles, Aang! I should get the same chance as any guy. And chess is important to me, and he just didn't want to believe it!”

“Seriously?” Aang’s voice rises to a shout. “You're getting this angry now, over some stupid chess thing? Appa almost died, and this is what you get upset about?”

“Aang,” Katara tries to get her temper under control. “I'm sorry I shouted. But yes, it made me upset that Pakku was so mean, and of course Appa is more important, but it's been weeks, and I feel like we hardly talk, and—”

“Oh, so this is my fault? Appa was sick, Katara! My best friend!”

Suddenly, all the fight drains out of Kantara, and she just feels tired. “Okay, Aang,” she says quietly. “I'm sorry, okay?”

“Katara—”

“I'm going to sleep now,” she tells him, even though it's only 9pm. “I'm tired.”

Aang had messed up. He'd just gotten so angry at Katara. How could she get so emotional over a stupid chess course when Appa was still sick? But then she didn't fight back, and Aang's anger faltered. She sounded exhausted, as if just talking to Aang had drained her.

As worried as Aang is, even he can admit that Appa is out of danger now. The dog is still very lethargic, but he seems happier, eating and chewing his toys and snuggling with Aang. And with the reassurance of Appa's warm weight beside him on the bed, Aang can see the last few weeks more clearly, and his anger and fear have morphed into a deep, sickening guilt.

He's been a terrible boyfriend recently. He still thinks it was justified to worry for Appa, but he can't help but wince when he remembers how many times he shouted at Katara. And not just at her—he shouted at Gyatso, Iroh, Sokka… basically anyone that tried to talk to him. And they were all just trying to help, even if they ended up being insensitive and annoying. The choir sang him a whole song! And Katara… she was there for him, constantly, no matter how much he shouted. She didn't really understand, and she sometimes said hurtful things. But she also never stopped trying.

Aang still doesn't get why their last conversation was the thing that broke Katara—was it really just about a chess course? But that doesn't matter. He needs to fix things.

“Hello?”

It's Wednesday afternoon and the choir room should be full of students, but it's empty. Aang stops in the doorway and looks around, confused. Did he get the wrong time? He calls out “Hello?” again, just in case.

“Young man!”

Aang turns to find Bumi hurrying towards him from the other side of the corridor. Oh no.

“Young man!”

“Yes?” Aang answers tentatively.

“Do you have any rock candy?”

Aang blinks. “What?”

“Rock candy, boy!” Bumi makes grabbing notions with his hands. “It is very important I get some! A spider's life depends on it!”

“I... I don't have any, Bumi.”

Bumi freezes, and peers closer at Aang. “Aaah... I see. You're following your heart, not your stomach, eh?”

“Um.” Aang decides to change the topic. “Do you know why there's no-one in the choir room?”

“Of course!” Bumi smiles at him. “Because no-one has gone inside.”

Aang holds back a shout. “Yes, but why has no-one gone inside?” he asks instead. “Is there no choir rehearsal today?”

“No, no, no.” Bumi stakes his head. “You can't have a choir rehearsal without a director, and you can't have a White Lotus game without general Iroh!”

“Oh, so Iroh is away?”

“Yes, yes.” Buri coughs. “But you're not here for Iroh, are you? Mmmh? You're here for the auditorium!”

Aang sighs. “The auditorium?”

“Your answer is there! Oh yes! And remember, boy, you need to stick to your goal like a limpet. There are no takesies backsies in my school!”

Bumi practically shouts the last few words, his face much too close to Aang's. But then he's gone just as fast as he appeared, hurrying away down the corridor.

Well, Aang thinks. That was confusing. But everyone says that Bumi gives good advice, if you can tolerate his strangeness, so he heads to the auditorium. It’s strange, walking down the school hallways without Appa by his side, but Aang ignores his discomfort, trying to think of Katara.

The moment he pushes open the auditorium door, he knows that Bumi was right to send him here. Because there's singing coming from the stage, and Aang would recognise Katara’s voice anywhere.

All that work and what did it get me? Why did I do it?

Katara is standing alone on the stage, singing into a microphone. Aang doesn't move from the top of the stairs, but even from here he can see the tension in her posture.

Give 'em love and what does it get ya? What does it get ya? One quick look as each of 'em leaves you

Aang doesn't know this song, but the words are pretty clear, as is the emotion in Katara's beautiful voice. She's angry.

All your life and what does it get you?

Thanks a lot and out with the garbage

They take bows and you're batting zero

Aang's throat feels tight. He's never heard Katara sound this hurt. He wants to go down there and hug her, get all that anger and frustration out of her voice.

I had a dream, I dreamed it for you, Aang

It wasn't for me, Aang

And if it wasn't for me, then where would you be, my little sibling?

Aang freezes where he stands, shocked. Katara is angry at him. It's one thing admitting he hadn't been a great boyfriend for the last few weeks. It's quite another to hear Katara spit out his name like that.

Well, someone tell me, when is it my turn? Don't I get a dream for myself?

Starting now, it's gonna be my turn!

Gangway, world, get off of my runway!

Starting now I bat a thousand!

This time, boys, I'm taking the bows and…

Everything's coming up me! Everything's coming up Katara! Everything's coming up me!

This time for me! For me! For me! For me! For me… Yeah!

As Katara stays standing on the stage, visibly panting with emotion, Aang wonders if it would be better for him to leave. Katara is angry at him, after all, and maybe now isn’t the best time to apologise. But then Katara gives out a choked sob, and Aang makes up his mind. He’s not leaving. Like Bumi said, no takesies backsies.

“Katara!”

As Aang rushes down the stairs, Katara starts at the sound of his voice. She turns to look at him, and Aang can see a mess of emotions flashing on her reddened face. He doesn’t let himself think about that look, instead grabbing onto the edge of the stage and hopping up beside his girlfriend, moving forward to grab her hands with his.

“Katara, I’m so sorry! I’ve been so selfish!”

Katara looks uncomfortable. “Aang—”

“No, please, give me a chance,” Aang says desperately. “I’ve been a terrible boyfriend, I should have listened to you, I shouldn’t have been so mean to you! I was just scared for Appa, but it wasn’t your fault, you were just helping. And I didn’t realise you felt this bad, but I should have, I should have listened to you. I’m sorry!”

“Aang, it’s okay—” There are tears in Katara’s eyes now, and her voice is breaking. “Don’t listen to what I said, I was just—I just—Appa was sick, and it’s not your fault—I just—”

Aang lets go of Katara’s hands and steps forward, wrapping his arms around her chest and hugging her tight. Katara collapses against him, her protests turning into frantic sobs as she breaks down. Aang tightens his grip on her, letting her head down onto his shoulder, Katara’s tears running down the arm of his sweater. He feels like his heart is going to break, hearing her cry like that, but he doesn’t let himself shed any tears. This is his fault, and it’s his turn to be strong for Katara.

“I don’t care about should or shouldn’t,” Aang mumbles into Katara’s hair. “I love you, Katara. I want you to be happy. I’ve just been selfish because I was so scared for Appa. But it won’t happen again—I’m here now.”

Katara’s arms tighten around him, and she buries her face deeper into his shoulder, her tears turning to quiet sniffs. They stand like that for a long moment, Aang trying to concentrate on Katara's warm presence in his arms, on the floral smell of her shampoo. He messed up, but he’s here now.

Stifling one last sob, Katara loosens her grip on Aang and steps back, using the edge of her sleeve to wipe the tears off her face. “I love you too, Aang,” she says quietly. “I’ll always support you.”

“But…” Aang prompts her, and Katara laughs wetly. “But just because Appa being sick is scary and hard, it doesn’t mean that other people stop feeling things,” she continues. “I just—I wanted something for myself, just one small nice thing, and then that asshole Pakku—”

“Hey,” Aang says, catching Katara’s eyes. “I’m here now. So how about we go to Breadstix, order some oreo cheesecake milkshakes, and plan how to get back at that asshole? You have a chess course to get into!”

Pakku likes to get to the community centre about an hour before his course starts. It gives him enough time to set everything up and plan his lesson for the day, and on days like today, it lets him drink a bitter mug of coffee to clear some of the hangover fog from his mind. Really, they need to start bringing non-alcoholic drinks to their White Lotus games—none of them are getting any younger. It’s a miracle Bumi is still alive in working, with the amount of sake he ingest every time they play Pai Sho.

Usually the students start trickling in a few minutes before the official start time, but today the first one walks through the doors almost half an hour early. Pakku stands up from his desk, planning to tell the student to come back later, when he realises who it is that just walked in—it’s the girl he had to turn away on Monday.

Pakku sighs, and readies himself to hear another hysterical rant about misogyny. Contrary to popular opinion, Pakku isn’t a woman hater—he truly appreciates their capabilities for empathy and nurturing—but sometimes he can barely stand talking to the gentler sex. They just get so emotional, and these days they seem to think they’re entitled to be part of anything, no matter their skills. It’s not Pakku’s fault that women’s brains work differently! Just look at the winners of chess championships and the great mathematicians of history, all men. There may be one or two outliers, of course, he can certainly think of one woman he used to know who had a talent for chess, but those are the exception that proves the rule, geniuses from birth, not a girl who’s been playing with her grandma, for heaven's sake!

The girl is accompanied by a short, bald boy, and both of them wear similar determined expressions that don’t bode well for Pakku’s burgeoning headache.

“My dear,” he starts, hoping to stop the rant before it begins, “I told you last time that—”

“Play a game with me.”

Pakku blinks, baffled by the girl’s confident request. “Excuse me?”

“You said I’m not good enough to join the course—prove it. Play a game with me, and judge me by my actual skills, not some preconceived notion of what a chess player looks like.”

“My dear, you are aware that I am a master chess player, yes? There is no way that you can defeat me—no student in this course comes close to doing that.”

“She didn’t say she was going to defeat you!” the boy interjects, annoyed. “She’ll just show you what she can do, and I’ll be here as a witness so you can’t just pretend she was horrible.”

Pakku sighs. Usually he wouldn’t indulge such a self-centred request—it’s not like he can play a game with every single student in his course. But there’s still plenty of time until the start of today’s lesson, and this could be an efficient way of getting rid of these annoying children. If he refuses they might stay around and start shouting and—no. Better to just show them he’s right.

“Fine,” he agrees, sitting down behind the table and taking up one of the many chess sets stacked on the chair next to him. “I’ll even let you choose your colour. But when I win in a handful of moves, you will leave quietly. Agreed?”

“Yes,” the girl nods, pulling up a chair to sit across from him. “Thank you.”

She chooses white, as he expected, and they start the game. The girl’s first moves are careful but uninspired, and Pakku smiles in satisfaction. Still, even though he expects her to fall for one of his traps right away, she keeps avoiding them, and the game stretches to ten moves, and then twenty. It’s not that Pakku is worried—the girl is still nowhere near his level—but to his chagrin he has to admit that she’s not the beginner he’d assumed her to be.

Pakku is working on adjusting his strategy to her level when the girl makes a move that has him blinking at the board. Has she really made such a simple mistake? No. Ah. If he takes her queen, she’ll checkmate him in two moves. That sort of gambit is worthless against an opponent like Pakku, and he can already see a few different ways to spin it to his advantage. But still, the audacity of it shakes him a bit, especially when he checks the girl’s face and finds her expression as calm and determined as before.

Suddenly, Pakku is sent back in time to another chess game, another young woman facing him from the other side of the table and calmly pretending to blunder. All these years, and he can still remember the excitement of playing against Kanna, the butterflies that filled his stomach as he met her bright blue eyes. All she'd had to do was smile at him and tempt him with her queen, and he'd lost the game, too flustered to see the trap. Kanna had laughed at the horror on his face when he’d realised his mistake, and had then continued to use that audacious move every other game they played. Pakku had never fallen for it again, of course, but when he'd pointed that out to Kanna she'd just shrugged. “I like it,” she'd told him. “A queen should live on the edge.”

Pakku brings his focus back to the present moment, but as much as he tries to push away the memory, it sticks in his thoughts. What would Kanna think of him now? Would she want him to accept this girl?

The answer is yes, of course, and Pakku has to concede that he’s made a mistake. The girl overreacted, evidently, but maybe she is one of those rare women that actually have a talent for chess. He was wrong to dismiss her so casually.

So when Pakku wins the game a few moves later, he doesn’t gloat. “Well played, my dear,” he tells the girl, and chuckles at her wide-eyed surprise. “Let it not be said that I do not admit my mistakes! I was hasty to dismiss your amateur experience as no experience. You are welcome to join my course.”

“Yes!” the boy exclaims, and they turn to each other for a moment, smiling.

“Thank you,” the girl tells him. “Please put me down as Katara on the list.”

They quickly arrange the details of her registration, and in a burst of good humour, Pakku compliments Katara on the daring gambit. “It may have worked, on a player less experienced than I am.”

“It’s my Gran-Gran’s favourite trap,” she tells him, smiling fondly. “She always says that a queen should live on the edge.”

For a moment, Pakku feels like the world has frozen around him. It couldn’t be—could it? When he thinks about it, Katara does look a lot like Kanna, but—

“Your grandmother,” he asks weakly. “What is her name?”

“Umm, Kanna?”

Pakku takes a shaky breath. “It is her… Do you think… has she never spoken of me? Do you think she’d want to see me?”

Katara’s eyes narrow. Her smile is gone, and her voice is much colder when she speaks. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know why my Gran-Gran would speak about you. Even if you knew her at some point, I have to be honest—I’m joining your course because I want to play chess. But letting in one girl doesn’t change the fact that you’re a misogynist, and I really don’t think my Gran-Gran would give you the time of day.” At that, Katara seems to realise how harsh her words are, and backtracks quickly. “That’s okay, right? I mean, you don’t like me, and students don’t have to like their teachers? I can still join the course?”

Dazed, all Pakku can do is nod. The room has started to fill with other students now, and Katara and her friend stand up to let the others sign in with Pakku. He watches them from the corner of his eyes, sees Katara choosing a table and the boy giving her a kiss on the cheek before he leaves.

For the next few hours, Pakku goes through the motions, teaching his students in the same way he has for decades now. But every time he catches sight of Katara, her long hair standing out in a hall full of short-haired boys, he can’t help but think back to her scathing words.

my Gran-Gran wouldn’t give you the time of day

He wants to be angry, wants to tell himself that the statement is just one more exaggeration from a hormonal little girl. But for all that he tries to rationalise it, all Pakku can feel is a hollow sort of sorrow.

Maybe Katara is right.

Maybe Pakku has to rethink some things about his life.

>EMAIL DRAFT

Uncle,

Things are still good here, overall. It’s not like I remembered Vocal Adrenaline training can be a bit intense, and sometimes I miss but of course, it needs to be harsh so we’ll be the best.

Why didn’t you answer

It’s nice to be living with father and Azula again, even if we never do anything they’re a bit busy. Were they always this It’s good for me to be a bit more independent.

I miss It’s hard

Maybe you can come to visit sometime? I’m sure you still have friends in Akron, and we can visit the cemetery together like we used to.

Your nephew, Zuko

>EMAIL SENT

>NO REPLY

>EMAIL DRAFT

Dear Sokka,

How are you doing? I know we didn’t part on the best terms, but I still but if you apologise I forgive you.

Do you miss I’m good. It’s strange, being here again, and no-one is talking but I think it’s good for me to focus on myself. I miss Father has Vocal Adrenaline working really hard, and I’m not sure what’s the standard here is very high. I thought about you The other day some of the others were struggling with the dance routine, so I took them through the whole deconstruction thing you taught me, and it helped them, even if my father got really angry didn’t approve. I guess all my hard work has paid off, so I don’t understand why I’m still so and I even have a solo on the setlist.

I miss

Azula isn’t

If you can, please write back. I need to know

Love,

Bye,

WHY AM I STILL SO

>DRAFT DELETED

Chapter Text

“I’ll have a large latte, please, and umm… one of those blueberry muffins.”

Sokka watches Yue as she orders at the counter of the Lima Bean, trying to concentrate on positive thoughts. Appa is healthy, Aang is back at school, Katara is happier, and the choir is getting on better than ever. And Sokka himself—well, he’s on a date with a beautiful girl! There’s no reason to feel sad. None at all.

They make meaningless small talk while they wait for their drinks, talking about the warming weather and the annoying lack of ice cream shops in Lima. It’s always easy talking with Yue, but Sokka still can’t quite push away the sadness. It’s why he asked Yue on an official date—they’ve been hanging out a lot in the weeks since she joined the choir, but Sokka hopes that by calling their meetings "dates", and what they have a "relationship", he can maybe find the firm ground he’s looking for.

After all, Yue really is lovely. She’s beautiful, funny and smart, and has the voice of an angel. And even better, she’s always nice to everyone, and it’s more than surface level—she cares deeply. If Sokka was making comparisons—which he isn’t—he would be thinking about how she has all the good traits of a certain someone, and none of the bad.

“So, have you finished reading The Wizard of Earthsea yet?”

Sokka smiles at Yue as they sit down with their coffees, and then reaches into his bag to produce the thick volume she leant him. “Yes! I really loved the ending. It just made so much sense, you know? I wasn’t expecting the shadow’s name to be his own, but then he said it and I was like ooooh.”

Yue nods, taking the book from Sokka and patting it fondly. “That’s one of my favourite things about fantasy, that it gives the writer a way of exploring subconscious changes in a tangible way. I also love the Taoist themes in Le Guin’s books—you’ll see that if you read the next ones as well, that she’s always writing about balance and equilibrium.”

To be honest, Sokka doesn’t really know what Taoism is, and had mostly liked the book for its exciting story, but he nods along anyways as Yue talks about themes and metaphors and mythology. It’s probably good for him to date someone smarter than him. With Zuko, he always felt like—

To distract himself, Sokka tries to think of something clever to say in reply to Yue’s musings about “the power of language to shape reality.” “I really liked how their magic was so based on names,” he tells Yue as she takes a sip of her coffee. “I checked, and I can’t believe this book hasn’t been adapted to a musical yet! Could you imagine how amazing all the songs would be, like you could actually make everyone feel the importance of the names of things through the music? And all the duels and rituals would make for awesome dances.”

“Hmm.” Sokka’s growing excitement is halted by the sceptical look on Yue’s face. “I don’t know…” she muses. “Earthsea is a classic for a reason. Don’t you think that having a musical adaptation would cheapen it a bit? All that gaudiness and performativity doesn’t really fit Le Guin’s writing…”

“Cheapen it? No, why would it? Musicals are great—just look at Les Miserables. That’s a classical book, and the musical only made it more epic.”

“Really?” Yue looks a bit sour. “Maybe we just don’t agree on musicals in general then.”

Sokka blinks at her in shock. “You don’t like musicals? But you’re a singer!”

“I don’t know… they just never make any sense to me. Why is everyone singing and dancing suddenly? And then switching back to talking?”

“That’s the fun of it, though. It’s just a little bit weird, but in a good way, because you get to see them expressing emotions and stuff through dance and song, and it’s all so big and cool! Maybe you just haven’t seen the right musical yet. We could watch some bootlegs if you want, I have all my favourites downloaded.” There’s a joke about making slime on the tip of Sokka’s tongue, but he doesn’t think Yue is the right audience for it.

“It’s nice to see you so enthusiastic,” she tells him fondly, “but I just don’t think musicals are for me. And that’s fine! People like different things. I still love singing, it’s just that show tunes aren’t my favourites.”

“Right,” Sokka agrees. She is right, of course—it’s fine not to like the same things. But it seems like neither of them really know how to continue the conversation, and for a few moments they just sit there in silence, Yue sipping from her coffee while Sokka plays with the hairband on his wrist.

Finally, Sokka's desperate thinking catches onto a new topic. “So, umm,” he starts slowly. “How are you doing these days? Are you still okay with all the choir practices? I know Mr. Iroh has upped the intensity a bit.”

Yue’s soft mouth twists in a rueful smile. “It’s nice of you to ask, Sokka. But I’m doing okay. I haven’t had any bad flare-ups since the Kyoto Factory concert, so it seems the current practice schedule is fine for me.”

“Do you…” Sokka doesn’t quite know how to ask this. “Do you know what you’re going to do at Regionals? Because you don’t have to join if you don’t want to, you know. I mean—obviously you’re an amazing singer and would add a lot to the performance, but—just because of your health, you know, and we don’t need all twelve to perform—uh—”

Yue chuckles at Sokka’s fumbled question. “It’s okay. I know I don’t have to perform, but I haven’t decided yet. I’d really like to, of course, but I guess I’m mostly worried about saying I’ll do it and then having to cancel.”

“Yeah. I know Aang has the same problems, especially after the near-miss at Invitationals. I think he really panicked before Sectionals, but I don’t really know what he decided—by the time I got there he was too busy French-kissing my sister to talk about it. I basically had to peel them off each other!”

Yue looks down at the table for a moment, her cheeks a bit flushed. It’s probably difficult for her to think about these things, Sokka realises.

“Maybe I should talk to Aang, then,” Yue says, finally. She looks up, and gives Sokka a small smile. “Thank you for helping me with this, Sokka.”

Sokka bats away her thanks, saying that anyone would do the same. It’s true, of course, but her smiling gratitude still feels nice. Sokka has felt more sensitive lately, as if every small compliment from Mr. Iroh or admonition from Katara can reach deep into his chest. Being with Yue is safe, in comparison—they get on well, and there’s no drama, no harsh emotions.

But for all that Sokka appreciates this calm, it doesn’t do much to quell the ache in his chest. So even though he and Yue stay at the Lima Bean for another hour, talking and smiling, Sokka still finds himself wanting more, and not quite sure how to get it.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

It’s Monday afternoon, and Aang and Yue are the only ones left in the choir room. When practice ended Yue asked Aang if he had a moment to talk, and he immediately shooed away Katara and Toph and sat down with Yue in the corner of the room, Appa flopping down onto the floor beside them.

She appreciates how ready he is to help her—everyone in the choir is just so nice. Yue still has nightmares from the time she had to attend school in-person, so the New Directions’ easy camaraderie is very different from what she expected. Of course, Sokka has told her that it took a while to get to this place, and that she wouldn’t have liked Sneers, or even Jet at the start of the year. But knowing that the current harmony took work only makes her more appreciative of the choir.

“I wanted to ask you about the performances,” she tells Aang, “and how you deal with your epilepsy. Only if you want to talk about it, of course! I know it can be a tricky topic, but, umm.” It’s still hard to say the words, even after all these years, but she wants to show Aang that she has a reason to ask. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but I’m pretty sick. Not anything as bad as epilepsy—just fatigue, you know, and some dizziness and nausea. But I’m worried about Regionals, because even just the Kyoto Factory concert was a bit too much for me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Aang tells her he hadn't known she was sick, but there's an understanding in his eyes now that shows Yue that he can guess a lot more of what she isn’t saying than a healthy person would. “We can talk about my epilepsy, of course, but I don’t know if I have the answers for you.” Aang looks away for a moment. “I haven’t really thought about Regionals yet, with Appa’s illness and everything.”

“That makes sense,” Yue says. “It’s not that I think you have an answer for me, just that maybe your experience would help me decide? For example, Sokka said something happened at Invitationals, but he didn’t really give me any details.”

Yue could have pushed Sokka for more details, but it didn’t seem worth it—whatever she and Sokka have still feels fragile, in a way, and Yue is careful to avoid any drama or conflict. Sokka is wonderful, and every moment they spend together is deepening Yue’s crush. But as much as their interactions are filled with excitement, whenever their conversations move towards anything deeper it just gets strangely awkward. Like they’re dancing, and Yue keeps stepping forward only for Sokka to step sideways and ruin the rhythm—or maybe it's Yue who doesn't know the dance. All she can do is hope that it will get better with time.

Here and now, she listens to Aang as he tells her about his illness and explains the seizure he had before Invitationals.

“And then before Sectionals I panicked, because I was worried it would ruin everything if I had another seizure. Katara convinced me that it was okay to risk it, because everyone in the choir is a risk, and anyways dropping out at the last minute would be just as bad. But when it comes to Regionals…” Aang leans down to rub Appa’s head. “I don’t know. Because it is more of a risk with me singing. And I know Mr. Iroh wants to give me a solo, so it’s even more of a risk.”

“But Mr. Iroh knows about your illness, right?” Yue asks. “So if he’s giving you a solo, he thinks the risk is worth it.”

“Maybe.” Aang doesn’t look convinced, and Yue can see his hand tighten in Appa’s fur. “But… do you ever feel like some healthy people don’t really get it? Like, Mr. Iroh knows that in theory I could have a seizure, but it feels like he’s sure that I won’t.”

Yue nods in understanding. She definitely knows that feeling—even with her parents it took years until the consequences of her illness became routine. No matter how many times you tell people you’re sick, it still seems to surprise them when you run of to vomit or have to cancel plans.

“Ahh!” Aang gives his head a quick shake. “It makes me stressed just to think about this stuff! But I also still need to decide, like you do. It’s just so hard, because I want to sing, but I also don’t want the responsibility, you know?”

“Yes, I do.” It’s a bit different for Yue, because she’s worried about the performance itself affecting her, but the weight of responsibility is the same. “But Aang, what about the future? If you want to sing professionally, you’ll have to take the risk.”

Finding a future that fits with her illness is something that keeps Yue up at night, but from the way Aang stares at her in surprise it seems it’s not something he thinks of.

“Sing professionally? Me?”

“Oh, I guess…” Yue fumbles. “I’m sorry, you’re just such a good singer that I assumed. And I think Sokka said something about the choir’s lead and Broadway, but maybe I got that confused.”

“Oh, umm. Sokka was probably talking about Zuko.” Aang shifts on his chair. “But, uh, thank you. I guess I never really thought about it? In the monastery it’s just the monastery, you know? The future doesn’t really exist there. And just going to high school was so exciting, I’ve never thought about the future.”

Yue hadn’t known that Aang was so new to school, and she flushes with embarrassment, thinking that she just projected her own worries onto him. Most people don’t spend their nights staring at the ceiling and wondering about their purpose in life. And Aang is just a freshman—of course he’s not going to have a plan for the future!

Yue gives Aang a stumbling apology, and he brushes it away, saying that it was a good question. Still, she decides to change the topic, and after she asks Aang about the monastery they spend the next few minutes talking about their different experiences with home-schooling. This slowly drifts into a conversation about the horrors of the medical system, and then Aang tells her the story of how he got Appa. By the time Yue’s phone chimes to tell her her father has arrived, her embarrassment has disappeared, and she feels bold enough to hug Aang goodbye in the parking lot. Even if he hasn’t really helped her with her worries, at least she’s made a new friend.

New directions groupchat

Online: Sokka, Katara, Toph, Jet, Teo, Ty Lee, Haru
Offline: Aang, Suki, Mai, Yue, Pipsqueak

Sokka: Guess who’s at it again 📣👿

Katara: Oh no, do you mean Sue Sylvester? What has she done now?

Teo: I thought she was done with interfering?

Ty Lee: Sue is never done 😢🙈

Sokka: I was checking the website to find the Regionals venue, and guess what—Sue is one of the judges! She’s going to be judging the competition!!! 😭

Toph: OH HELL NO 🥷🗡️💢🩸

Jet: can we even win if she’s a judge?

Ty Lee: I think we can if all the other judges vote for us, but it’s not good for our chances 😢

Katara: But how can she be a judge? She doesn’t have any show choir experience.

Sokka: Idk, it looks like some of the judges are random local celebrities, like they have that slimy news anchor

Sokka: weirdest list you’ve ever seen in your life

Sokka: *screenshot of text saying “Judges: Rod Remington, Josh Groban, Olivia Newton-John, Sue Sylvester”*

Toph: WTF 😒❤️🪩🤮

Jet: you’re seriously telling me they got JG and ONJ but couldn’t get anyone better than sue sylvester as the fourth judge

Teo: show choir competitions are so weird

Ty Lee: ugh this is classic Sue

Ty Lee: she told me she had a secret plan

Ty Lee: but I just thought she was bluffing

Ty Lee: sorry guys 😭

Katara: It’s not your fault Ty Lee, we appreciate you ♥️

Ty Lee: ♥️

Haru: sorry I’m late to all of this, but why are we so worried about Sue being a judge? Wouldn’t she be biased towards McKinley?

Toph: oh Haru baby you are in for some crazy drama 🍵

Katara: Basically Sue really hates Mr. Iroh and the glee club for some reason, I think because it takes away funding from the Cheerios? So she tried to sabotage us a lot before Sectionals, and then she got suspended and we thought it was over. But if she’s a Regionals judge she’s definitely going to vote against us :(

Toph: Kataraaaa don’t leave out all the details

Toph: like the time Sue lured Zuko away with evil promises

Toph: or when she leaked our set list to the other clubs so they could sing our songs and humiliate us

Toph: if she wasn’t against us she’d be an icon 💅

Haru: oh, okay, that does sound bad 😢

Jet: so what I’m getting from all of this is that we need to wow the shit out of the judges

Jet: which will be hard when we’re competing with Villains Associated 😠

Teo: There's a third team, right? @Sokka did you find out who they are?

Sokka: Yeah, the third team is called Ignis Academy Crooners and I have no idea who they are

Ty Lee: ignis academy is that fancy boarding school in westerville, right? they have those super ugly red uniforms 🤢🤢

Haru: yeah, we actually considered that place when I was moving but I didn’t want to sleep at school

Haru: I saw they have a choir but I don’t know how good they are

Sokka: ugh it would be nice to know what we’re up against, but I guess doing another invitationals is a bad idea

Toph: maybe it’s time for OPERATION INFILTRATE 🕵️

Katara: No, Toph, please. Remember the ‘no doing anything illegal’ rule.

Toph: illegal? me? never!!

Toph: I was just thinking of taking a little trip to Ignis Academy to check it out, nothing nefarious at aaaaall 😉

Sokka: I mean, that does sound like a good idea

Katara: Oh yeah, because no-one’s going to question a random student no-one knows wandering around.

Jet: she could say that she’s new? all we need is a peek into the choir room

Haru: umm I don’t know if this helps, but one of the reasons I didn’t end up choosing Ignis Academy was because it’s really traditional and bad about disabilities

Haru: I don’t think any disabled kids go there

Toph: disabled? who’s disabled here! I can just wear sunglasses 😎

Katara: Toph…

Toph: yeah okay I won’t go

Toph: spoilsports

Katara: ♥️

Sokka: well, I guess we’ll just have to practice a lot and hope for the best

Ty Lee: 💃💪🏆

Toph: 💪💪💪🗡️😈

Haru: 🏆🏅🎤

As Aang stares up at the vaulted ceilings of Ignis Academy’s entrance hall, his stomach does a little flip. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

It had seemed so obvious, when he came home from his chat with Yue to find 50 new notifications from the New Directions group chat. If Toph couldn’t sneak into Ignis Academy to spy on the crooners, and no one else was volunteering, Aang would do it. Appa still needed to stay home sometimes to rest, so Aang would look like any other kid. He could prove to everyone that he could do his part for the New Directions, and there was no need to worry about his epilepsy. No need at all.

But now that he’s here, dressed in a cheap approximation of the red-and-brown uniform and staring at a sea of similarly dressed students, he’s having second thoughts. Ignis Academy is just so different from McKinley’s—where McKinley’s hallways are low and grey, the Academy has wood-panelled walls, soft red carpets and marble busts. And where McKinley’s students are annoyingly loud, always running and shouting, everyone at Ignis Academy walks slowly, and speaks in low, careful tones. How is Aang supposed to find the choir room? This school seems more like a rich person’s house than a place for students, and there are no signs or maps anywhere. It reminds him of the monastery he grew up in, and not in a good way.

“Do you need help?”

Aang almost jumps in place, but he manages to get a hold of himself in time, and turns towards the speaker. She’s another one of the many red-and-brown uniformed students, a short girl with bangs and bright brown eyes.

“Umm…” Aang starts. For a moment he considers saying no, but then he remembers his alibi. “Yes! I’m new.”

“Oh!” The student’s eyes widen in understanding. “That’s why you look so confused! Did your buddy not show you around?”

“Uh, no?” Aang has no idea why he would have a buddy, but he tries to improvise something that would cover all bases. “We just moved here, so I missed all the usual starting things. I’m not moving into the dorms until next week, actually. I wasn’t even supposed to come in today, but I got curious.”

“Ah, I get that! It’s so exciting, isn’t it, starting a new school? I’m sure you’ll get the proper tour next week, but if you want I can show you around now? I have a free period before choir practice.”

Aang can’t believe his luck. “Yes! That would be amazing, thanks! You’re in the choir?”

“Great! And yes, it’s so fun—do you sing?”

Aang tells her he loves singing, and when he asks if he could peek in on the choir practice, the girl readily agrees. She introduces herself as On Ji, and Aang gives her the alias he’d decided on, Kuzon.

On Ji is so nice that Aang starts feeling a bit bad—actively deceiving a competitor into helping him is worse than just spying, in a way. But he pushes away his discomfort, and follows her as she leads him down a corridor, pointing out the different rooms.

“- and the cafeteria is at the back of the school, through there. The food isn’t too bad, but you have to get there in time or they run out.” On Ji stops for a moment at the bottom of a wide wooden staircase, turning towards the bulletin board that a few students are grouping around. “Oh! Your buddy will probably show this to you tomorrow, but you can already have a look—these are the school rules,” she tells Aang, pointing towards a large poster stuck on the middle of the board. “There’s a lot of them, and you get grey and black marks for breaking them.” She looks over Aang’s jacket and trousers, and winches. “It’s nice that you tried to wear something similar, but you’re lucky that it’s the afternoon—not wearing the proper uniform is an immediate black mark.”

Aang gulps, suddenly glad he’s not actually a student at Ignis Academy. The list on the bulletin board has more than 30 rules, some of them completely incomprehensible. For example, what are mufti, and why are they not allowed? But as Aang scans the rules, his eyes catch on one particular sentence.

“You aren’t allowed to dance?”

On Ji shushes him, looking around to make sure no teacher heard him shout. “Yeah,” she tells him. “No dancing anywhere.”

Aang is horrified. “Not even in PE? Or in the show choir?”

Aang’s expression must be quite a sight, because On Ji gives out a little laugh as she shakes her head, pulling Aang away from the board so they can talk without being overheard. “No. We’re more like a classical choir than a show one, we just stand in one place. It’s still fun, though!”

“That’s horrible,” Aang tells her honestly. He can’t imagine school without dance—really, he can’t imagine life without dance! He may not be as talented as Sokka or Ty Lee, but he still loves dancing. Even in the monastery they danced all the time.

“I know,” On Ji agrees. “I used to love dancing when I was a kid, but here they’re really strict about it, even in the dorms. The principal says that it’s too provocative—last time they caught someone dancing in the common room he got detention for a week.”

“But you can’t just let them do that!” He thinks of the union concert the New Directions gave a few weeks ago. “If everyone dances, they can’t punish all of you, right?”

On Ji looks sceptical. “I guess… but they’ll definitely punish whoever organises the dance. It’s too risky.”

Before Aang can say anything, another student steps up beside On Ji, leaning on her shoulder and looking over Aang. “On Ji! Who is this little gentleman? And did I hear you talking about a secret dance party?”

Aang tenses for a moment, worried, but he relaxes when On Ji just rolls her eyes and gives the other student a friendly shove. “Kuzon, this idiot here is Shoji. Shoji, this is Kuzon. He’s starting here next week, so I’m giving him a tour, and he’ll be joining choir practice later.”

“A singer, eh? Fresh meat is always good.” Shoji winks at Aang. “But don’t try to distract me, On Ji. If someone’s organising a dance party, you know I want in.”

“No one is organising a party, Shoji. I was just explaining to Kuzon why it’s too dangerous.”

“Actually…” Aang says tentatively. “What if I organise the dance party?”

New directions groupchat

Online: Sokka, Katara, Toph, Aang, Ty Lee, Suki
Offline: Jet, Teo, Ty Lee, Mai, Yue, Pipsqueak

Aang: Umm guys

Aang: I need your help with something

Sokka: we are here only to serve you, my liege! say the word and I will be at your service!

Toph: 🧎⚔️

Toph: spill, Aang

Aang: sooo about that whole infiltrating Ignis Academy thing

Katara: Oh no, Aang please tell me you didn’t…

Aang: 😅

Katara: 🤦

Aang: I don’t think we need to worry about the crooners, they’re really good singers, but they just stand in one place which the judges won’t like

Toph: LOSERS 💃

Aang: they’re all really nice though!!! and dancing is actually against the rules in their school, which is absolutely horrible, and no one should live this way, so… I sort of kinda told them I’d organise a secret dance party

Aang: tomorrow night

Ty Lee: I just got here and I’m confused, but yay dance! 🪩💃

Katara: Aang, what do you mean a secret dance party? Where?

Aang: I guess in the Ignis Academy event hall? The point is that if everyone comes to the party then they can’t punish everyone! And if you guys help me organise it, they can’t punish the organisers either because we don’t go to their school! It’s like the union thing 😇

Suki: That’s not quite how unions work

Suki: But I’m in! Let’s liberate some preppy kids 💪

Aang: ♥️

Toph: 💃🥷🥽🪧💥

Sokka: Just so I get this straight, we’re doing this to help them? Not get them all punished so they can’t compete in Regionals?

Sokka: Because it’s sort of a perfect sabotage plan

Aang: no! we’re not sabotaging them, they’re super nice and I feel really bad so I want to help

Katara: That’s actually really nice, Aang. As long as we’re just doing this for fun I’m in :)

Aang: ♥️♥️

Sokka: Okay… we’ll need to plan this properly then. With a distraction for the teachers and lookouts and everything

Toph: DIBBS ON DISTRACTION

Toph: 🗡️💥🩸

Sokka: You know what—sure. Toph is in charge of the distraction.

Toph: 🥳

Ty Lee: I love this so much! Dance forever!!!

Ty Lee: I have a huge mirror ball I am definitely bringing 🪩🪩

Suki: and I can bring my good speakers in case the ones in the hall are locked 🙂

Aang: thank you guys 😍

Aang: this is going to be amazing

Aang: there’s no way anything will go wrong

It had probably been a mistake to let Toph arrange the distraction, Katara thinks, holding onto the seat back in front of her as Sokka revs the car into motion. Throwing burning rocks at the building and shouting about “Melon Lord” had certainly caused the on-call teachers to run out of the building and start chasing her, but it had also woken up all the other teachers. And even though they spent close to an hour chasing Toph, it was inevitable that one of the freshly-woken teachers would see the lights on in the event hall and check it out, finding—well, finding an enormous dance party in full-swing.

It had been a great party, though. The Ignis Academy students were all ecstatic to get a chance to dance, and the energy in the hall was electric. Aang had spent the first few minutes teaching the Ignis students some dance moves, but then he came to find Katara, and they spent a wonderful half hour dancing together as “Footloose” played in the background. Katara had never really danced this freely before—the dancing they did in the New Directions was always a bit too exacting for her, and all the steps confused her. But dancing with Aang in a room full of happy people, everything except the music fading away… Katara's just sorry that it ended so soon.

But there’s even something exhilarating about having to get away, grabbing their stuff and running to their cars, laughing all the way. The Ignis Academy teachers couldn’t officially punish them, but it’s still better to face the consequences the next day, and not have to answer to a horde of angry boarding school teachers. In the back of her mind, Katara hopes that the others made it out intact, but those thoughts fade beside the loud beat of her heart, and the warm pressure of Aang’s body by her side.

When Sokka turns onto the main road and slows down to a more normal speed, Katara lets go of the headrest and leans sideways into Aang, resting her head on his shoulder. She has to bend a bit to do it, but the slight discomfort is well worth it for the warmth that blooms in her chest when he wraps his arm around her.

“It was really nice of you to organise that for them, Aang,” she tells him. “Even if it ended too soon.”

“Really?” Aang sounds a bit uncertain. “The teachers were so angry… I got worried that it was too much.”

“I think the teachers were so angry about Toph’s ‘distraction’ that the dance will pale in comparison,” Katara reassures him. “And all those students wouldn’t have joined if it wasn’t worth it. It’s good to break some rules sometimes.”

“Wow,” Sokka comments from the driver’s seat, “who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

Katara swats his head lightly, laughing, and then leans back into Aang. “I just hope they won’t be too angry when they realise you’re from McKinley,” she tells Aang.

“Oh, ummm.” Aang shifts his hold on Katara’s side. “They actually already know, or at least On Ji and Shoji do.”

“They do?”

“Yeah, they figured it out when all of you turned up as well. To be honest, ‘my old friends want to help’ isn’t a great cover story when there’s a viral video online of your choir singing. I technically wasn’t in that video, but it didn’t take a big leap for them to piece it all together.”

“Oh,” Katara laughs. “I keep forgetting about that video.” In front of her, she can see Sokka’s hands tighten on the wheel, and decides to change the subject. “But they didn’t mind that you lied to them?”

“They found it funny, actually,” Aang admits. “I think it helped that they were excited about the party. And the crooners don’t take the competition that seriously, so they didn’t really mind me spying.”

“That’s great.” Katara snuggles a bit deeper into Aang’s side. “I guess you’ve got some new friends, then.”

“I do!” Aang’s voice is happy, but then he seems to think of something, and Katara feels him tensing slightly. “But… I want to tell you guys something.”

“What is it, Aang?” Sokka asks, turning to glance at him before facing the road again.

“I did this whole infiltration thing in the first place because I was trying to find a distraction so I wouldn't need to think of Regionals. I know that Sectionals was fine, but Invitationals wasn’t, and I still get so worried, especially after Appa getting ill, it just feels…”

“Oh, Aang.”

“No, it’s okay,” Aang says, turning to smile at Katara. “Because when I was dancing at the party, I realised, this is what I want to do. I want to make people happy by having everyone dance and sing together, without stress, just joy and freedom. It’s why I like choir practice most of the time. But performing…” Aang stops for a moment, and Katara and Sokka both stay quiet, letting him finish. “I don’t think performing is for me. Especially not singing solos, or going on to Broadway or making a record or anything like that. It’s not me.”

It seems so obvious, now that Aang has said it. Of course Aang isn’t someone who sings solos on stage, no matter how talented he is. The Aang Katara loves is a ray of sunshine that brightens everyone’s day, and finds his own happiness through connecting with other people. He doesn’t have the urge to perform that people like Zuko or Ty Lee do, and Sokka’s competitive spirit is completely foreign to him. He doesn’t need the limelight, or an audience watching him. He can make people happy in his own way.

“So I’m going to talk to Mr. Iroh next week,” Aang concludes, “and tell him I’m not singing anything more than backup at Regionals. He still has enough time to rearrange things.”

“I think that’s great, Aang,” Sokka tells him. “You do you, bro! Maybe Mr. Iroh will even give me your solos.”

Katara sits up to swat Sokka again, and then turns to Aang. “I’m so happy you’ve found what you want to do, Aang. You’re really brave to face that. And you're already making people happy without a stage, so you’re not missing anything.”

Aang smiles at her, his face lighting up with relief and joy. “I love you,” he tells her softly.

“I love you too,” Katara answers.

And then, naturally, they both lean forward into a soft kiss, and then stay entwined like that all through the drive home, ignoring the puking noises Sokka makes from the driver's seat.

New directions groupchat

Online: Sokka, Toph, Suki, Jet, Haru, Teo, Aang

Offline: Katara, Ty Lee, Mai, Yue, Pipsqueak

Suki: 💕💕💕

Toph: you go Aang! do what you need to do !

Haru: ♥️

Aang: Thanks guys, you're the best xxx

Toph: 💃🤗💐

…

Sokka: on another topic… What are we going to do about Sue? lgnis Academy aren't serious competition, but Vocal Adrenaline definitely are.

Teo: I don't know if there's that much we can do? Sue isn't cheating this time, it's her right to be a judge.

Jet: can't we complain about conflict of interest or some shit like that?

Haru: they already let her judge when her school is competing, I don't think they really care

Toph: 👿👿🗡️

Suki: idk, I think we just have to hope for the best, guys

Suki: at least there's three other judges

Haru: we just have to be really good so they all vote for us

Toph: CRUSH 'EM 💥

Teo: yeah, Sokka, I think we just have to do our best and hope

Sokka: you're right… uuuuuuuh okay. No tricks this time. We'll just crush 'em ;)

>EMAIL DRAFT

Dear Uncle,

Why aren’t you answering my letters? Is everything okay? If it’s because of me leaving then you have no I can’t believe what a hypocritical

I could update you again about my life here, but what’s the point when it’s been pretty much the same. Except I’m still not ha

I didn’t think

I miss

I need your help

Please, uncle, I’m losing my mind, I’m just so angry all the time, I’m angrier than ever and I don’t know why, please just answer, please

>DRAFT DELETED

>EMAIL DRAFT

Sokka,

I hate you so much. I keep writing drafts and deleting them, so I’m not even trying to edit this one any more, but I still need you to somehow know that I HATE YOU!!

I gave so much to your pathetic glee club, and when I was actually considering staying you just threw it all in my face with that stupid dodgeball game. Did you do it on purpose? Did you just want me gone? Well, congratulations, you got what you wanted.

You know what the stupid thing is? I still miss you. I miss you so much. I really thought that we

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

I can’t even write my own thoughts down, I just start writing and then I get so angry and I hate the words I write and I hate you for making me feel this way and I thought we

Why am I so angry all the time?? I’m back in Akron, my dad accepted me and he talks to me and he’s even happy with my singing. I’m supposed to be happy, for fucks sake!

But I’m NOT FUCKING HAPPY

Who am I even angry at! You didn’t owe me anything. Uncle didn’t owe me anything. I was always supposed to get back to Akron, and I got back. Why do I even care how I left?

Maybe I’m not angry at you. Maybe I don’t hate you.

I just want things to go back

I want

I think I’m angry at myself.

>DRAFT DELETED

>EMAIL DRAFT

Dear Uncle,

I’m sorry.

That’s how I should’ve started all of my letters. It’s what I would tell you face to face if I was brave enough, if I could stop hiding behind my anger.

I can’t believe how mean I was to you. You were always so good to me, always so supportive and understanding. It’s hard not to notice the differences, now that I’m back here. I miss talking with you about my day, I miss listening to music while we cook, I miss just sitting together in the kitchen doing nothing. I even miss your horrible tea obsession.

I thought going back to Akron would solve things. It was supposed to make me happy—having my father accept me, singing in his choir.

Today we had choir practice, and I sang everything exactly in tune, and I did all the moves right, and I didn’t say anything when my father hit one of the other students to make them stand straight and I didn’t intervene when he shouted at someone else for just being tired. I was the perfect singer, the perfect child.

But I wasn’t me.

It’s so obvious, in hindsight. My father doesn’t care about who I am, who I really am. You’re the one who actually cares about me. Or at least cared.

I know I messed up, Uncle, but I don’t think you can ever forgive me, not after the things I did, not after you warned me. But somehow, I still sort of hope you could.

>DRAFT DELETED

Chapter Text

Zuko crumbles the moment the door to his room closes behind him, slumping down to the floor and hiding his face in his hands. He cries as quietly as he can, swallowing his sobs and rocking back and forth. The last thing he needs is for Azula—or even worse, his father—to pass by his room and hear how weak he’s being. After all, weakness is not to be tolerated in Ozai’s house.

The worst part is that the conversation over dinner hadn’t even been that bad. They’d talked about Vocal Adrenaline, of course, discussing the setlist and choreography, noting the strengths and weaknesses of the other choir members. Zuko had even felt like he was contributing—had basked in the knowledge that his father and sister valued his opinion.

And then, Ozai had praised Zuko’s performance. “I’m glad you came to your senses, Zuko,” he'd said. “Certain weak fools may have judged me at the time, but look at the results—the lesson I taught you stuck. Real men know that there is no improvement without pain. And the best improvement can only happen if that pain is permanent.” And there had been no way to misinterpret that statement, because Ozai had nodded towards the fireplace, his mouth set in a grimly satisfied line. That terrible fireplace, which Zuko had been trying not to look at since he’d moved back to Akron. The fireplace, where two years ago—

Zuko’s fingers grab at his hair, pulling hard enough that the sharp pain draws him out of the memory. Any current pain is better than the memory of that pain, the memory of the flames searing—

Zuko stands up and starts walking frantically around his room. Over the last few weeks, he’d had to accept some things about his father. That he didn’t really care about Zuko, that he only saw him as a means to an end, as another voice to further his legacy. But although those revelations hurt—oh how they hurt—Zuko had still held on to one last belief. The belief, painful but unquestionable, that his scar had been an accident.

It was one thing to believe that Ozai could hit him in a fit of rage. Zuko had been misbehaving, after all, had questioned his father’s authority, had talked back and shouted. Those circumstances were important, because if the hit was hot-blooded, and the burn was an accident—well, then Zuko had no reason to be scared if he behaved well. That word—accident—had helped keep him calm any time his father had raised his voice in the last few weeks. And it was that word that let him fall asleep, stressed and miserable, even as the nearness of that fireplace weighed on him and brought nightmarish flames to his dreams.

But if you remove that word, if the ever-present ache of his scar was deliberate… Well, then even the flimsy pretence of safety that Zuko has erected around him crumbles into nothing.

the best improvement can only happen if that pain is permanent

Zuko looks down at his hands. They’re shaking, and he can’t seem to be able to stop them. What can he do? He can’t stay here, not now. Not when it seems any small misstep could lead to another lesson, another—

No. He can’t stay. But where can he go? It’s clear where he wants to go—his heart aches for Iroh, for that small, run-down house in Lima. A house where Zuko had felt safe, and loved, and even, maybe, happy. But Iroh hasn’t answered a single email from Zuko, and Zuko knows why. He'd burnt his bridges in Lima. He hadn't just left his uncle and his friends, he'd betrayed them. He was horrible and mean, and he doesn’t deserve to go back there, no matter how much he misses it.

Groaning in frustration, Zuko punches his old wardrobe hard, shaking the wooden doors open. To his confusion, papers start spilling out of the open doors, falling to the floor in untidy heaps. They must have been inside the plastic bags that now lie half-empty on the floor of the wardrobe, probably stored there before Zuko left for Lima.

Crouching down, Zuko picks up one of the papers. The writing is his own from a long time ago, still childishly round and careful. “A spring song”, one paper says, “written by Zuko†”. There are bars of music scribbled beneath the title, with simple lyrics added below. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Zuko picks up a few other papers. They’re all the same, all songs composed by him, and a quick glance is enough to see that they’re embarrassingly simple and childish. Still, the music itself isn’t what causes Zuko’s eyes to prickle with tears. It’s the small footnote scribbled onto each page in much neater handwriting. An adult's handwriting.

“†With help from mom.”

Zuko breaks down sobbing again, but the tears feel different. He’s not crying in frustration and fear any more—those feelings are still there, but they’re overshadowed by Zuko’s overwhelming grief, by the way he aches for the small child that wrote these songs. He can barely believe he used to be this child, a happy little boy writing songs together with his mother. That child didn’t deserve what was coming for him.

And with that thought, a small sliver of hope shines through Zuko’s desperation. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to go back to Lima, yet. But maybe if he proves himself, if he makes a big enough gesture—maybe he can go back there. He just needs to have something to give the choir.

And with young Zuko’s songs spread out on the floor in front of him, it’s obvious what that something should be.

Zuko considers just packing a bag and leaving without telling anyone. It’s tempting to try and avoid his father’s rage, to just cut him off without warning. Ozai definitely doesn’t deserve a goodbye from Zuko.

But in the end, he knows that for his own closure, he has to talk to his father one last time. It would be easier to leave right away, but that’s the point—it’s too easy. Zuko doesn’t want to keep running away all his life, to just jump from one thing to another when he doesn’t feel happy. He wants to consciously choose his uncle and Lima. And that also means confronting his father and facing the consequences of his choice.

So Zuko shoulders his backpack, and walks downstairs, jaw clenched in determination.

“Father.”

Ozai looks up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table, music scores spread out on the surface in front of him. “Ah, Zuko, it’s about time you woke up. I’ll forgive this once, because I know you’ve been working hard, but from now on make sure to be awake and in the practice room before 9am. Your sister has been in there since 6am, and it’s not her or my job to keep track of you. Understood?”

The part of Zuko that flinches at his father’s tone longs to just apologise, to scurry away to the practice room and try his best to please Ozai. But that part is smaller than it used to be, so Zuko just swallows, mouth dry, and answers, “No.”

Immediately, Ozai’s neutral expression hardens into anger. “What did you just say?”

“I said no,” Zuko tells him, the word more forceful now. “I’m not taking orders from you any more.”

His father’s eyes widen, his face reddening with anger. “You will obey me, boy, if you know what’s good for you.”

Zuko suppresses the urge to glance at the front door. He knows that with the trouble Ozai’s knees give him these days, if Zuko makes a run for it he’ll be outside and in his car before his father even has a chance to stand up. Ozai’s fury is frightening, but Zuko will be fine.

“For so long, all I wanted was for you to love me, to accept me.” Ozai's mouth twists in a sneer, but Zuko ignores it, determined to say his bit. “I thought I wanted the guaranteed career that came with Vocal Adrenaline, but really, I was just trying to please you. You, my father, who sent me away just for talking out of turn.” Zuko’s hands clench at his sides. “My father, who threw me into the fire on purpose just to teach me a lesson. How could you possibly justify scarring a child?

“It was to teach you respect!” Ozai scoffs, leaning forward in his chair and glaring at Zuko.

“It was cruel!” Zuko answers him, anger boiling in his chest. “And it was wrong.”

“Then you have learned nothing!”

“No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own!” Zuko is going off script, but he can’t stop now. “Growing up, you always taught us that strength is crucial, that any kindness or peace is a weakness. That the only path to greatness is by pushing others down. Well, you’re wrong! Everyone in Vocal Adrenaline hates you, and they hate singing in that choir! You can’t make good music that way, with pain and hatred and desperation. You need to sing because you want to, because you care. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Ozai rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by Zuko’s rant. “Your uncle has gotten to you, hasn't he?”

“Yes.” Zuko can’t help smiling. “He has. And I’m going to go back to Lima, and beg for his forgiveness. He's the one who's been a real father to me.”

“Oh, that's just beautiful,” Ozai says, laughing. His voice is tinged with hysteria. “And maybe he can pass down to you the ways of tea and failure.”

“But I’m not just going back to Lima,” Zuko continues, pretending his father hasn’t said anything. “I’m going to rejoin the New Directions, and I’m going to help them defeat you.”

“Ah, so you’re a full-blown traitor now?” Ozai spits. “I should never have taken you back. Go. You’re useless to me like this.”

And with that, Zuko’s father turns back to the table, dismissing Zuko with one fluid gesture. For a moment, Zuko just stands there shocked. He expected fury and violence, but of course he was wrong—Ozai doesn’t care about Zuko. Punishing him was a way of training his investment. If Zuko is useless to him, then why bother?

Taking a deep breath, Zuko turns away from his father, and walks out of the door.

Zuko starts talking as soon as Iroh opens the door.

“Uncle, I know you must have mixed feelings about seeing me. But I want you to know, I am so, so, sorry, Uncle. I am so sorry and ashamed of what I did. I don't know how I can ever make it up to you. But I'll—”

Suddenly, Iroh’s arms are around Zuko, pulling him into a tight hug. Zuko blinks away tears, chest filling with warmth despite his confusion. Iroh smells like tea and sugar, and Zuko can't help but press closer into his uncle's solid chest. “How can you forgive me so easily? I thought you would be furious with me.”

Iroh’s arms just tighten around him. “I was never angry with you,” he tells Zuko, and Zuko feels himself relax at that deep, familiar voice. “I was sad because I was afraid you had lost your way.”

“I did lose my way,” Zuko admits, reaching up to hug Iroh back.

“But you found it again,” Iroh tells him. He squeezes Zuko one last time, and then steps back to look him in the eye. “And you did it by yourself. And I am so happy you found your way back home.”

Monday’s choir practice starts as it usually does—they all pile in slowly into the choir room, chatting and dropping down into seats. Yue sits between Sokka and Suki in the front row, excited for another week of singing. When Mr. Iroh walks in, they all quiet down, and listen as he talks about the plan for the week and the upcoming Sectionals.

But at the end of his introduction, instead of handing out scores, Iroh stops for a moment and looks around the room. “The past few months have been a difficult time for this choir,” he tells them, somber. “I know many of you feel much fear and frustration about the next phase of the competition, and your anger towards certain individuals is natural. But before you judge, I would like you to remember that you are all very young, and many of you have also made mistakes you regret. So please, trust me when I say that it is always worth giving people a second chance.”

With that, Iroh turns towards the door and shouts “come in!” The palpable tension in the room only rises as the door opens, and when a dark-haired boy steps through, the choir explodes.

“You can’t be serious—”

“He’s a traitor—”

“He’s just here to spy on us—”

Yue is surprised by the vehemence of the shouting. The boy in the doorway hunches down under the onslaught, his expression pained. This must be Zuko, Yue realises. She hasn’t really had a mental image of the boy she was recruited to replace, but Zuko is certainly striking, tall and handsome, with a livid red scar marking the left side of his face. What does this mean—is he re-joining the choir? Would Yue need to leave, if he stays?

“Please, students!” Iroh shouts over the noise, quieting the choir members. “As I said, your anger is understandable. But yes, Zuko has moved back to Lima, and he would like to re-join the New Directions. I myself trust him, and all I ask is that you give him a chance.”

“But Mr. Iroh,” Katara says, “he’s your nephew, you’re biased! We can’t trust him, not after what he did.”

Yue notices Katara glancing at Sokka, and when she herself looks at the boy, she’s shocked by the violent emotions warring on his face. Sokka looks both furious and devastated, his mouth set and his eyes blazing. The other students in the room are also upset, yes, but they look more annoyed and sceptical than anything else. Sokka is the only one that is staring at Zuko as if he wants to run over there and strangle the other boy.

“If you all agree that you would not like Zuko to re-join the choir, I will of course agree,” Iroh placates Katara. “But please, I only ask that you hear what he has to say.”

There are a few small grumbles from the assembled students, but no-one seems to object too strongly. Yue looks back at Zuko, curious now. The boy seems to straighten himself as he walks into the room, a determined expression on his face. Maybe it’s just Yue’s imagination, but it looks like Zuko is deliberately looking everywhere except at Sokka, his eyes jumping from one student to another.

“Hello…” Zuko starts awkwardly. “Zuko here.” He seems to realise how stupid he sounds, and rushes to explain. “I, uh, I’m here to apologise. I know I was out of line, leaving the New Directions like that. Especially during the middle of the, uh,” his eyes flash to Sokka for a second, “dodgeball game. I, umm, I let my personal issues confuse me, and I was mean. I shouldn’t have left, and even if I had to, I shouldn’t have done it without saying goodbye or apologising.”

Yue can feel the tension in the room dissipating as Zuko continues to apologise. He does seem truly contrite, and it’s hard not to feel bad for him, especially when he tries to explain his feelings about the choir.

“I realised, when I was trying to fit into Vocal Adrenaline, that I didn’t belong there. It’s not just that they’re all assholes. It’s also just not fun to sing in that choir. I know, umm, that it sometimes sounds like bullshit when my uncle says it,” he sends Mr. Iroh a rueful smile, “but the New Directions are really better. At least at the actually-caring-about-music part.” Zuko’s eyes flash to and away from Sokka again. “Honestly, I just missed all of you. You were my friends, and I didn’t value that for the amazing thing that it was. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but please, just give me a chance to sing with you again. I, well,” he gives a self-conscious chuckle, “I really want to help you beat Vocal Adrenaline. And I’ve got something to help with that—that you can use even if you don’t want me to sing.”

After glancing around and seemingly finding the curious gazes of the choir receptive, Zuko reaches into his bag, and takes out a thick stack of sheet music. “Umm, I know that a lot of judges like it when you have original songs. So I, uh, wrote one. If you think it’s shit, just throw it out. But if you like it, it could help? I mean, if you want my help, umm…”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment while Zuko trails off. And then—

“I vote we take him back,” Toph proclaims loudly in her usual confident way. “Even just to fuck with those VA bastards.”

As Iroh berates Toph for her language, there are a few laughs around the room, and nods from more than half the students.

“I agree with Toph,” Aang says, smiling. “We’ve all made mistakes, and if you’re sorry that’s enough for me.”

“Yes,” Katara agrees, shooting a quick look at Sokka and then turning back to Zuko. “It’s good to forgive people.”

“Are we still sure this isn’t a trick, though?” Jet asks. “I’m all for forgiveness, but you know the shit VA pulled before. Maybe he’s a spy who’ll leave again at the last minute.”

“Please, Jet, language,” Iroh sighs. “And although I understand your doubts, I would like to remind you that this is not a decision my nephew is making on a whim—he is not just choosing which choir to support, but which city to live in, which school to attend. Whether or not he sings in this choir, Zuko is my nephew and will be living here, with me. That is not in question.”

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees, giving his uncle a fond but embarrassed look. “I… I’m not going back to Akron. No matter what.”

“And anyways,” Toph chimes in. “If you think sparky could act well enough to be a spy, you need to have your brain cleaned, jetplane.”

Yue can’t help chuckling with the rest of the choir, even though Sokka is still frozen by her side. She hasn’t seen much of Zuko yet, but it’s obvious you can read all his emotions on his face.

“Yeah, okay,” Jet agrees. Sighing, he stands and goes up to a surprised Zuko, hand extended. “Welcome back, sparky.”

Jet’s acceptance seems to tip the scales in favour of Zuko, and first Aang and Katara go up to clap him on the shoulder, followed by Suki, Teo, Haru and Pipsqueak. Ty Lee and Mai had seemed happy to see Zuko before, but now they lean towards each other, checking something on Ty Lee’s phone and whispering. The only other people still sitting are Yue and Sokka. Yue doesn’t stand because she doesn’t know Zuko, and even though he seems nice, she feels unsure about her place in the choir now he’s back. And Sokka…

Yue glances at Sokka, worried. The boy is sitting straight in his chair, hands clenched tightly on his knees. And his face… Well, Yue can’t quite parse the mix of emotions in Sokka’s expression, but there’s definitely some anger in his furrowed brows, and maybe some sadness in the wobble of his lips.

Yue feels her heart sink. This is not the expression of someone who just cares about the success of his choir. There’s obviously something intense going on between Sokka and Zuko, and since Sokka is bi, maybe… No. Yue shouldn’t start speculating wildly, not when it’s possible to just ask.

“Sokka,” she whispers, leaning towards him. “Is everything okay?”

But Sokka just shakes his head slightly, still staring straight ahead. Yue is trying to decide if she should offer him some comfort, maybe put a hand on his arm, when Katara calls for Sokka from the front of the room. “Hey, Sokka! Come say hi to Zuko!”

“Katara—” Zuko starts, sending a worried glance at Sokka, but before he can say anything more Sokka is gone, rushing out of the room without a backwards glance. There’s an awkward silence after the door shuts behind him, but after a few moments Toph’s phone goes off with a rude notification sound, and the tension breaks. Everyone goes back to what they were doing before, except for Katara, who comes to sit beside Yue, her expression guilty.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Katara tells her quietly. “I just thought… Never mind.”

“What…” Yue doesn’t quite know what she wants to ask. “What did you say? I—” she blinks, eyes suddenly prickling. “Why did Sokka run out?”

“Oh!” Katara searches Yue’s face, and seems saddened by what she finds. “He didn’t tell you?” Yue shakes her head. “Well… Zuko and Sokka were sort of dating, before Zuko left. It wasn’t official, but, you know…” Katara makes a face. “And the way Zuko left was very messy, I don’t think he and Sokka talked about it properly, because Sokka just decided to play a dodgeball game against VA for some reason. So there’s a lot of unresolved issues there, and Sokka has been pretty miserable about it, so I was just hoping… well.” Katara sighs. “It’s good that Zuko’s back. Sokka will come around.”

Yue swallows around a lump in her throat. Sokka doesn't owe her anything, of course, and it's not like you couldn't date after a breakup, but... she still feels hurt. Is she just a rebound? Is that why things have never quite clicked with Sokka, why their conversations sometimes feel awkward?

“Do you think...” Yue swallows again. “Do you think Sokka still has feelings for him?”

Katara looks down at her lap. “I... I don't know. I'm sorry Yue. If it helps, I know Sokka really does like you, he's talked about you so much this past month. But you saw how he reacted to Zuko—it could just be anger, or it could be more.”

Yue pushes down a new flare of hurt—it's not Katara's fault, after all. No-one had told her about Zuko, of course, but that was understandable if they thought he was gone forever. Although, they would have had to face him at Regionals if he'd stayed with VA, no? What was the plan for that?

Yue shakes her head. There's no use speculating about what-if. What she needs to do now is talk to Sokka. Or maybe—given her roiling stomach and sensitive nerves—she needs to thank Katara, go home and watch some tv this afternoon, and then talk to Sokka tomorrow.

Sokka is fine. Completely fine.

Who cares that Zuko is back in the choir? He apologised, and everyone just forgave him like that, and it's all fine. More than fine, actually—they have a better chance of winning Regionals now. Yay!

So what if Sokka still can't look at Zuko's infuriatingly handsome face without wanting to punch him? So what if it feels wrong to just sit in the choir room with Zuko singing away as if everything was okay?

So what if Sokka wasn't ready to move on, wasn't ready to forgive the boy he'd crushed on for so long, the boy he'd opened his heart to, the boy who hurt him…

Nope. Completely fine.

Case in point, Sokka is now sitting on his bed next to a beautiful girl, complaining about his math homework. It's normal! It doesn't matter that he can't talk to Yue about his latest Wicked obsession, something that Zuko would definitely get. Or that he finds himself zoning out sometimes during their conversations. Yue is kind, and smart, and above all, she's safe. There's no possibility for drama or betrayal from her.

“Sokka... can I ask you something?”

Yue's voice is quiet, and now Sokka thinks about it, she hasn't said much this afternoon. “Yeah?” he asks tentatively.

“Do you... do you still have feelings for Zuko?”

Sokka's first instinct is to run out of the room. His second one is to hide under his blankets and pretend he doesn't exist. Because no no no—why would Yue ask this? It's not—Zuko isn't—even if-

Some of Sokka's panic must show on his face, because Yue's expression turns guilty. “You don't have to answer that,” she says quickly. “It's just—it wouldn't be a problem so much—it would just help me—understand. Why things are... like this, between us.”

Yue doesn't need to say how things are. Sokka sees, in a rush of gut-churning guilt, that the issues in their relationship are not something Sokka just has to get over. It's a two-sided thing. All this time, while Sokka has been trying (and failing) to force himself to like Yue romantically, Yue has been feeling his uncertainty, and suffering for it.

“I'm sorry, Yue,” he tells her honestly, but then he's not quite sure what else to say. Just the idea of answering Yue's actual question makes him want to squirm out of his own skin.

Yue's face still crumples at his reply, and it makes Sokka's heart ache. How could he ever think this would work out? Yue is wonderful, but it's so obvious, in hindsight, that he's never felt any romantic interest for her. It's especially obvious if he compares his current feelings to the way his heart almost broke when Zuko stepped into the choir room on Monday.

“I—” Sokka thinks of something to say, anything to salvage this situation. “I really do like you. I'm so happy we reconnected.”

“I'm happy too, Sokka.” Despite her reassuring words, there's a wobble in Yue's voice, and her eyes shine with moisture. “I just wish…”

“I'm sorry,” Sokka says again, uselessly. “Do you—can I give you a hug?”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Sokka,” Yue tells him gently. She glances at the door. “I think I need to be alone, now. Or at least talk to someone else.”

“Of course,” Sokka agrees quickly. “ I—I'll always be here for you, if you need me. I guess just not—you know. I'm sorry.”

Yue shakes her head. “It's not your fault. I wish you would have told me about Zuko, but you didn't know he would come back. You were trying to move on.” Sokka nods, because She's right, of course. “Just—tell me . Do you still have feelings for him?”

Sokka looks away, trying to make sense of the mess of emotions swirling in his chest. “I don't know.”

“If you do—” Yue's voice breaks, but when Sokka turns to look at her, her eyes shine brightly through her tears. “If you have feelings for him, promise me you won't let him go again. You deserve to be happy, Sokka.”

Sokka blinks, lifting a hand to wipe away some of his own tears. “I promise.”

Ty Lee bites her nails nervously, and then lowers her hand to her lap. Raises it again, notices, lowers. Raises her hand-

“Ty-ty.” Mai's voice is patient, and she slowly lowers Ty Lee's hand to the table, intertwining their fingers. “It'll be okay.”

Ty Lee hates how her instinct is to draw her hand away from Mai’s, and how she can't help but glance around the Lima Bean. Girls holding hands is normal, she tells herself, but it doesn’t really help. She's been on edge ever since that horrible phone call from Azula.

“Azula doesn't make empty threats!” she tells Mai. “There's a reason she wants to meet us today. Something she wants us to do.”

“We'll just see what she wants, and find a way around it,” Mai replies calmly. “Azula isn’t invincible—Zuko’s back in the choir, after all.”

Ty Lee appreciates Mai’s reassurances, but she can't quite believe them. Not when it’s her fault they’re even in this situation in the first place—Mai has never cared about social standing, and would happily parade around the school holding Ty Lee’s hand. It’s Ty Lee and her need to be popular that has brought them here.

It would all be better if she could just be stoic like Mai, but Ty Lee does care about being popular—she can’t help it. She likes being a cheerleader, and having a lot of friends, and getting greetings and smiles as she walks through the hallways. Things have calmed down a bit since Sokka came out, but although he’s not being physically bullied anymore the insults haven’t disappeared. And it’s one thing for a loser nerd to come out as bisexual—what will the students think when they hear the queen of the school is a lesbian?

As if she can sense Ty Lee’s rising panic, Azula chooses that moment to walk through the door of the Lima Bean. Ty Lee freezes at the sight of her, hand clenching around Mai’s arm. Azula looks as perfect as always, every hair in place, her clothes all smooth and shiny. She smiles when she spots Ty Lee and Mai sitting at a table by the window, and it doesn’t even look malicious—a few weeks ago Ty Lee would have been happy to see that smile. But things can change quickly, and now the sight of Azula walking towards her freezes Ty Lee like a deer caught in the headlights. How could she have ever thought Azula was her friend?

“Hello, girls,” Azula says, sitting down smoothly on the chair in front of them. “You don’t mind if you don’t order anything, do you? I’m just so busy these days, and I’m not sure how long I can stay.”

Ty Lee’s words are stuck in her throat, but as always, Mai comes to her rescue. “Just get to the point,” she tells Azula. “If you’re blackmailing us, I don’t want to also listen to your drivel. What do you want us to do?”

Azula’s smile widens, and her expression becomes sharply predatory. “My, my, aren’t we impatient. But sure, if you want to play it that way, why not? Most people find it easier to be on friendly terms with me, but I’m nothing if not accommodating. You understand how this works?”

Azula is looking straight at Ty Lee as she says this, so she nods. “Yes. We do what you say, or you tell the whole school we’re dating.”

“Oh, it’s not just simply ‘telling’, Ty Lee,” Azula says sweetly, putting her hands on the table and leaning forwards casually. “I happen to have a few… videos, shall we say, that I’m sure people at your school would find interesting. Just in case you were hoping to pre-empt the rumours.”

Ty Lee feels her heart miss a beat, and next to her Mai leans forward, hissing, “You filmed us?”

“Oh, of course not,” Azula dismisses. “I’m much too busy to be following you around this dump of a town. Let’s just say I know some people.”

Ty Lee wishes she could doubt Azula’s claims, but she doesn’t. Azula has always planned ahead, hoarding secrets like an icy dragon, and it would be simple for her to get someone to film Mai and Ty Lee. It’s not like they’ve been that careful… Ty Lee thinks back to a serenade under bright Christmas lights, and a kiss in the snow. It’s horrible to think that beautiful moments like those could be tainted forever.

“Just tell us what you want, Azula,” she says, her voice hoarse. She can feel Mai’s worried gaze on the side of her face, but Ty Lee doesn’t have the energy to reassure her girlfriend. She just wants this to be over.

“Straight to business, then,” Azula smiles at her. “It’s nothing complicated. But if you would like to do your friend a favour, I have a few letters for you to hand out.” She reaches into her bag and draws out a stack of letters, some of them in yellowing envelopes and some by themselves. Ty Lee can see the name ‘Zuko’ scrawled on the top envelope, in a soft round script that is definitely not Azula's usual handwriting. “The important thing is that the recipients truly believe that you found these letters organically,” Azula continues, “and that they think these have nothing to do with me. For Zuko’s, for example, you might say that you found the letter in an old box of summer holiday things. For the one you give to Sokka—well, that one you found in Zuko’s bag. The others you can show to any members of your little choir, saying that you found them in the corridor, or in a locker. Use your imagination! I trust your talents.” Azula smiles at them, even more predatory than before. “But remember, I have my ways of knowing what goes on in that pigsty you call a school. If you even breathe one word of my involvement, or if your performance is not convincing enough—well, I might find myself accidentally releasing certain videos onto the internet. Oops.”

“You want us to help you spread lies,” Mai says, her grim tone matching the growing pit in Ty Lee’s stomach. “Make Zuko, and Sokka and others believe things that aren’t true.”

Azula just shrugs, still smiling smugly, but Ty Lee suddenly feels her temper flaring. “But Zuko just re-joined the choir! Things are so fragile, and Sokka’s been acting weird all week. We can’t throw lies into the mix, it’ll tear the choir apart!”

“Oh, Ty Lee,” Azula says, shaking her head. “What did you think I would have you do?”

In truth, Ty Lee had tried not to think about it. The threat was already horrible enough, but the thought of doing Azula’s bidding—

She thinks of the consequences now. Azula has the intelligence and creativity to back her cruelty. The letters to Zuko look old, and if they seem to be from his mother—they’ll destroy his fragile determination, maybe guilt him into going back to Azula. Sokka is an explosion waiting to happen—any small sign of duplicity from Zuko, and he’ll tear the choir apart himself. And for the rest of the choir… It doesn't take many lies to poison people against each other, even if there’s no proof they’re true. The New Directions are in a good place right now, but it’s fragile. They’ll break, and lose.

Ty Lee tries to imagine it. Arguments, tears, hatred. No more afternoons spent in the choir room, no more dancing on stage while Mai sings. This would be worse than just spying for Sue—she knows the other students now, and cares about all of them. And she wouldn’t just be ruining the choir’s chances. She’d be hurting people.

And for what? So that Ty Lee can stay popular? She turns to look at Mai. Her girlfriend’s face, usually so calm, is now tight with fury, her eyes blazing as she glares at Azula. It’s obvious Mai would like nothing better than to jump over the table and punch the other girl. And of course she’s angry—Mai loves the choir. She hasn’t told anyone else this, but she’s confessed to Ty Lee that she’s seriously considering a career in music. And not just that—she likes the people. She hangs out with Haru and Suki sometimes, and she and Toph chat online almost every day.

Oh, Ty Lee realises. The only reason Mai is holding back—the only reason she’s even here—is because of Ty Lee. Because Ty Lee asked her to keep their relationship secret, and Mai agreed without question.

Suddenly, Ty Lee’s chest fills with hot, bright love. She aches with how much she loves the girl sitting next to her. How could she even consider hiding this love? Ty Lee wants to grab Mai’s face and kiss her, right here in front of everyone. She wants to stand up on the tables of the school cafeteria and shout her love to the world. Who cares about being popular? If someone can’t appreciate her love for Mai, then they don’t deserve her attention. Why would she need all those surface-level friendships, when she has Mai?

Even while she’s having these thoughts, Ty Lee knows she’s exaggerating. Homophobic bullying is a very real thing in their school, and there’s a good chance they’ll be slushied every day if the truth comes out. And even more frighteningly, Ty Lee doesn’t know what her family will say. Will they be okay with it? Will her sisters treat her like even more of an outcast?

All these may be good enough reasons to keep quiet about their relationship, yes. But Ty Lee is suddenly sure no matter how scary those consequences are, they’re not frightening enough for her to hurt her friends. Not when giving in to Azula would also hurt Mai. Not when Azula is using their love as a tool against them.

Ty Lee might not be about to shout her love to the world any time soon, but she also won’t agree to treat it like a shameful secret. Not while her relationship with Mai feels like the best thing that's ever happened to her.

So—

“Fuck you.”

If Ty Lee could, she would photograph Azula’s expression and keep the image for the rest of her days. The girl looks scandalised, as if she’s never heard those words in her life.

“Excuse me?”

“I said fuck you, Azula,” Ty Lee repeats, her heart beating fast with excitement and relief. “We’re not going to ruin the choir for you. If you care so much about show choir, maybe you should practice your performance, not cheat like you’re scared. What’s your plan after Regionals—cheat your way to the top of the Nationals podium? And after that, cheat your way to Broadway? Give me a break.” She takes a deep breath. “I thought you were our friend. I cared about you. And you ruined all that, for what?” Ty Lee stands up, chair screeching backwards on the floor behind her. She stares into Azula’s ash-white face as she spits her final words. “For nothing.”

Ty Lee doesn't wait to hear Azula’s reply—she rushes out of the Lima Bean as fast as she can, only stopping to breathe once she reaches her car. She barely notices that she's towed Mai along with her, and the moment she does, she's filled with guilt.

“I'm so sorry Mai! I shouldn't have done that without talking to you first, I just lost my temper and Azula was so smug, but this is going to have consequences and I should have—”

“Ty-ty.” Mai grips Ty Lee’s arms and looks down on her, smiling. “I’m proud of you.”

“Really?” Ty Lee blinks away the wetness prickling her eyes. “You're not mad?”

Mai’s smile just widens. “Mad? You told Azula to fuck off! I'm going to treasure the memory of her shocked little face.”

Ty Lee can feel her cheeks warming at Mai’s admiring tone. “But she's going to use her blackmail now—everyone will know.”

“Meh,” Mai shrugs. “You know I don't care about that. I was only listening to Azula because of you.”

That reminder only strengthens Ty Lee's guilt. “I'm sorry about that too, I shouldn't have cared, what does it matter being popular when I have you, I'm just so shallow and I didn't ask you even when I changed my mind—”

“No,” Mai says quickly, shaking her head. “That came out wrong, I didn't mean it like that.” She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them it feels like she's looking deep into Ty Lee's soul. “I think you’re right to be worried. Just because I don't care about anyone doesn't mean that's good, and it doesn't mean you're shallow. Just…” Mai’s face twitches with something like anger. “She was asking too much. I’m glad you told her no.”

Ty Lee feels her chest warm with relief. She's still worried about Azula, of course, still shaking with adrenaline from the confrontation, but Mai’s reassurance untwists the guilty knot in her chest.

“I'm glad,” she tells Mai. “I just couldn't do that to the choir! And—well, if we don't have to hide our relationship, that would be good too. I want everyone to know you’re my girlfriend.” She stares determinedly up at Mai. “I love you more than I fear Azula.”

Mai's dark eyes soften with warmth, and she draws Ty Lee in for a tight hug. “I love you too. Whatever happens, we'll have each other.”