Chapter Text
They walked back to the village in unbearable silence. The chief and the other warrior were slightly ahead of them, leaning in, voices low as they—well, obviously they were talking about him, though he could only guess what they were saying.
They had only ever sounded concerned, though, never angry or demanding, even though he’d shouted, had nearly pulled a knife on them, and had tried to burn them. They’d coaxed him off the end of the pier with the quiet sort of patience they might have used to approach a stray pygmy puma, which should have offended him, but mostly just made him suspicious. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that kind of patience.
They were acting like he didn’t need to do anything at all.
Zuko didn’t know what to do with that.
The Avatar’s friend was hanging back, walking slowly enough that the gap between them and the chief was steadily widening. To keep him from overhearing them? Or maybe just because he was concerned, watching Zuko with deep lines etched into his forehead, like he was afraid Zuko was going to collapse right in front of him.
A snatch of their conversation drifted back to them, carried treacherously on the breeze, and every suspicious part of him shrunk back when he heard his name, when he heard them say Fire Lord, and then nothing more but hushed murmurs as he strained to hear the rest. The back of Zuko’s neck prickled.
He forced himself to look anywhere else. The streets were still quiet, still fairly empty, but he could see now the signs of activity further down the path, where soft lantern light glowed in the town center.
“What time is it?” Zuko asked. “Why is everyone still awake?”
“It’s the middle of the day,” he said.
“What?” Zuko turned his startled gaze back toward the firelit pier. “Why is it so dark?”
“That’s just what it’s like this time of year,” he said. “You get used to it.”
Living in constant darkness sounded miserable, so Zuko doubted it. Then again, he was here, wasn’t he? So maybe he was used to it. He wouldn’t know, if he was.
The thought settled uncomfortably in the back of his mind. Zuko raked his eyes over the darkened streets, trying to spark… something, spot something familiar, some shred of himself, where he was, why he was here.
But it was just a street, snow and darkness, all unfamiliar. Homes carved from ice, but not even in the style of the Northern Water Tribe, softer and rounder and interspersed with the more portable tented shelters he’d seen on his first visit to the South. They retraced Zuko’s steps back to the home he’d escaped, his home, according to them, even though Zuko couldn’t even imagine what he’d come here for, or why he’d stayed long enough to need a permanent home carved from ice and settled right in the center of the village.
The Water Tribe boy disappeared inside, and Zuko hesitated. He glanced back the way they’d come, toward the path that the chief had disappeared down, and then back toward the harbor.
This… could be a trick.
A really weird, elaborate trick, granted, and he didn’t know why they would bother, not when he’d clearly shown them that he couldn’t defend himself on the docks, but… it just felt foolish. Zuko had only just escaped from here, and now he was willingly walking himself back in. This sort of thing, being kind, offering to help him, this was exactly the sort of ruse someone like Azula would use to try to catch him off guard, and lull him into a false sense of security, so she could… could…
Well, he didn’t know. He was never as clever as her.
But from what he knew of the Avatar’s friend, he certainly was.
The door opened again when he realized that Zuko wasn’t following. He looked puzzled for a moment, but his expression softened at whatever he saw on Zuko’s face. It made Zuko flush, and then steel himself stubbornly, which… just made him smile, a little crooked, disarming. He offered his hand.
“Come on,” he said.
Zuko stared at it. Then he took his hand, clumsy in a three-fingered mitten, and let him lead him inside.
Zuko watched as he went directly to pick through the storage. He seemed perfectly at home inside of Zuko’s house. That was just one more strange little detail to add to the list, that the Avatar’s friend was apparently his friend, too, or at least—at least he knew him, sort of. Well enough that he was able to help himself to Zuko’s kitchen, anyway.
Zuko scrubbed his palms over his knees, feeling awkward. He wasn’t saying anything, busying himself with—whatever he was doing, digging around looking for something. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to say anything, Zuko cleared his throat, which made him cast a glance over his shoulder.
“I guess,” Zuko said at length, “you probably want to know what—I mean, why I...”
Zuko trailed off. He didn’t know where to start, didn’t know what kind of answers he might want, didn’t even know what questions to ask. Of course they wanted to know… what had happened, maybe, or why he was acting the way he was. They’d certainly want to know what he remembered, which was apparently nothing, since everything looked wrong and unfamiliar.
That was a terrible excuse, though, I don’t remember anything, even though it was true. He doubted they’d be satisfied with that, after Zuko had jumped immediately to the most suspicious thing he could have possibly done, trying to escape, fleeing like a coward. He cast around the room a little desperately, probing at the gap in his memories like a loose tooth, searching for something to give.
“Hey,” he said softly, and Zuko’s gaze snapped back. “It’s all right, man. We’ll figure it out. Just relax.”
Zuko swallowed, annoyed at being so easily read. He crossed his arms.
“Thank you. Um. What’s… I don’t know your name,” he admitted.
“My...” His face fell, arms dropping to his sides as he spun to face him. “Zuko, you didn’t know my name? You chased me across the world!”
“I wasn’t chasing you,” Zuko said, and then he wanted to smack himself.
Maybe reminding him about his hunt for the Avatar wasn’t the smartest move, when he had no idea where they stood with that, except that apparently somewhere along the way they’d—maybe not forgiven him, but at least let him teach the Avatar firebending like he’d hoped. Most likely they’d just been desperate, and Zuko was their only option, and the last thing he should be doing now was reminding him why all the understanding looks and soft smiles were wasted on someone like him.
He made an indignant noise at Zuko’s protest.
“I was there the whole time!” he said, like that was the real issue here.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” Zuko snapped, feeling defensive, and then annoyed at himself for getting defensive about something so stupid. He seemed startled by the outburst, which just made the discomfort turn sour in Zuko’s stomach.
“...It’s Sokka,” he said, and now he sounded upset, which was just—great. He was off to a great start.
“Sokka,” Zuko repeated at a much more reasonable volume, like an apology. Sokka looked at him for a moment, mouth twisting down into a sad frown, and Zuko glanced away.
Sokka turned back to his search after a moment, and Zuko occupied himself with staring at the books on the shelf across from him and trying to make sense of the titles. A few of them looked interesting, and he could understand why he might have chosen them. Books of poetry, a book about Earth Kingdom weaponry… but a few of the titles seemed bafflingly dull, things like celestial navigation, or an aeronautics volume that was as thick as the two books next to it. He could hardly imagine the circumstances that would have landed them on his shelf.
He recognized some of the plays, at least, and the familiarity was such a strange relief that he almost didn’t notice that Sokka had finished his search until he dropped down to sit next to him by the ashy remains of the fire.
He didn’t see what was in his hands at first, but as soon as he turned around Zuko felt like the air had been punched out of him. He tried to hide it, to keep his face level, except…
Except that was uncle’s tea pot, the same one with the dark brown glaze and a small chip in the lid, that he’d insisted on keeping in the back room of Pao’s teashop, because apparently making more tea during his breaks was a good break from making tea. It was the same one that had followed them to the Upper Ring, even though they could afford much better. It was the same one they’d left behind.
He stared at it and tried to make sense of how he could have it, now, here of all places, with the tiny little tin that smelled faintly of jasmine, and just as familiar, because Uncle liked ginseng but he always made jasmine during their breaks, because Zuko preferred it.
There was really only one explanation, he thought faintly, and the rush of relief was nearly overwhelming. Uncle had forgiven him. He’d forgiven him, and he’d given this teapot to him to keep, and he’d sent him his favorite tea, clearly stamped with the Jasmine Dragon logo on the side.
Sokka’s hands faltered in their movements when he saw the look on Zuko’s face, a flash of hesitance creeping in, but Zuko could hardly bring himself to care past the—it was almost shame, or maybe just confusion, because how had Uncle forgiven him, when Zuko was sure he’d never want to see him again—
Sokka’s hands brushed Zuko’s shoulders. The touch startled him out of his head, and he shrank at the way Sokka looked at him.
“He never blamed you, you know,” Sokka said.
Zuko flushed, embarrassed that Sokka could read him so easily. He must be a mess, if it was that obvious even when he was trying not to show it. Somehow Sokka knew exactly what to say to put him at ease, to make the tightness in his chest uncurl. The observation flickered into his mind, and he was immediately guilty for the flash of suspicion that followed. He squashed it down.
Sokka handed Zuko the kettle with a wry smirk.
“You usually do this part,” Sokka said. “I never get the temperature right, apparently.”
Zuko nodded and took the kettle without complaint. He wasn’t… actually sure he could get the temperature right, either. His firebending had felt wrong before, on the docks, and he’d hardly managed more than a fizzle of smoke. He was out of practice, too—it wasn’t like he’d been using his firebending to make tea in Ba Sing Se when anyone could catch them, and especially not after Jet had come and confronted them.
Zuko curled his palms around the base of the kettle. It was so much more tiring than it should have been, just doing that much, like his own inner fire was resisting him. His heart thumped in his ears, and he set the heated kettle down quickly, before Sokka noticed the tremor in his hands.
“What happened to me?” Zuko blurted.
Something must have—the dull ache in his head insisted on that point—but he still hadn’t said. Sokka’s fingers flexed, knuckles paling as he measured out the tea. His voice was tense and oddly quiet when he answered.
“You didn’t come home yesterday,” Sokka said. “We found you out on the ice. I don’t know what happened exactly, or what you were doing out there. Kona—ah, that’s one of Katara’s apprentices, said you’d probably hit your head, and then didn’t quite make it when you tried to walk home.” He huffed and added, “We were kind of hoping you could fill in some of the details when you woke up.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Zuko said.
“Hey, no. It’s fine,” he said. “Kona said you were fine, that you just needed to rest. We should probably have her come take another look, now that you’re awake. Or I can write to Katara. She’s at the Southern Air Temple with Aang right now, but it’s not that far, she could get here pretty quickly if she leaves right away.”
“You said the last thing you remembered was the war balloon,” Sokka said. He waited for Zuko to nod, and then prompted, “and you remember everything before that?”
Zuko nodded again, and Sokka hummed.
“And do you remember anything after?” he asked. “Anything at all?”
Zuko went to shake his head, and then hesitated. His impulse was to say no, but…
“It’s not… it’s not that I remember, but there’s a feeling. Like I’m forgetting something,” he said. It was uncomfortable, like a pressure at the back of his mind, weighing on him like some strange deja vu, heavy with the sense of loss.
Trying to focus on a thought felt like grasping at wisps of smoke, gone as soon as he reached for it, so that only the whisper of an emotion lingered. The feeling wasn’t quite anxiety, but it settled heavy in his chest, making his heart flutter unbearably. It felt—almost like a secret, like there was something hiding just beneath the tightness in his chest. Zuko didn’t know what that meant. He was never very good at lying.
“Okay. Uh. Well, you’ve missed… some stuff,” Sokka said. He leaned in to pour their tea, as smoothly and confidently as any tea server in the Upper Ring, like he’d done it a thousand times. Zuko was transfixed by the slender curl of his fingers on the handle, his index finger pressed against the chipped lid, with the strange sense that what he was watching and what he was seeing weren’t the same. “So, let’s start with the war.”
Zuko picked at a loose thread on his sleeve while Sokka explained. He was reluctant to admit how unsettling it was, grasping at the loose threads of conflicts that felt like they’d happened only days ago, but which were nothing more than distant memories now. It all felt so urgent, so immediately terrifying, but even the worst of it, the Day of Black Sun, his father and Sozin’s comet, were just memories to the rest of them, the emotions worn down like sea glass by the passage of time.
It all made sense to Sokka. For him it just felt natural, like everything that had happened after the war was just inevitable, instead of the spectre of something unattainable that Zuko was privately convinced he wouldn’t live to see. But he did, apparently, live to see it, and then all of those inevitable little choices had led him here, just so he could lose it all again.
He still didn’t understand why he had chosen to live in the Southern Water Tribe, considering that his father was apparently out of the picture, Uncle had forgiven him, and he could go home if he wanted to.
(Zuko’s heart still hadn’t recovered from the lance of anxiety he’d felt, learning that his sister had become the Fire Lord, and apparently, Sokka assured him, without killing anyone for the title).
“You’re the ambassador to the Fire Nation,” Sokka said. He cut him off before Zuko even had a chance to react, “and no, you aren’t neglecting any important duties right now, so don’t even think about it.”
“Is that why I’m here in the Southern Water Tribe?” Zuko asked.
Sokka rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah, well… uh,” he said. “That’s… that’s definitely why you moved here. Not necessarily why you stayed.”
“Okay?” Zuko prompted, because that definitely sounded like there was more coming. “Why, then?”
“For me?” Sokka said. “Or—not just for me. For us.”
Zuko stared at him.
“Oh,” Zuko said. He was a little betrayed by how hopeful he sounded when he asked, “Are we friends?”
“We—no, that’s not...” Sokka said.
...Ah. Well, that was—that made more sense. He shouldn’t have asked. Zuko nodded quickly, and stared at his tea, and prayed that maybe Sokka wouldn’t see through him this time, because the disappointment was just—embarrassing, and—
“I mean, yes!” Sokka corrected himself. Zuko tried not to grimace.
“It’s okay,” Zuko said. “You don’t have to—”
“We’re dating,” Sokka blurted. “Have been dating, for a couple years now, which is just—super weird, probably, when the last thing you remember is being sixteen—”
Zuko stared at him.
“—and, I mean, you didn’t even know my name, and now I’m telling you that we live together—”
Zuko turned bright red.
“—well, actually, I didn’t even tell you we live together, so, uh, surprise? No, that’s weird, I’m sorry—”
“How?” Zuko asked. It was dangerously close to a shout, and Sokka cut off mid-sentence. “I mean you’re… and I was…”
The confusion slid off Sokka’s face, replaced with a look that was undeniably fond amusement, and only made Zuko’s blush deepen. He was pretty sure, if his inner flame was cooperating, he could have melted straight through the floor.
“That’s the part you’re hung up on?” he asked. “You accepted lion turtles, but the dating thing is unbelievable?”
It absolutely was. Sokka had been handsome when they were teenagers. It wasn’t like he’d never noticed. But now he was unbelievable, tall, and toned, and, oh no, if he lived here then those books probably belonged to him, so he was handsome and he was smart, too.
Zuko flushed again at the puzzled little smile Sokka gave him, suddenly flashing back to Second Engineer Jun-seo, who he’d infuriatingly had a crush on when he was thirteen despite his every attempt at ignoring the feeling, and which he was pretty sure he was never going to stop being embarrassed about, because Jun-seo was oblivious but Uncle had noticed, even though he’d never said anything, and that was bad enough—
“You okay?” Sokka asked.
“Yes,” Zuko choked out. “Just surprised.”
Zuko crossed his arms, wrapping his hands around his elbows. Sokka frowned at him.
“Are you cold? Did you want to start a fire?” Sokka asked.
Zuko’s fingers found the embroidered edge of his coat. He was a lot more mortified than he was cold, but… now that Sokka mentioned it…
He huffed.
“There’s... something wrong with my firebending,” Zuko admitted quietly. He glanced up at Sokka to gauge his reaction.
Sokka looked surprised for only a moment before understanding dawned on his face, and it was… strange, how much of a sense of relief that look gave him, that Sokka seemed to understand what was happening to him. It was jarring, not remembering what was normal and what wasn’t, and having Sokka here to answer his questions felt like a lifeline in the stormy darkness.
“Right,” Sokka said. “That happened before, right after you joined us. You used to draw on your anger to fuel your firebending, and then you went to see the dragons…”
“What do you mean dragons?” Zuko asked.
“Dragons,” Sokka confirmed. “It’s a long story? I wasn’t there for that part, so. Uh, I don’t really know how to explain… Aang would do a better job. But...”
He rested his hands on Zuko’s shoulders.
“Fire is like a heartbeat? And, uh, life? There’s rainbows? And it’s very romantic, when you do that thing with the...” He paused, mid-way through a gesture, flushing. “Actually, maybe we should just let you remember that part on your own.”
Zuko stared at him.
“I have no idea what any of that means,” Zuko said.
“Yep. Probably best we just let you remember that part on your own,” Sokka repeated, clapping him on the shoulder for emphasis.
Zuko swayed a little under his touch, but before Sokka could move to rise to his feet, Zuko reached out and caught his arm. He let go again almost immediately, oddly self-conscious even though… it was silly, to be self-conscious about touching him when they were dating, even if he didn’t actually remember them dating.
“Sokka,” he said hesitantly, after a long moment of warring with himself, “what happens if I never remember?”
It would have been easy to miss the little flicker of anxiety that flashed across Sokka’s face, quickly replaced with a reassuring smile. Zuko didn’t miss it though, recognizing the emotion—and the attempt to cover it—like some kind of strange muscle memory.
He could tell from Sokka’s face that he knew he wasn’t fooling him. Sokka shook his head and pulled Zuko forward, arms tight around his back. Zuko tensed, but Sokka didn’t let him go. He waited until Zuko relaxed into the hug before he spoke.
“If you never remember, then… you’re still my friend,” Sokka said. “And that’s… you can stay here, or you can go, but you’re still my friend no matter what. So just… know you don’t have to worry about it, or do anything to fix this, okay? Because it’s not your fault.”
How could Sokka possibly know that, when he didn’t even know what had happened, or why Zuko was out there in the first place? He seemed so certain though, and Zuko didn’t have it in him to protest.
“Try to get some sleep, Zuko,” Sokka said. “You’re still supposed to be resting. We can worry about this tomorrow.”
“Wait,” he said. “This is your bed. I can’t just kick you out of your house.”
“It’s our bed,” Sokka corrected him. “But, uh. It’s a little weird when… I mean, no offense, but you’re too young for me.” He laughed at his own joke, but it sounded a bit strained. “So. I’m gonna sleep at Dad’s place tonight, and if you need anything you can come get me.”
Zuko swallowed thickly and nodded.
“Anything at all,” Sokka insisted. “Especially if you… no pressure.” He waited until Zuko had nodded again, and then a few seconds more before he seemed satisfied.
It took Sokka several minutes of digging through the clutter to find a pair of spark rocks, and another few to relight the fire and coax it into a healthier burn. Zuko probably could have managed on his own, even with how strange his bending felt, but Sokka had been so insistent about making sure he was comfortable that Zuko couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
Even after Sokka had gone, he felt too restless to sit still. Zuko stood and paced up and down the length of the room, but the space was too small for it to really be satisfying. He settled instead for picking over the shelves, the storage, the clothes, like if he looked hard enough he might find a piece of himself.
He didn’t find a piece of himself, of course, because Zuko’s broken pieces were never so easily put back together. All he found were more questions, and that same sense of unease, like an important task forgotten. He sighed and gave the room one last searching glance.
Zuko kneeled by the towering stack of extra furs Sokka had dug up for him after he’d admitted he was cold. He slid his fingers under the bottom edge of his coat to pull it over his head. He hesitated. There was a hard lump where he prodded at the bottom hem, nearly unnoticeable. He snaked his hand around to dig through the inside pocket.
It was a necklace, like the one he’d used to track the Avatar. The pendant was different—he’d carried the other one around long enough to know—but it was undeniably the same style. The carving was nice, made from a dark soapstone, a winding wave design wrapped around clashing swords. There were a couple unsteady nicks in the edges that showed it was handmade. Someone had worked hard on this.
He didn’t know why it was in his pocket. His first shameful thought was that he’d stolen it, like he had the last one, which… that didn’t even make sense. What use would he have for a necklace like this?
Maybe he’d found it and picked it up with the intention of returning it, or… maybe someone had given it to him to hold onto for them for some reason he couldn’t remember.
Zuko considered the necklace, and then slid it back into his pocket. He’d ask Sokka about it later. He took the coat off then, and folded it neatly. Sokka had already moved his boots to sit by the fire to dry. Zuko took a moment to try to breathe and stoke the flame, but it only wobbled pitifully in response. He sighed, and finally let himself lay down to rest, staring at the orange firelight flickering on the ceiling and trying to force his thoughts to settle.
Sokka trusted him.
This was exactly what he’d been hoping for when he stood up to his father. This was what he’d wanted.
So why did it feel like he didn’t deserve it?
Zuko glanced over his shoulder, one last time. No one had seen him. He was awake at odd hours now, his firebending instincts at war with the distant sun, and the secrecy burned with a nervous sort of energy as he picked his way to the edge of the village. The streets were always empty, this early in the morning, but he couldn’t risk Sokka spotting him, asking questions.
Snow clung to his boots, heavy and wet. It had just stopped snowing, finally. The weather had slowed him down. Annoying, but it was fine as long as no one caught on. Just a few more day’s work. Not much longer now.
A cloud of steam whipped away on the breeze. He trudged up the slope, grumbling, out of breath. The snow dragged against his legs. He tasted the ash on his tongue as the warmth clawed its way back in.
Almost, he thought, almost.
And then his foot hit a patch of loose snow, his heart lurched, and—
Zuko jolted awake, heart pounding, half a shout pressing against his teeth. He blinked until the snowy landscape faded. The smoldering remains of the fire sputtered testily as he gasped, until his breath settled into something more even.
Zuko stared at his hands, clutched around the edge of the fur in his lap.
It could have been a dream, but… no, even as the thought occurred to him his mind rebelled. It was real. He was sure of that.
He was hiding something, and lying about it.
And Sokka had no idea, because somehow, after everything, he trusted him.
Slowly, the lingering emotions from the dream drained away, the sense of secrecy curdling into shame. Why was he so bad at being good?
Zuko had dressed and stumbled out into the dark before he’d even decided where to go.
It was impossible to tell what time it was, with the confusing darkness and his guttering inner flame. Zuko considered the short path toward the chief’s home, and then stretched his gaze further south.
He cast one more glance at the empty street, deja vu prickling at the back of his mind, and then walked out into the snow.
Zuko wasn’t sure how he knew where to go, but his feet carried him until he was standing on an empty stretch of snow-dusted ice, with the inky smear of the sea at his back and the tundra stretching on toward the shadow of some distant inland cliffs. He walked a few more feet, twelve steps south, three steps east. He considered the spot with a shrewd eye. He sat.
The sense of unease that had crawled under his skin felt somehow more claustrophobic under the smothering blanket of night, muffled by the snow and the distance from the village.
Why was he out here?
To freeze, maybe. Zuko tucked his hands underneath his armpits and huffed a quick breath. His breath of fire resisted, barely warming. Zuko grit his teeth, frustrated, and tried again, and that time was a little better. He shivered and stared at the overcast sky, mulishly annoyed that the gloomy weather was guarding even the familiar sight of the southern constellations from him.
It wasn’t all strange to him. He was cold, and frustrated, and other things that were as familiar as they were indescribable. Things he’d come to identify as simply unhappiness or, in other words, normal.
Why was he out here?
Zuko didn’t even know what he was looking for other than… some kind of answers, maybe, but he doubted he was going to find them just lying there in the snow.
He turned his face toward the overcast sky and breathed, trying to get himself under control.
Zuko’s heart stumbled at the sound of boots crunching in the snow. He whirled, feeling strangely guilty, like a child caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Was he allowed to be out here? He’d been allowed to go where he pleased in the Fire Nation, but even then his father had kept tabs on him, and after so long, sneaking away like this felt wrong.
He was suddenly, irrationally defensive. Sokka must have seen it on his face, because he raised his hands almost placatingly. They hovered uncertainly for a moment, and then he stuffed them awkwardly into his pockets.
“Hey,” Sokka said. “I came to check on you, and you were gone.”
“How’d you find me?” Zuko asked.
“You mean besides the very obvious footprints?” Sokka asked. “This is right around where we found you.” His expression wobbled a little, hopeful, but hard to make out in the dark. “Did you—?”
“No,” Zuko said. “I don’t remember.”
Sokka nodded, and did a terrible job of keeping the disappointment off his face. Zuko glanced away.
Sokka stood for a moment, just watching the stillness of the night, before he crossed the last few steps to sit next to him in the snow. If Zuko hunched a little more, it was only because of the cold. Sokka didn’t say anything, though, just settled back with his legs stretched out in front of him, content to let the silence pool between them.
“You’re not going to ask what I’m doing out here?” Zuko asked, finally. His voice sounded much too loud in the quiet.
Sokka shrugged. “Do you want to tell me?”
Zuko stared at him, but his expression didn’t waver from that careful patience. He had to bite back the annoyance that threatened to edge into his voice.
“How can you trust me so easily, after what I’ve been doing?” Zuko asked.
“What you’ve been…?” Sokka repeated. His face fell as the words settled in. Zuko had to resist the urge to snatch his arm back in frustration when Sokka took his hand, all wide-eyed and earnest, and said, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Zuko. You were hurt. It’s not your fault.”
“How can you know that?” he asked. “Even you admitted that you don’t know why I was out here. You don’t know what I was doing, other than sneaking around behind your back when you’ve shown me nothing but hospitality—”
“It’s not—Zuko, it’s not hospitality,” Sokka said. “You live here. It’s your house! You can do what you want.”
“I was hiding something from you,” Zuko said.
“Zuko, come on, you weren’t—”
“No,” Zuko said, because he wasn’t understanding. “I’m telling you I remember feeling like—I know I was hiding something.”
That, at least, seemed to startle him, but only for a moment before the stubbornness dug in even deeper.
“Well, so what?” Sokka asked.
Zuko stared at him.
“What do you mean, so what? How can you just be okay with not knowing? After everything I’ve—”
Sokka made a frustrated sound and leapt to his feet. Zuko bit off the end of his sentence before he could finish.
“Stand up. Take off your shirt,” Sokka said.
Zuko balked. “What?”
“Oh, come on. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Sokka said.
He wasn’t wrong, but the thought alone was enough to make Zuko want to combust, anyway. Zuko could feel the heat climbing up his neck, and he cursed every spirit for how easily he blushed, only made worse by the fact that Sokka seemed entirely unmoved by his embarrassment. He rolled his eyes. “Take off your shirt.”
“It’s freezing out!” Zuko said.
“You’re a firebender. You’ll live,” Sokka said. “Shirt.”
Sokka stared at him stubbornly, eyebrow raised, while Zuko cast around at the empty snow. It was just the two of them, all alone under the night sky.
“...Fine,” Zuko said. He rose, grudgingly.
Zuko huffed a short breath, bracing against the cold, and peeled the coat over his head. He took a deeper breath, clutching the fabric close until the warmth of his inner fire had chased back the chill. Zuko shot Sokka a puzzled glance—he didn’t think it was that unreasonable, to want to know why he was stripping in the middle of a snow field—but Sokka didn’t explain. He just reached out patiently for Zuko’s coat while he fumbled with the ties on the front of his robe with chilled fingers until he’d managed to undo them.
Zuko sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the heat of it curl tightly in his core. He pressed a hand to the gnarled scar on the center of his chest, the thin burn scars stretching from his abdomen to his collarbone like a starburst.
“What happened to me?” Zuko asked.
“Azula,” Sokka said simply. “During the war. She nearly killed you during Sozin’s comet.”
Zuko glanced up, startled, and met Sokka’s gaze.
“I… right. So I couldn’t even…” he trailed off. He had to force down the urge to laugh, incredulous and self-deprecating. He wasn’t even sure why that surprised him, considering. Even during Sozin’s comet, when Zuko should have been at his best, he still hadn’t been able to… He guessed… he must not have been much help, in the end—
“Zuko,” Sokka said softly. The quiet earnestness in his voice startled him out of his thoughts. “She beat you because you protected Katara. She beat you because you would rather throw yourself in front of lightning than see the people you care about get hurt.”
Sokka’s hands twitched from his sides. For a moment he looked like he was going to touch Zuko’s face, but he thought better of it, too intimate for this Zuko who didn’t know him, shouldn’t trust him. He reached for the front of Zuko’s robe instead, unbearably gentle as he refastened the ties. Sokka smoothed his hand down the front of the fabric when he was finished, palm resting heavily over the scar on his chest. He looked him in the eye, so serious and so steady that Zuko found himself holding his breath.
“You have proven over and over that you’ll do the right thing,” Sokka said. “So stop trying to convince me that you’re untrustworthy when I know you’re not.”
Zuko shivered. He took a shuddering breath, exhaled too quickly and let the heat warm the frigid night air. They must have made a strange sight, with Zuko standing there half-undressed in the snow. He shivered again, but Sokka didn’t pull him closer, like he knew without asking that it wasn’t from the cold.
Sokka held Zuko’s gaze instead, stubbornly.
“You’re a good person, Zuko,” Sokka said. “You need to let your mistakes go, because we all forgave you for them years ago.”
Zuko swallowed thickly. Sokka just waited him out, unwaveringly stubborn, until finally Zuko nodded, just the barest twitch of his chin. Only then did Sokka finally break eye contact to drag him forward for a hug.
“Now... what are you doing?” Sokka mumbled against his neck. “It’s freezing out here. Put your coat on.”
Zuko huffed, swiped at his face with the back of his sleeve. He gave Sokka a wry smile as he turned his coat over in his hands.
Something crunched quietly in the snow at his feet. Zuko tugged the bottom of his coat down and then stooped to pick it up.
“Oh, right,” he said. Sokka glanced over at him, curious.
Zuko turned the necklace over in his hand. He brushed his thumb over the ridges of the carving before holding it out for Sokka. “I almost forgot I found this,” he said. “I don’t think it’s mine. Do you think... you could give this back to whoever it belongs to for me?”
Sokka’s brow furrowed. He leaned in for a better look, squinting in the moonlight. Zuko saw the moment he realized what it was. His breath caught in his throat with a wounded sound.
Sokka’s expression twisted so suddenly that Zuko curled his fingers a little around the band, self-conscious. Had he offended him, somehow? Or maybe he really had stolen the necklace or something, and Sokka was just finding out, and he was going to be angry—
“I’m sorry,” Zuko said on impulse. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but that only made Sokka’s expression wobble dangerously. He shook his head roughly, fingers curling around Zuko’s to press the necklace back against Zuko’s chest. Sokka didn’t look angry, he realized, he looked sad.
“This is—you should hold onto this,” Sokka choked out. Even just the sound of his voice made Zuko’s stomach swoop, dangerously unsteady, halting and so unlike him. “It’s, uh,” He cleared his throat. “It’s supposed to be a gift? So. Just. Hold onto it.”
“Oh,” Zuko said uncertainly. “Is it... a gift for you? Do you want it?”
“Yeah,” Sokka said, sounding a little strangled. “Yeah, I really… spirits, just…”
Sokka turned away and laced his fingers behind his head. Zuko watched him pace a few steps, clutching the pendant tight enough to press an indent into his palm.
“I don’t understand,” Zuko said. “What is it?”
“It’s a betrothal necklace,” Sokka said.
Zuko jumped like he’d been burned, and nearly dropped the necklace. He glanced between it and Sokka with wide-eyed alarm.
“Why do I have this?” he asked.
“Uh. Well,” Sokka said, turning his attention skyward like he was begging the moon herself for strength, “Buddy, if I had to guess—”
“I’m sorry,” Zuko said again, a little desperately, because Sokka looked like he was hardly holding it together.
“It’s not—Zuko, stop apologizing. You don’t need to apologize,” Sokka said.
“I’m upsetting you,” he said.
“You’re not,” Sokka lied.
Of course he was upsetting him. The man he loved had apparently been ready to propose to him, and here Zuko was rubbing salt into the wound. He hadn’t even known his name.
He was terrible at this. Comforting people definitely wasn’t his strong suit. He never knew what to say, but especially now, when the gap in his memory was a minefield, where even something as innocent as a necklace was apparently enough to set him off.
“I can go?” Zuko offered. He turned back toward the village. Yeah, that was definitely for the best. “Yeah. I should go. I’m so—I mean, I shouldn’t have even dragged you out here. It’s late.”
Sokka caught his wrist gently before he could take another step.
“Zuko,” Sokka said, patiently. The look on his face was so open and soft, even beneath the sadness, that for a moment Zuko understood everything—the closeness, the hand on his wrist, the necklace curled in his fist. For a moment he could hardly breathe around the longing rising in his throat. He was suddenly, desperately, irrationally jealous of the man who got to marry him. “I’ll walk back with you.”
The silence was unbearably awkward. Zuko fiddled with the necklace, tilting the pendant in the weak light. The pendant that he’d apparently painstakingly carved in secret—probably, Zuko realized, with the knife he’d nearly stabbed Sokka’s father with, the one he’d guiltily slid back into the hidden box on the shelf.
“We don’t make these, in the Fire Nation,” Zuko said, grasping for something to say to fill the silence between them. Sokka glanced over at him, then down at the necklace with such an unguarded look of longing that Zuko almost felt self-conscious, like it was something private between him and the man who’d carved it, gone or buried and so far from anything Zuko might have imagined for his future that he felt like a stranger in his own body.
“Yeah, I know,” Sokka said. “You’ve mentioned that before. In the Fire Nation you make…”
He stopped short.
“Wait,” Sokka breathed. He whirled to face him, snatching the front of Zuko’s coat so enthusiastically that it nearly dragged him off his feet. “I know what you were doing.”
Sokka seemed to know exactly where he was going, even though everything looked like more and more of the same ice and snow. He took Zuko’s hand as they walked, occasionally glancing back at him like he expected something might spark Zuko’s memory at any moment, clearly trying to be subtle about it despite how obviously hopeful he was.
Zuko wished that he could give him something, but snow was snow, every patch as unrecognizable as the next one.
Sokka led him to the edge of a large crater, collapsed around a black stone at its center. It looked like the meteor had crushed the ice shelf on impact. The whole pit had flash melted and refrozen, perfectly smooth. Sokka was practically bouncing on his heels as they looked out over it, but he looked more anxious than excited.
“We saw it fall. You went looking for it. You told me it was too heavy to move,” Sokka said. “You wanted to wait for Aang and Toph to help earthbend it out—” He laughed, incredulous, his voice edged with raw emotion. “You liar. You were trying to surprise me.”
It was hard not to smile when Sokka laughed, but Zuko could tell it was a weak attempt. He didn’t need to tell Sokka that just looking at the rock hadn’t sparked any memories, any more than Sokka needed to tell him that he’d obviously hoped it would.
“Let’s… just get a closer look,” Sokka said.
Sokka squeezed his hand, and then let go, so that he could crouch down to slide over the lip of the crater. He turned back once to look up at Zuko.
“Be careful not to slip,” he said. Zuko might have thought he was trying to be funny. It was clear he was aiming for joking, at least, but he was a bit too tense as he said it to be really convincing. Zuko made sure to be extra careful on his way down, and it was probably good that Sokka had warned him, because the ground was ridiculously slick near the edge.
Zuko could clearly imagine himself trying to make his way down, hitting a patch of ice that had been thawed and re-frozen completely smooth—
The uncomfortable, disorientating feeling was back in full force, like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. Zuko tried to shake his head to clear it, and only succeeded in making himself dizzy.
“You okay?” Sokka asked. He was gripping Zuko’s arm, all tense and concerned.
“I’m fine,” Zuko said. “I’m sorry, Sokka. I don’t think it’s working. I—”
There was something shiny on the ground at his feet. It caught Zuko’s eye like the sun was glancing off of it, even though the weak and overcast moonlight barely reached them down here.
He stooped down to pick it up. The metal was so cold against his fingertips that he could feel them sticking for just a moment, before the ice started to melt.
It was a hairpiece.
He felt suddenly nauseous—no, not sick, just. Butterflies. Nerves, and excitement, and—
Zuko traced his finger over the curves of the hairpiece. Well, the ornament part of one, anyway. Their designs were more abstract than the Water Tribe’s betrothal necklaces, but every loop and curl told its own story. The decorative half of this one was done, smooth, polished metal, even if the band was still missing.
Zuko was light-headed. A headrush, like the adrenaline rush from falling, like the jumble of nerves that still tangled him up every time Sokka looked at him like he was something special, or leaned in to kiss him, even after all these years.
He remembered. How stupid, how could he have possibly forgotten?
He remembered the planning, in snatches of time between Sokka’s duties and his own. He remembered seeing the light in the sky, going out with Sokka and his father to investigate where the meteor had fallen, and feeling like the spirits has been giving them their blessing, personally, a hairpiece to match Sokka’s sword—
“Zuko?” Sokka asked, almost pleading, and Zuko nearly laughed at how hopeless he was at hiding it. He was kneeling in the snow. He didn’t remember falling. Sokka was kneeling beside him, clutching at his sleeve so tightly that he could hardly worry about that, now. Zuko took a deep, shuddering breath, and felt the heat wash over them both. He picked off his gloves, so that when he cupped Sokka’s face it was with warm hands.
Sokka sighed when Zuko kissed him, and when Zuko leaned back, his eyes were shiny and so, so relieved.
“...who are you, again?” Zuko asked.
Sokka stared at him.
“That is—” Sokka said, torn between outrage and laughing, maybe a little hysterically, “so not funny.”
“Sorry,” Zuko said. He glanced down at the half-finished ornament. “I… really messed this up, didn’t I?”
Zuko fiddled with the hairpiece, but before he could tuck it away in his pocket Sokka snatched the ornament out of his hands, folding his fingers around it.
“Are you kidding?” Sokka asked. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect, you—” Sokka kissed him again, and Zuko laughed when he pulled away.
“Sokka, it’s not even finished yet—”
“It’s perfect,” Sokka insisted. He grabbed the front of Zuko’s coat with both hands so he could pull him closer. “You are never allowed to surprise me again.”
“You love surprises,” Zuko said.
“No, I hate them,” Sokka said. “Surprises are stupid. No more surprises. Spirits, Zuko, I was so worried.”
“I’m all right,” he said quietly. Sokka tilted his head against Zuko’s palm as he brushed a thumb over his cheek. He could feel himself unwinding, all the anxious tension melting under the warm weight of Sokka’s touch. It was dark down in the crater, private, just the two of them and all their love and memories, and that was more than enough.
Zuko submitted himself to Kona’s examination and Sokka’s hovering, even if he already knew what the outcome of the examination was going to be, as evidenced by the fact that he even remembered who Kona was. She’d already given him a clean bill of health, anyway, other than the whole… not remembering thing, which was obviously resolved.
He let her prod at his head and neck and drill him with questions, and then once she’d left with strict instructions to rest, he’d let Sokka hover some more and bundle him in furs. Zuko swore up and down that he would be very careful, and not do anything more strenuous than sit by the fire and drink Uncle’s fortifying tea, and eventually he was able to convince his boyfriend to stop fussing over him.
No, not his boyfriend. His fiancé. Because Zuko had managed what was, probably, the worst proposal of all time. Between an incomplete hairpiece that Sokka couldn’t even wear yet, and literally forgetting his fiance’s name, Zuko was a little amazed that Sokka had even considered it.
“Are you going to give that back?” Zuko asked. Sokka immediately looked scandalized, and hunched over the half-formed hairpiece like he was worried Zuko was going to wrestle him for it. Zuko sighed, exasperated. “Sokka, it’s not even done yet. What, are you going to stick it in your pocket on our wedding day?”
“Hold on, wedding?” Sokka asked. “Funny, I don’t remember saying yes.”
Zuko laughed.
“You literally won’t give it back,” Zuko pointed out.
Sokka sat down beside Zuko by the fire. For a moment he made a very big show of fussing over him, pulling the fur more snugly over his shoulders, refreshing his tea… and then he took Zuko’s hand in his, very carefully.
“I have to ask you a few important questions, first,” Sokka said seriously.
Zuko frowned at him curiously. If the Southern Water Tribe had extra questions that came after a marriage proposal, he… didn’t remember this part, but was that because he didn’t know, or because he couldn’t remember?
“Zuko,” Sokka said slowly. “Did you know Toph’s name?”
He huffed a startled laugh.
“Really?” Zuko asked. “Are you really going to give me a hard time about this?”
“Is that a yes?” Sokka asked.
“No, I didn’t know Toph’s name, either,” Zuko said.
“What about Katara?” he asked.
Zuko hesitated. Sokka leapt to his feet when the silence stretched suspiciously long.
“Seriously?” Sokka shouted. “You knew Katara’s name and not mine?”
“That’s different!” Zuko said.
“How is it different?” Sokka asked. “I was there the whole time! You met me first!”
Zuko sighed, exasperated and fighting a smile. He grabbed Sokka’s hand and tugged him back down to sit beside him again.
“All I cared about back then was capturing the Avatar,” Zuko said. “Every third word out of Aang’s mouth was ‘Katara’! Of course I picked it up. Also, this was years ago. You’re not allowed to hold that against me.”
“I’ll forget your name,” Sokka grumbled. “Let’s see how you like it.”
Zuko hummed. He slid his fingers out of Sokka’s hand—with a little resistance, because for all that Sokka was mock-pouting, he didn’t want to let go. Zuko traced a line up his arm to his shoulder, until his thumb was just brushing the base of Sokka’s neck beneath his betrothal necklace. Sokka was very clearly fighting to keep a straight face as Zuko’s other hand wandered down to his waist.
“Hm. You’ll forget my name?” Zuko repeated, leaning in slightly. Sokka blinked, and then the tips of his ears were turning red, like he could already guess what he was about to say next. Zuko smiled and hooked the tips of his fingers in Sokka’s belt. He pitched his voice low, leaned in against Sokka’s lips. “That doesn’t really sound like much of a threat.”
Sokka made a soft sound in the back of his throat, and Zuko couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him, fingers curling in the fabric, pulling him close.
“A promise, then,” Sokka said a little breathlessly, sliding his hands around Zuko’s waist to snake up the back of his coat. Spirits, Zuko loved this man, nevermind the names, nevermind the memories, one look at him and he was sure that even if he lost everything else, every last piece, he could be happy with this.
“You never answered,” Zuko said seriously, fighting back a smile. Sokka huffed, quiet and fond.
“You know the answer,” he said simply, and kissed him again.