Chapter Text
Sokka stretches his leg out—it always gets stiff when he sits for too long—and stifles a yawn. Katara, stationed at the other side of Zuko’s infirmary bed, flicks her eyes up to meet his for a moment, before focusing them back on her work.
“Don’t say it,” Sokka quips, shifting in his chair, discreetly trying to find a more comfortable position.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she replies coolly.
Sure you weren’t , Sokka wants to say, but doesn’t; it’s been an exhausting few days, and the last thing either of them needs is to bicker with the other. Instead, he leans forward to grab Zuko’s hand, and tries not to count his ribs as he watches Katara heal them.
Most of Zuko’s bruises are faded now, and they grow fainter with each healing session. The gash on his head and the wound in his side are now only fading pink lines, the skin stitched back together like magic, like almost nothing had ever happened there.
(But Sokka will never forget. Sokka will never be able to get those images out of his head.)
“Alright,” Katara says, and Sokka opens his eyes from where he’d been clenching them closed without even realizing to watch her pulling the sheets and blankets back up to Zuko’s chin. Sokka’s grateful—it’s hard to look at him, like that, all his angles too sharp and sunken in, the pain that’d been inflicted upon him the past month so obviously painted all over his body, in bruises, in cuts, in burns. “That should be enough for today. Healer Hiraku should be by soon, with the tinctures.”
Sokka nods, solemn. The first day or so after they returned to the Fire Nation had been terrifying; though Katara had succeeded in removing most of the poison from Zuko’s blood, it still had some horrible effects on his body, and in his already weakened state, they all feared they could still lose him.
But he’s doing better now, Sokka reminds himself, trying to breathe some space into the tightness in his chest. His fever’s much lower, he’s able to keep down water and some broth, and between Katara’s water healing and the doctor’s medicines, some color has returned to his pale face.
“I’m going to get some dinner,” she continues. “You should—”
“Anju said she’ll bring me something.”
Katara’s eyes narrow, and she opens her mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again, silent. She stands, glancing one more time towards Zuko, like even she’s unsure about leaving him, and then turns and leaves the room without saying another word.
Sokka sighs and brings his head to rest in his hands, elbows digging into his lap. Katara’s probably right to be worried about him, and even more right to be angry with him. But he can’t bring himself to do anything to fix that, not right now.
Zuko’s been in and out of consciousness, a result of the poison and a bad concussion, and he’s incoherent and scared every time he wakes up—Sokka can’t leave him when he’s like this.
He stays like that for a while, vaguely registering the way his stomach begins to grumble with hunger and the way the back of his neck aches from stiffness.
There’s a sudden rustling, and Sokka snaps his head up to see Zuko, awake, a light in his eyes—an alertness that he hasn’t seen at all these past few days, when he’d been dazed with fever and pain and fear.
“…Sokka?” Zuko croaks, trying to shift himself into a sitting position.
Sokka moves quickly to sit next to him on the bed. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t try to move right now.” He places a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, who, in response, goes slack against the bed once more, clearly exhausted from the small effort. “Here, drink.”
Sokka lifts a cup to Zuko’s bruised lips, and he drinks gratefully.
He brings his hand up to Zuko’s cheek, softly, careful to avoid any injuries. He can’t stop touching him, not now that he’s here, that he’s awake.
“It’s so good to see you awake.”
At that, Zuko’s eyes fill with tears.
“I missed you,” he whispers.
Sokka leans down so they’re touching foreheads. Zuko still feels so warm. He can feel Zuko’s breath beginning to hitch, sees the pain that is about to pour out.
“Shh, it’s okay. I missed you too. So much.” He presses a soft kiss to Zuko’s lips.
Zuko blinks, a tear streaking down his scarred cheek. He’s already slipping back to sleep, Sokka can tell, his eyes losing focus, yet still so eager to be there, to stay awake, to be with Sokka.
“Is this—are you really here?” He asks.
“I’m here, I’m here.”
“I’m so tired.” And it sounds like it hurts. It sounds like there’s so much more Zuko wants to say. It sounds so much like a confession that Sokka feels his own eyes pricking with tears.
Sokka presses one more kiss to his lips.
“Then sleep, baby.”
“Will you lay with me?” He sounds near desperate, near hysteric. Sokka wants to take him and hide him far away and never hear him sound like this ever again.
“Of course I will.”
He kicks his shoes off and climbs into the bed with Zuko, crawling under the blankets. Sokka pulls him, fragile, like glass, until Zuko’s basically using Sokka as a pillow. Sokka wraps his arms around him; he wants to hold tighter, but he won’t.
Zuko’s breath evens out and he falls asleep, as quickly as he’d woken up.
Sokka lays awake for a while, cherishing the feeling of Zuko in his arms, a lump catching in his throat when he thinks about how close he was to losing him. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to think of that, not now, when he’s also so happy he could burst.
It’s overwhelming, and he has to keep reminding himself that Zuko’s okay. That he doesn’t have to panic anymore, that the fear and emptiness that had made a home in his chest aren’t necessary anymore. That he can let go.
It’s like a storm, every time he thinks he may get swept away, but here he is with Zuko: tethered.
The next time Zuko wakes and is coherent enough to remember it, Uncle is there. He’s sitting in the chair next to his bedside, where Sokka had been before, reading from a scroll.
“Uncle?”
Uncle looks up from his reading, a warm smile spreading on his face.
“Nephew.” He places his scroll down and reaches forward to pull Zuko into a gentle hug.
Zuko’s chest aches, an echo of the way it had for weeks, as he leans into the hug. Uncle smells like jasmine and citrus and home , and suddenly Zuko’s crying again, hot tears soaking into Uncle’s robe.
When they finally pull apart, Uncle’s eyes are puffy and red, too. He looks so happy, Zuko thinks as he watches him sink back into his chair, so happy but so tired. Just like Sokka had looked.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, without really meaning to.
“Zuko,” Uncle sighs, shaking his head.
“I just—I don’t like seeing how much pain I’ve caused you. All of you.”
“The only thing you need to focus on right now is getting better.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” Zuko huffs, a few disjointed memories playing from somewhere in the back of his mind. How long has he been home?
Uncle’s eyes grow more serious for a moment; his voice drops lower like it does when he means business.
“I mean it, Zuko. You need to take this time to heal and rest.”
Zuko almost fights back, almost gives into that side of him that hates being told what to do, hates being coddled, being pitied, but he takes another look at the bags under Uncle’s eyes and the way his gray hair is now almost fully white, and just nods instead.
“I’m assuming that means you’re not going to let me get back to work any time soon.”
Uncle shakes his head, a soft smile in his eyes again. “You grow wiser with each passing day.”
Zuko fights the urge to roll his eyes.
“I can assure you that everything is under control, and will remain that way until you are ready to resume your duties. For now, you need not worry, nephew.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Zuko says, his traitorous eyes once again filling with tears.
They lapse into a silence, Zuko feeling like there is so much he needs to say and yet he doesn’t know how to talk about any of this. He’s never been good with words, with feelings; they always end up so jumbled and disarranged by the time they reach his throat and tumble clumsily out from his mouth.
He feels so twisted up inside, a mess of relief and anxiety. There’s so much he should be worrying about, like the state of the Fire Nation with him being gone, the group that kidnapped him, and what they wanted—
“Someone needs to check on Azula,” Zuko blurts, and Uncle’s brow creases in confusion.
“Your sister is just fine. I did write to update her—she was very concerned while you were missing, though she’d never admit it.” Uncle sighs.
“No, I mean. They were asking about her. That’s what they wanted—information on Azula.”
Zuko tries to ignore the way his heart rate accelerates, the way he can feel it pounding in his chest just from the memories.
Uncle hums, considering. “That certainly is… concerning.”
“I didn’t tell them anything, “ Zuko asserts, because suddenly it’s very important that Uncle knows that. “I didn’t give them anything.”
“Oh, Zuko,” Uncle reaches forward to grab one of Zuko’s hands, and holds it between his own. “I wouldn’t have even needed to ask to know that.”
“They think she should be on the throne. I couldn’t do that to her. Or to the Fire Nation.”
Zuko swallows around the lump in his throat, and thinks about how far Azula’s come in the past five years. She’s still struggling, and their relationship is strained at best, but Zuko still finds his heart swelling with pride when he thinks of her living on her own a few hours outside of the Caldera, finding herself some kind of peace.
Uncle squeezes his hand. “I can send someone out to check on her, to be safe.”
Zuko nods again, then leans his head back against his pillows. He’s exhausted again, though he’s only been awake for probably fifteen minutes.
“I should let you get more rest,” Uncle sighs, but makes no move to get up and leave.
“I’m okay here, by myself, if you need to get things done,” Zuko says, even though he’s not. “Or if you wanted to get some rest, too.”
“I am in no rush to leave, nephew. Besides, I have a feeling Sokka will come to take my place very soon.” Uncle chuckles.
“How is he?” Zuko asks.
Something dark crosses Uncle’s face, and Zuko hates to see it there.
“He was very worried about you. We all were.” There’s so much more to it than that, Zuko can tell by the raw emotion in Uncle’s voice, and he has to bite back another apology.
He had tried not to think too much about it, while he was there , but there were times when he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how worried Sokka was. Zuko can only imagine how he would feel, if it were Sokka who was missing, and he knows that he’s put them all through a lot.
“You don’t need to worry about him right now, Zuko,” Uncle says, as if reading his mind. Uncle’s always been too good at knowing what he’s thinking. “Now, really, you should get some rest.”
He leans forward and pulls the blankets up around Zuko’s chin, and adjusts the pillows, and Zuko feels more like a child than he’d like to.
“Uncle?”
“Yes, Zuko?”
“I can’t bend.” He admits, quiet and mumbled into the blankets, and he hates the way he feels so ashamed.
Uncle looks at him, something like grief in his eyes, and says, after a while, “It will come back, nephew.”
Zuko doesn’t think he believes him.
Sokka sits at a counter in the kitchens, sulking over a cold cup of tea. He’d fallen asleep for a while, after Zuko had, and when he’d woken, Iroh had taken his place in the chair. He’d insisted that Sokka take a break and get some air, and if it’d been anyone else, Sokka might’ve argued, but he stopped himself; if anyone else had any right to some alone time with Zuko, it was Iroh.
So that’s how he ends up here, nursing a cup of tea, a nervous knot in his stomach making him too nauseous to enjoy it.
He’s so lost in thought, that he barely notices when Katara comes to lean on the counter next to him.
“I’m genuinely shocked to see you here,” she says after a while.
Sokka gives her a wry smile. “Iroh kicked me out.”
“And you listened?”
He shrugs. “Zuko needs time with him, too. Plus, he told me I looked like shit.”
Katara snorts, and they fall silent again. It’s strained, and he hates it. He and Katara have had millions of fights—they’ve screamed at each other, broken each other’s stuff, and gone days without speaking. One time, Katara was so mad at him for hiding one of her favorite dolls that she froze his feet to the ground and left him there for a full hour, before Gran Gran had realized he was missing and made Katara go back with her to get him.
They’re siblings—they’ve fought. But they’ve never been like this. Sokka’s never felt like he doesn’t know how to speak to his sister, and it feels awful, especially because he knows it’s his fault.
“Katara, I’m sorry. I’ve asked a lot of you.”
“You have.” She takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “But it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” he rebukes.
“Okay. It’s not. But I still forgive you.”
“You don’t have to,” Sokka says. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
She sighs again. “I get it, okay? I understand. If it’d been Aang who was missing…” She trails off, the corners of her mouth turning down.
“I’ve always asked too much of you,” Sokka continues, his voice growing thick and the beginnings of tears burning his eyes. “I’ve let you take care of me, all these years...ever since Mom...and I’m the oldest, I’m the one who should’ve been taking care of you—”
He’s pulled into a tight hug. “Oh, Sokka,” Katara croons. “You do take care of me. We take care of each other. Please don’t apologize for needing me.” She buries her face into his shoulder, and he lets himself be held, lets his tears fall freely.
They pull apart after a moment. Sokka wipes his face on his sleeve; Katara dabs at her eyes with a napkin.
“The bloodbending, though. I should’ve never asked you to even threaten it. And then you had to…” He closes his eyes, and breathes in through his nose—he really does not want to relive that moment right now, doesn’t even want to talk about it. “I know how much you hate it. I know how hard the whole thing with Hama was for you. I was there. And I still asked you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s… I was mad about it, at first. I didn’t like even pretending that I would do it, that night in the prison. But, like I said… I understand that you were doing what you had to do for Zuko.” She pauses for a moment, thinking. “Ever since Hama taught me about bloodbending, I’ve hated that it was something I could do. I felt...dirty, wrong… just knowing I had that power. But, then I got to use it to save Zuko. I turned this thing that felt so horrible to me for so long into something...good. So, I’m trying to think about it differently now.”
Sokka stares at his younger sister, a little surprised and a lot proud.
“You’re amazing, you know that, right?”
She smiles, smug. “Of course I do.”
“And in case I haven’t told you yet today, thank you,” he says, adding extra emphasis on those last two words. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if…”
She knocks her shoulder into his. “Anything for my two favorite idiots.”
“It’s not like I’m saying I want to go to a meeting, or anything—”
“You’re infuriating!” Sokka jumps up from the bed and stalks towards the door.
“Wait! Sokka, don’t go,” Zuko pleads. Sokka turns around. Zuko’s propped up in his bed, a bowl of broth forgotten on the bedside table next to him. Toph’s curled up near his feet; her eyes are closed, though Sokka’s pretty sure she’s awake.
Zuko’s fever has finally broken, and Katara’s assured Sokka that he’s making good progress—even allowing him to be moved from the infirmary back to his room—but every time Sokka looks at him, he still gets an uneasy, sick feeling in his stomach. He looks so fragile right now, and it’s so easy to remember how close he was to losing him.
Which is probably why Zuko’s simple request—he just asked if he could start reading some reports from any pertinent meetings he’d missed while he was gone—has Sokka’s heart racing with an irrational mixture of anger and panic.
“Fine,” he huffs, “but only because I’m literally never letting you out of my sight again.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of Zuko’s lips. “Okay.”
“And I’m still mad. I’m gonna sit here and be mad,” Sokka rants, crawling back under the covers and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles, still smiling.
“It’s just! You’ve barely been conscious for two days, Zuko. Can you get one ounce of self-preservation, please?”
“I’ve been told it’s not one of my strong suits.” Zuko reaches over and grabs Sokka’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He looks over, grinning. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“Gross!” Toph calls from the foot of the bed.
“Shut up,” Sokka says, but he’s smiling now, too. “Eat your broth, broth boy.”
“Ha! Broth boy! That’s a good one,” Toph laughs.
“It’s gone cold,” Zuko pouts.
“Then just warm—” Sokka snaps his mouth shut, a jolt of guilt running through him as soon as he realizes what he said. “Zuko, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he replies, staring down at their intertwined hands. Sokka squeezes, gently, and Zuko lifts his head to send him a watery smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
And there it is again—an aching reminder of everything they went through.
“You just need to rest. Give it time,” Sokka tries for a soothing tone, but even to him the platitude falls flat.
Zuko nods, but his mouth twists into a frown. “Yeah, I know...I hate just sitting here, though.”
“Your uncle has everything under control,” Sokka says.
“I know, it’s not that…” Zuko trails off.
Sokka’s about to ask him what he means, but just then the door opens and Suki, Katara, and Aang walk in.
“Find anything?” Sokka asks.
“No,” Aang sighs, flopping down on the bed near Toph. “They definitely were camped out near the mountain, but they’re all gone now. The Dragon Order’s in the wind.”
“The Dragon Order ? That’s what they’re calling themselves?” Zuko asks, eyebrow raised incredulously. His tone is conversational, but Sokka doesn’t miss the way he tenses next to him.
“Yeah,” Aang answers.
“That’s a stupid name,” Zuko says.
“That’s what I said!” Sokka exclaims, vindicated.
“Anyway,” Aang continues, “we’ll have to focus our energy here, then. See if we can get any information out of the guard who admitted to helping them…”
Sokka tunes him out, taking in a deep breath and trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. It’d have been so much easier if they could’ve apprehended them that night at the mountain. Obviously, they were all preoccupied with making it out alive, especially after Zuko was hit.
But now, there’s a group out there who want to hurt Zuko, and as of right now, they have no idea where they could be, or what they’re planning next. How is Sokka ever supposed to relax, knowing the people who almost killed Zuko are out there, probably plotting their next attack?
Zuko looks at him, concern in his eyes. Maybe he could feel the way Sokka’s entire body went rigid the moment Aang started talking.
This is ridiculous . Sokka’s the one who should be worrying about Zuko, not the other way around. He takes in another breath. He can’t fall apart in front of Zuko. He’ll be strong, for him.
“...touch base with the White Lotus, too.” Aang finishes.
“Zuko, how are you feeling?” Katara asks, coming over to feel his forehead.
“I’m alright.”
Katara narrows her eyes, like she doesn’t fully believe him, but she doesn’t push it. “No fever, so that’s good. But you need to eat more,” she scolds, eyeing the cold bowl of broth.
Zuko gives her a sheepish half-smile, and Katara grabs the bowl and leaves to find more.
“I should go brief the girls,” Suki says from over by the door, where she’s been hovering this whole time.
“Suki, come hang out, you just got back,” Sokka implores. She’s definitely been off since they brought Zuko back—never spending much time in the same room as him, always finding a reason to leave. Sokka knows she’s still blaming herself for all of this, but he doesn’t know how to help her stop.
“I really should—”
“Yeah, come sit,” Zuko interrupts, smiling softly. “I missed you,” he adds, when Suki doesn’t budge.
Her forehead creases for a moment, but then it clears, and she tentatively returns his smile, walking towards the bed.
Katara returns a few minutes later, handing Zuko a fresh bowl of broth. She gently shoves Aang to make space for herself, and she, too, climbs into bed.
They spend the evening like that—all six of them piled in Zuko’s bed, reminiscent of those first few nights at the end of the war, except that now there’s a lot less space. Sokka can’t find it in himself to mind, though—not even when Aang’s knee keeps jabbing him in the back or when Toph threatens to flatten the next person who bumps into her with a boulder.
It feels right , for them all to be together again, and Sokka does find himself settling a bit despite his anxiety. He can’t stop looking over at Zuko, remembering the past month when his absence felt like an open wound, and feeling it heal, just a little bit, at the sight of Zuko, here and alive and safe and smiling .
Eventually, everyone begins to doze off, and Sokka pulls Zuko to his chest when he sees him struggling to keep his eyes open. Zuko wraps his arms around him, nuzzling closer so his face is almost pressed against Sokka’s neck. Sokka counts his breaths, hot against his throat, and absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair.
“Zuko?” he whispers. “You still awake?”
Zuko nods.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sokka asks, remembering the way Zuko’s face had darkened earlier when Sokka brought up his bending.
Zuko tenses slightly for a moment, then relaxes again. “I know,” he replies.
“You don’t have to—just, you can .” Sokka amends, not wanting him to feel pressured. “But don’t rush back into work, or anything, okay?”
“Alright,” Zuko sighs.
“Let me take care of you, okay?”
Zuko pushes himself up, so they’re eye to eye, and considers him for a moment. “Okay,” he relents, slowly. “But you have to let me take care of you, too.”
“I—” Sokka sputters, but Zuko stops him with a quick kiss.
“Let me take care of you, too,” he repeats, laying his head back down on Sokka’s chest.
Zuko falls asleep quickly, after that, but Sokka lies awake for a while, trying to reconcile the warmth he feels in his chest with the pit of anxiety in his stomach that won’t quite go away.
They’re compromising.
Zuko still isn’t attending any meetings, and still spends most of his days in bed. He’s doing so much better, but both Healer Hiraku and Katara want him to gain back more weight before he can fully go back to work.
It’s frustrating, but he knows he can’t really argue with them. And he especially can’t argue with Sokka, whose forehead is almost constantly creased in worry, and whose jokes and laughter are forced in a way he must think Zuko doesn’t notice.
But Zuko knows him, and he knows a lot about pretending to be alright. And that’s what Sokka’s doing—holding everything together because he thinks he needs to, because he thinks he needs to be strong for Zuko.
They’re honestly the worst, the two of them, at talking about their feelings; it was almost unbearable once, before they’d gotten together, both of them pining after each other, obvious to everyone but each other. Katara had been so fed up with the both of them that she threatened more than once to lock the two of them in a closet until they figured out their feelings for each other.
Zuko hopes, however, that now—after everything—Sokka knows he can be vulnerable with Zuko. He wants him to be.
Zuko’s sitting in bed, reading through some notes from a meeting he’d not been allowed to attend this morning. Sokka’s next to him, antsy and fidgeting.
“Babe,” Zuko says, eyes still on the scroll in front of him.
“Hmm?”
Zuko lifts his eyes to look at him. He’s about to ask him if he’s okay, but he looks like a wreck. They still haven’t talked about any of the nightmares both of them have been having. So he knows the answer—he can see it in the tired lines on Sokka’s face, in the way he never seems to be able to sit still, in the fact that he’s barely left his side these past few weeks.
“Do you want to meditate with me?”
Sokka lifts an eyebrow, a little surprised. “Me? I’m not even a firebender.”
“Neither am I, at the moment.” He tries for a joking tone, but it falls flat, and he can tell it was the wrong thing to say because Sokka’s lips turn down and a far away look comes across his face.
Zuko grabs his hand. “Come on. A little fresh air will be good for both of us.”
They head to the balcony together. It’s about midday, the sun high and hot in the sky. He tries to sit outside at least once a day. After so long without the sun, he thinks he could spend forever trying to soak up its warmth; though it feels wonderful on his skin, it does nothing to stoke even a spark of his inner fire, and he has to fight off disappointment and panic every time he steps outside.
(The first time he went outside, a few days after being home, he’d begged Sokka to help him to the balcony, just to feel the sun. Sokka had basically carried him over, and he’d collapsed to his knees when he felt it, face tipped up to take in the warmth, tears streaming down his face.)
They sit down next to each other, cross-legged, knees touching. Zuko places his palms face-up on his knees, the way he had when he was little and still couldn’t bend, but Uncle had insisted he needed to learn breath control anyway. Ozai had scoffed and mocked him for even bothering, so convinced he was a nonbender and so pleased to hate him for it.
Uncle says his fire will return; he seems so certain of it. Zuko’s trying to convince himself that he’ll be okay, even if it doesn’t.
Try as he might to ignore it, there’s a small part of him—a voice in the back of his mind that sounds more like Ozai’s than his own—that feels a sense of shame when he considers the prospect of his bending never coming back.
As a child, Zuko remembers thinking that his poor bending, in comparison to Azula’s prodigal abilities, was the worst thing about him, a disgraceful failing that he had to work as hard as possible to remedy.
But he knows better now, obviously. Mai is downright terrifying with her knives. He’s seen Suki take down several men without breaking a sweat. And Ty Lee can kick anyone’s ass, smiling while she does.
Sokka can’t bend, and to Zuko, he’s the most important person in the world, capable of anything he wants to accomplish.
He doesn’t value people in terms of their bending, or lack thereof. That’s an ugly dogma that he’s worked hard to excise from his life, along with basically anything else he’d learned from Ozai.
But when it comes to himself, it’s harder. Part of his identity is tied up in his bending—it always has been. He’s not really sure who he’ll be without it.
Zuko looks over to find Sokka mirroring his position, and he shakes the thoughts of his father out of his head.
“Okay. Just try to focus on your breathing. And clear your mind of any other thoughts.”
Sokka looks at him skeptically, but shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Zuko follows suit, and they sit in silence for a few moments, though Zuko keeps losing focus because Sokka won’t stop fidgeting next to him.
“Okay. I can’t do this. It’s just not my thing. I’m sorry.”
Sokka stands up, and Zuko blinks open his eyes. “Wait!”
“I’m sorry, Zuko, but it’s just not for me. I can’t clear my mind . I can’t! Every time I shut my eyes I see—” He turns away, cutting himself off.
“Sokka.”
He turns back around, and there’s so much pain etched into his face that Zuko wants to cry.
“I can’t stop seeing you, bleeding and poisoned, dying , okay? I can’t stop seeing it, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, because you’re here, and you’re okay, and I’m so happy and so grateful but I’m also so—so—” He throws his arms in the air, frustrated.
“Sokka, come here,” Zuko asks, heart aching.
Sokka flops back down to the ground, and Zuko pulls him closer until his head is practically in his lap.
“Sokka,” he starts, unsure of anything he can say to make things better. “I know you think that you always have to keep it together. That you have to be strong for everyone around you. But you don’t have to do that with me.”
“Spirits, Zuko. You were freaking kidnapped and you’re worried about me?”
“Are you going to sit here and tell me this past month was easy on you?” Sokka’s silence is enough of an answer. “I meant it when I said you have to let me take care of you, too. You don’t have to hold it together for me.”
“I do, though.” Sokka’s voice is suspiciously thick. “I have to because, because—”
“No, you don’t, Sokka. You don’t.” He pulls Sokka back up to look him in the eyes. “Listen, how about we make a deal? We help each other through this, which means we both need to tell each other how we’re feeling—no hiding shit to make the other feel better. Okay?”
Sokka sniffs. “I guess I can handle that.”
Zuko leans forward and presses a quick peck to his lips, their foreheads resting against each other. Spirits, he loves him so much.
“I was so worried about you.” Sokka breaks, tears falling freely now. “I was so scared that I’d never see you again.” He shifts so his face is resting in the crook of Zuko’s neck, and Zuko brings his hand up to hold the back of his head, stroking the soft fuzz of his shaved undercut.
“I had nightmares, while I was there,” Zuko admits, his throat tight. “Sometimes, I couldn’t tell what was real. And I would dream about you, too. But it was always so hard when I’d wake up from those. Because you weren’t ever really there.”
Sokka lets out something close to a whimper, and Zuko can feel hot tears spilling down his own cheeks now, too.
“I’m here now,” Sokka gasps, muffled into his shoulder. His hands are gripping Zuko’s tunic like he’s holding on for dear life, the fabric balled up in his fists.
Zuko holds him tighter, as they both cry themselves out. They stay like that for a while, even after they’ve both calmed down, holding each other and breathing together.
It’s certainly not like any other meditation Zuko’s done before, but it helps, all the same.
It’s still dark outside when Sokka’s woken up by someone relentlessly prodding his shoulder.
“Sokka!”
“Not right now,” he mutters, shoving his face into his pillow.
“Wake up. It’s sunrise.”
“Zuko, I love you so much. You are the light of my life. The wind beneath my wings. But it’s still dark outside. Go back to sleep.”
“No, I mean. It’s sunrise. I can feel that it’s sunrise .”
Sokka whips his head up from where it was buried in pillows, and meets Zuko’s eyes. There’s something in them that hasn’t been there for a while. Something like hope.
“Will you come sit outside with me?”
They walk through the palace halls, hands between them bumping and brushing, still quiet with sleep. It’s always strange, walking around the palace at an hour like this, all the customary commotion and frenzy temporarily dormant.
Zuko grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers. It’s a gentle hold, grounding and so familiar that it sends a twinge right through Sokka’s heart, because these are the things he missed the most. The casual touches, the easy silences, the effortless companionship. The feeling of I’ve got you, and you’ve got me .
Sokka will never take any of it for granted ever again.
They end up in a private courtyard off another wing of the palace that faces East. When they walk outside, the sun is just beginning to peek over the mountains, coloring the sky in a beautiful, vibrant gradient of oranges, pinks, and purples.
Zuko was right. The sun is rising.
Beside him, Zuko gasps. The bruising on his face has faded, and though he’s still much too thin, his cheeks have begun to fill out again, and the pallor of his skin is growing brighter every day.
He looks beautiful, here in the soft morning light, the gold in his eyes echoing the brightness of the sun as it breaks over the tops of the mountains. He looks so vulnerable, so amazed, so relieved, that Sokka almost feels like he should look away.
But Zuko asked him to be here, to share this with him. Zuko invited Sokka in, and that’s not something he’ll ever take lightly.
Reluctantly, Sokka shifts his gaze back to the ever changing colors of the sky.
“What does it feel like?” He asks, after a while.
“It’s always been there,” Zuko starts, scrunching up his face like he always does when he’s thinking hard. “So it’s… hard to describe. But not having it? It was like… a weight in my chest. Like...even though I was so empty, it was the heaviest feeling.”
“So now,” Zuko continues after a moment. “Now, it’s like. That weight has been lifted. And like slowly all the light is beginning to fill all the dark places again. It feels like taking a deep breath. It feels like...life.”
Sokka nods, bringing their clasped hands to his lips so he can press a kiss on Zuko’s hand.
He thinks he gets what he means.
They sit there for a while, watching the sun climb higher and higher in the sky, the air around them warming slowly as the palace begins to wake up. They’re sitting knee-to-knee, their hands intertwined in Sokka’s lap, shoulders touching. Zuko’s closed his eyes and fallen into some gentle breathing exercises, ones Sokka recognizes from their previous meditation session.
Soft, pink light filters through the trees and dances on Zuko’s cheekbones, his face turned up to the sky. Sokka wants to memorize every inch of him, wants to stretch this moment out into eternity.
He thinks he could sit here forever, just watching Zuko breathe. He feels warm, and it has nothing to do with the rising sun in the sky.
He thinks of the betrothal necklace, now hidden in the back of a drawer, and finally lets go of that panic he’d felt weeks ago when he’d sat, miserable, turning it over in his palm.
They’ve got time.
Eventually, Zuko’s breath stutters, and his eyes flash open. He pulls his hand out of Sokka’s and brings his other one up to cup them together.
Sokka stares at him, worried something’s wrong.
But Zuko just breathes, watching his palm.
And there it appears, after several breaths, small and weak and flickering but there :
Fire.