Chapter Text
Zuko packed.
Clothes spilled out of his closet and dresser. His desk drawer stood open after being emptied of photos and important documents. His hands shook as he packed away his life, the bits he was able to extract from the mess it had so easily become.
Azula stood in the doorway for long enough that she gave up theatrically checking her nails and instead just watched Zuko attempt to condense his life into a duffle and backpack. She saw that it actually wasn’t that hard, for him.
“Nice haircut,” she said.
Zuko shivered. He didn’t stop to parse whether it was the cold on his bare scalp or the tone of Azula’s voice that did it. Bits of hair remained on the back of his neck, itching horribly. Azula wasn’t smiling when Zuko looked up.
“This is a bad idea, you know.”
Zuko just shrugged and looked back down.
He finished packing. All of his boy clothes didn’t even fill the duffel. It still felt heavy, though, hefted onto his shoulder with his backpack. Zuko took a deep breath, and prepared to face his father, to tell his truth, to leave on his own terms for once.
“Well, I suppose I’ll say this now since probably nobody will ever get the chance again,” Azula said, arms crossed and hip flush to the doorless doorframe. One could almost think she didn’t want him to leave the room and do what he was about to do. “Happy birthday, Zuzu.”
***
Hakoda went inside to pay and give them some alone time. He had phrased his imminent departure like a question, and gave Zuko a look with serious eyes and a raised eyebrow. It was barely different from the face he had worn when he was plainly suspicious of Zuko, so Zuko didn’t really know what to do with it. He shrugged, so Hakoda went inside with a frown and a glance in Iroh’s direction, the latter dusted with that familiar suspicion.
Which left Zuko alone with Uncle, which-- he realized then with much embarrassment-- was the situation Hakoda had been trying to make sure would be ok.
Zuko wanted it to be ok. Four years of marinating on how to make this moment ok had born no positive fruit, unfortunately. The only thing that sprung to mind was the apology he had spent years mentally rehearsing.
Iroh sat in Hakoda's vacant seat– fumbling for the back of the chair when he refused to look away from Zuko– and folded his hands over each other on the table. His gaze did not waver.
Zuko sat up straight and fixed his eyes onto Iroh’s hands, unable to bring himself to examine what lay on his face.
“Uncle, I know you must have mixed feelings about seeing me. I wanted to apologize for how I treated you when I lived with you. And especially for what I said before I left. I’m so sorry, and ashamed of--” he cut himself off as Iroh's hands parted and planted on the table, barely bit back a flinch as Iroh stood.
His hug pulled Zuko from his seat, jarring the table and its contents where they both bumped into it. A cup of tea spilled and Iroh didn't even notice.
Iroh sniffed, trying to keep his nose from running, but that did nothing to stop the stream of tears from his eyes.
Zuko fisted his hands in the back of Iroh's shirt. He buried his own tears in Iroh's shoulder and when he inhaled deeply he found the familiar, woody smell of ginseng.
“How can you forgive me so easily? After how I left?” His words were muffled but the cracks still came through.
“Zuko,” Iroh said with a thick, pained voice into Zuko’s hearing ear. “I was never angry with you, I was afraid for you. I have not seen you in four years . I was afraid I had lost you forever. Believe me, I am overjoyed to see you alive and well.” Iroh pulled back to hold Zuko at arm’s length, and looked him over more thoroughly. Something in his face shifted at the collection of scrapes and bruises.
“What brings you back here, after all this time?” Iroh asked with a hint of caution in his voice.
Zuko blinked, lightheaded from the rushing of blood. The elation of being forgiven was not easy to adjust to.
“I’ve been staying with my boyfriend and his family.”
Iroh’s eyes darted toward the restaurant interior, a flash of alarm in his expression. Zuko’s face flushed.
“Oh, no! That’s his dad.” Iroh relaxed. “Actually, you’ve kind of met him before, my boyfriend. He’s Sokka? From high school?”
“Ah, the boy you were always getting suspended with.”
“Yeah.”
“And who did you lose a fight to this time?” Iroh asked, taking one of Zuko’s hands in his own to look more closely at his ragged fingernails.
“Um, it was a ravine. And I didn’t lose.”
“Saved my boy’s life, actually,” Hakoda said from behind Zuko, having just returned with boxes to pack up their leftovers. Zuko jumped at his reappearance, he noted with a light wince.
Hakoda stepped around him and offered up his forearm to Iroh.
“I’m Hakoda, Sokka’s father.”
Iroh grasped his forearm firmly and nodded deeply.
“Yes, we’ve met a few times, haven’t we?”
“Just a few,” Hakoda said with a laugh before stepping back. The three of them just looked at each other a bit. Or really, Iroh drank in the sight of his living, breathing nephew and Hakoda switched his gaze between the two of them as discreetly and politely as possible.
“Mm,” Iroh said several seconds later. “Well, could I invite you two back to the tea shop? I think there’s a lot for Zuko to catch me up on.”
“Oh,” Zuko began, shooting a glance at Hakoda. “We, uh, were actually running some errands.”
Iroh’s face fell, a bit.
“We were getting groceries for dinner. Which, you’re welcome to join us for. If you’d like,” Hakoda interjected. Immediately he realized he was probably overstepping, but Zuko gave him a look that Hakoda read as grateful, and then a small nod as he probably realized that he shouldn’t leave expression interpretation solely up to Hakoda.
“That would be wonderful,” Iroh said after clearing his throat.
“Let me give you our address.”
They split the grocery bags between them, when they got back to the house. There weren’t many, as Bato had asked for a simple refreshment of the short term perishables– dairy and eggs and the more delicate greens that weren't growing out back. Zuko went ahead first, and was already in the kitchen by the time Hakoda entered the house with the rest of the food.
Bato was sprawled out in the armchair, having ceded the couch to a sleeping Sokka. Hakoda stopped for a minute to look at his husband’s resting face. Bato’s eyebrow twitched, revealing both his wakefulness and annoyance.
“What is it, Hakoda?”
“I have news.”
“Did it go well or did you actually hit the kid this time?”
“The first one. And, we’re having a guest for dinner.”
Bato scoffed.
“One of the guys from the warehouse? I hope they like carryout from the fry shop.”
Hakoda paused. He may have miscalculated his approach.
“I thought you were doing salmon and the chive dumplings?”
“That was the plan before having the most stressful weekend we’ve had in years. And unless you genuinely worked things out with Zuko, I’m still mad at you.”
“I wasn’t lying, we really did talk things through. I apologized. Properly.” Bato’s eyes opened to slivers, as though he was visually assessing Hakoda for his truthfulness. “We also ran into his uncle. And I invited him over. For dinner.” Bato’s expression shifted. “Please stop looking at me like that.”
Bato schooled his face back to something normal. He took a deep breath.
“I don’t have the capacity for the mental calculus it would take for me to decide whether I’m mad at you again. Just, go back to the store and get some salmon, please.”
Sokka was still snoring when Hakoda returned with the salmon. He’d also bought more garlic and ginger, and a fresh bag of flour. The bags were not many, but they were heavy. Almost as soon as he’d kicked his shoes off the doorbell rang. He turned and answered the door, his weighted wrist taking time in its journey to the knob.
Toph and Aang stood on the front step, Aang somehow even taller than just a week before and Toph with a sour tilt of their mouth.
“Hey, Hakoda,” Toph said. She swung out her cane so that it whipped against Hakoda’s shin. He bit back a curse, switching his weight to his back foot and wincing.
“Hello, Toph,” he wheezed. Aang gave a sympathetic grin.
“We heard how the camping trip went,” Aang said, stepping into the house after Toph. She folded up her cane as soon as she stepped over the threshold and gave an unrepentant shrug before stalking off, perfectly acquainted with the layout of the house.
Hakoda trailed after the two of them into the kitchen. Bato gave his greetings to the new arrivals as he took the groceries from Hakoda’s hands.
“Hmm,” he said, eyeing the ingredients and the two additional mouths. “Could you actually go pick up some more green onions? Aphids got to some of our crop.”
“Of course, dear,” Hakoda said. On his way out, he managed to catch a glimpse of Toph practically cannonballing onto the stomach of a still-sleeping Sokka.
Hakoda returned with the green onions, along with more garlic chives. He even bought another filet of salmon because, really, it was better safe than sorry. Bato nodded approvingly at the haul, especially at the sesame brittle Hakoda snuck in specifically for him.
“Go chop prep with the kids,” Bato said, jerking his chin to the living room where Sokka, Katara, Zuko, Toph, and Aang sat variously peeling and chopping. The idle conversation lulled but did not die as he approached. Hakoda barely managed to creak into a cross-legged seat at the coffee table before the doorbell rang again. He pulled himself back up and went to answer.
Iroh had arrived, half an hour early and brandishing a teapot.
He followed Hakoda into the living room and let out a breath at the crowd gathered.
“Ah, Zuko, is this a party for your birthday?” he asked with plain delight.
Hakoda blinked. Zuko blinked. Sokka let out the beginnings of a very long “oh fuck”. Just out of Hakoda’s range of vision, a hand slapped a forehead. He turned back the way he came.
“...Hakoda,” Bato called from the kitchen.
“Yes, Dear?”
Hakoda was already in the entryway slipping his shoes back on when Bato walked up to him. Sokka had just finished the “oh” in his “oh fuck”.
“Go to Nene’s farmstand,” Bato said, mind whirring through a rolodex of dessert recipes. The look in his eyes could be politely described as ‘frantic’. “Get either lemon bread and heavy cream, or ginger cookies and yuzu curd, and either way get bilberries.”
“And if Nene’s all out?” Hakoda asked.
Bato leaned down and gave him a peck on the lips.
“Then don’t come home,” Bato said with a smile, before turning away to go cook himself into a frenzy.
“It’s ok,” Zuko soothed, back in the living room and laughing while Sokka showered him in apologies.
“I thought I had another couple days! I forgot I slept through one of them!” Hakoda heard Sokka wail as the door swung shut behind him.
When Hakoda returned, the only new addition was Yagoda and Kanna. The living room was a scene of abandoned cooking, garlic skins spread all about and vegetable ends heaped in a pile awaiting the trip to the compost bin. Everyone was standing around the couch, staring at the phone in Zuko’s hand.
“Now that is impressive,” Kanna said, leaning forward to squint at the screen. Zuko’s blush was just visible from his position at the center of the crowd. “And what kind of clay did you say that is?”
“Micaceous clay. It’s kind of rare; Professor Jeong Jeong had to order it especially from the Si Wong Desert. We did the firing out in the courtyard.”
“Someone who lives by campus kept calling the fire department on them,” Sokka said.
“That is a beautifully shaped bowl, Zuko,” Iroh said.
Zuko scrolled to the next photo and the crowd gave an excited buzz.
“Wow, you really got Sokka’s thinking face,” Aang said, leaning a bit onto Yagoda’s shoulder to get a better angle from behind the couch.
“So, is someone gonna describe it, or…?” Toph asked from his seat on the floor, leaning back against Zuko’s legs.
“It’s Sokka’s face, pretty close to scale, in red clay. He’s doing his thinking face, and there’s actually the crease between his eyebrows, and that stupid thing he does with his lips,” Katara reported to Toph.
“Wow, thanks,” Sokka deadpanned. He opened his mouth to say something else before he spotted Hakoda in the doorway. He paused a second, met Hakoda’s eye and closed his mouth in a thoughtful frown before opening it again.
“Dad, stop standing around, you’re missing the art show,” Sokka said with a jerk of his head. Hakoda padded into the living room and took the spot next to Bato behind the couch.
Zuko didn’t linger on the photo so Hakoda had only a couple seconds to be stunned by the accuracy of Sokka’s likeness before the show went on. The corner of his phone’s screen was absolutely shattered, a good amount of the glass shards missing, so Zuko had to pinch and adjust the photo before the subject was fully visible.
“This was my ceramics final this spring,” Zuko said, adjustments made. It was a tea set– three cups and a small pot, glazed in a crackled sky blue. “It was an oxidation firing. I couldn’t throw a good enough fourth cup, so in the critique I just said the three cups was a statement on asymmetry and inclusion.”
Iroh inhaled sharply and reached out a tentative hand to touch the edge of the phone.
“This is absolutely stunning,” he said breathlessly.
“It’s just a teapot,” Zuko muttered, losing the fight with his reddening face.
“No, he’s right, young man,” Yagoda said with a sweet smile. “This is an exquisite set.”
Zuko’s face went the full, deep red. Sokka leaned further into his shoulder and laid his cheek on the top of his head.
“My exquisite pot maker,” Sokka crooned. Zuko rolled his eyes in sync with Katara.
“Ok, that’s it,” he said, hitting the lock button.
“Aw, babe, you didn’t show them my tortoise,” Sokka whined.
“No, he’s right,” Bato said, standing up from where he was leaning over the couch with a wince. “We have to start folding dumplings or we won’t be eating before dark. Ms. Kanna, would you mind rolling the wrappers?”
Gran Gran looked up with a twinkle in her eye.
“Nothing would please me more, Bato.”
The living room shifted into several currents of action: Kanna and Katara pinching dough from the lump in the big metal mixing bowl and rolling them into perfect little rounds; Yagoda and Zuko stuffing and folding dumplings shut with perfect pleats, Sokka joining in and making more unique shapes; Aang, Toph, and Hakoda peeling garlic and ginger and separating cilantro leaf from the stem to dress the salmon; Bato in and out of the kitchen, picking up and depositing ingredients to peel and chop and mix; Iroh taking the whole house through a tea tasting.
“I don’t know why you thought a star was a necessary dumpling shape,” Bato said, peeking at Sokka’s handiwork, “but those pleats are looking pretty good.”
“He’s showing off for Zuko,” Katara said, rolling the pin under the flat of her hand with such practice that she didn’t even have to watch the movement, instead looking up with a smirk. “I remember when he wouldn’t even touch the stove. He used to just say it was woman’s work and go play around in the backyard.”
Sokka blushed and rubbed the back of his head, leaving behind a thick smudge of flour.
“I mean I grew out of it.”
“You mean Suki kicked your ass about it once,” Katara shot back, reaching out to dust away the flour and leaving more behind before shrugging and giving up.
“Ok yeah, I got my ass kicked in the school gym one time and that helped me grow out of it,” Sokka admitted good-naturedly.
“I was a bit like that growing up, you know,” Bato said, entering the living room with a wide platter. He set it down on the coffee table to begin transferring the latest batch of dumplings for transport. “My mother died when I was very young, and I transitioned soon after. I tried to distance myself from what I thought womanhood was, and the way I was growing up that meant avoiding ‘woman’s work’. But, when Kya–” he glanced up to Iroh, “the kids’ mom–, when she and I became friends, and then best friends, I broke a lot of that down. It was just her and Ms. Kanna in their house, and they did all the work themselves: growing, harvesting, fishing, cleaning, fixing the car.”
“I shingled my own roof,” Kanna chimed in, miming the hammer with the flour-dusted rolling pin in her hand.
“You’re the one who taught me snare hunting for small game, too. And Kya taught me how to fire a slingshot when I couldn’t get the knots right.”
Kanna snorted.
“She was a danger with that thing.”
“To neighborhood bullies, mostly, yeah. But being with you two taught me all about woman’s work: caring and creating and whatever needs to get done. So I learned to take care of myself, too.
“Saved my ass at university, being able to cook. Not a lot of other guys could manage it without almost burning the kitchen down. And now I’m a happier man, not trying to keep away from womanly things. I can’t find an ounce of shame in getting to care for my family.
“Which, sorry, Zuko,” Bato said, turning to him, “that I have you cooking on your birthday. But I had to phase you out of guest status for the occasion. You’re family now and the men in this family all will know how to cook, as I decided just now. I’m too old to do this all alone, Katara’s working, and Kanna is too busy with her girlfriend. And, well, Hakoda can only really manage grilling and boiling eggs. And we’re gonna work on that, Mister.” Bato said with an elbow to Hakoda’s side.
“I will say, Dad boils a pretty mean egg,” Sokka said. When Hakoda looked at him, his attention was fixed on the dumpling in his hands.
“His grilled eggs suck, though,” Toph shot in, nimble fingers working away at a garlic clove.
“He meant I can grill, in general,” Hakoda said, only a little miffed. He snuck a peek at Toph’s garlic peeling technique; their finished pile was much bigger than Hakoda's.
“You wouldn’t know that from the time he actually grilled eggs ,” Katara clarified for Zuko.
“He had to try, for science,” Sokka said. This time, when Hakoda looked at him, Sokka was looking back with a small smile. A bit of the uncertainty in Hakoda’s chest unwound.
Bato hefted up the plate of dumplings.
“Katara,” he said. She looked up from where she was already beginning to clean up the flour from rolling. “I’m putting you on Sauce Duty. Hakoda, go start the grill.”
Bato was proud of the party. Not that ‘party’ had been anywhere remotely on his mind when he woke up that morning, but what was he if not adaptable?
The chive dumplings had been a highlight. That recipe was a crowd pleaser, deceptively delicious despite its five ingredients, the kind of thing he would bring to a potluck he had forgotten until the day of. He couldn’t take credit for the toothsome thickness of the wrappers, nor the airtight seams, and not even the perfect dice of the chives. But the way they came out steamed to perfection with expertly browned bottoms? All him.
The salmon went onto the grill seasoned with a paste of ginger, garlic, cilantro, and spicy mustard and came off wonderfully moist and browned. Bato decided to take credit for Hakoda’s grilling, given the circumstances.
He was especially proud of dessert: a yuzu curd tart with a ginger snap crust, topped with bilberry compote. Just 2 hours in the fridge had been enough setting time, thankfully. They had dessert with golden oolong, the whole party having moved to the backyard to enjoy the sunset and then the cozy dusk air.
By that point of the day the mood had settled into something gentle, Kanna resting her head on Yagoda’s shoulder and Yagoda stroking her hair, Hakoda sipping the tea in his one hand and gently kneading Bato’s shoulder with the other, Aang lazily braiding a lock of Katara’s hair, Iroh scrolling through the album of Zuko’s portfolio pieces and making him explain each one again, Toph jabbing Sokka in the ribs with their big toe everytime he began dozing off into his half-finished tart slice.
“I think it’s time for you to go to bed,” Zuko murmured when Toph’s latest jab mostly succeeded at thrusting Sokka into his side. Sokka gave an incoherent noise of agreement as Zuko pulled him up and onto his crutches. He woke up enough to plant a kiss on the top of Zuko’s head once he was upright and managed to wish everyone a good night, but beyond that Sokka more or less made his way inside with his eyes closed and with Zuko playing interference with any potential tripping risks.
Sokka’s departure set the rest of the group into quiet motion. Plates were cleared into the larger compost bin and stacked, tea leaves thrown into the brush, a carpool was negotiated, and Hakoda found himself in the kitchen with Iroh, washing the dishes that Iroh would dry.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Hakoda said. If Bato weren’t distributing leftovers and goodbyes, he would be appalled to see that the guest of honor was allowed anywhere near the clean up.
“Many hands make quick work,” Iroh said with a tilt of the head. “And I was wondering. How long has Zuko been staying here?”
“About three months now,” Hakoda replied.
Iroh hummed. Minutes passed as he dried and stacked plates, finding their spots in the cabinets with little direction. Hakoda soaped the dumpling pan a second time, hoping to clear the residual grease.
“I became Zuko’s guardian when he was 13,” Iroh said, so suddenly that Hakoda only just managed to not jump. “Since that moment, I have considered him my own son. Coming from his father’s house, he had many things to work through. And when he went back to his father’s house, I was worried he never would. In fact, I had been told he was dead.” Iroh huffed. “Not from the most reputable source, clearly, but I was not sure I would ever see him again. Today has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. I am glad to see that he has grown so much. My heart hurts, though, to see that he still cannot feel comfortable even in a place such as this.”
Hakoda rinsed the pan in his hands, trying to figure out the best way to put it.
“That’s on me," he said, figuring any way but blunt would be dishonest. 'We… did not get along, for most of the summer. I think it will be a while, if he ever does get comfortable around me. When it’s just him and Sokka, though, he’s like a whole different person. He seems very happy, then. Now that I’m not overlooking it, it’s clear that he’s done a lot of growing. You should be proud.”
Iroh gave him a long look with sharp eyes, before exhaling softly. An edge Hakoda hadn't realized was there dissolved.
“I am proud. Almost more so than I can bear. And I am glad that you see the error of your ways.
“I was worried about stepping on your toes, actually.”
“About?”
“I am going to ask Zuko if he would like to spend the night at my place. He could come and go as he pleases, of course. But I would like to have him close, if just for tonight.”
Hakoda nodded.
"I'm not exactly the leading authority, but I think Zuko would really like that. I’ll let Sokka know if he isn’t back before he wakes up."
“Did you have a good birthday?” Sokka barely managed to mumble, sprawled out on his back with an arm thrown over his eyes. It wasn’t bright enough in the room to call for it, but Zuko wouldn’t deny him the drama.
“Probably the best I’ve ever had,” Zuko replied honestly. He looked at Sokka, considering the merit of trying to dress him for bed before deciding that tossing a blanket over him would do it. Zuko couldn’t count the number of times he had seen Sokka sleep in blue jeans, surely his Day Sweatpants wouldn’t be a problem.
“My mom called, actually,” Zuko continued, sitting on the edge of the bed by Sokka’s feet.
An elbow lifted by a couple inches, enough for one of Sokka’s eyes to peek out.
“How’d that go?” he asked, marginally more awake.
“Good,” Zuko said, rubbing a thumb over Sokka’s intact ankle. “She sang to me.”
Sokka gave a sleepy hum and then a settling-in kind of shimmy.
“Good,” he said, though it sounded more like ‘gub’.
“G’night, Sokka,” Zuko said with a huff of laughter and a light squeeze of his ankle. He turned to the door, briefly, before returning to Sokka’s side. He leaned down and misjudged his target a bit, so that it was Sokka’s left eyebrow that received a kiss. “I love you, too.”
Sokka mumbled back something that included “Sweet Tea” or “Sweetie” or even, actually, “Sweeby”. Zuko snorted another laugh through his nose before heading back downstairs.
“I refreshed your room, earlier today. I imagine that you’re quite tired, given your feat in the forest. How about you go to bed, and we can talk more in the morning?” Iroh said, pushing open the apartment door. It creaked louder than in Zuko’s memories.
“That was days ago, Uncle,” Zuko said, toeing his shoes off next to the door.
“And yet you still wince when you think no one is looking, how curious,” Iroh mused. He was already halfway to the kitchen. “Though if you are claiming you are not tired, I think I could also use a nightcap. How does lavender sound?”
Zuko followed his uncle, weaving the familiar path through their home.
“That sounds delicious,” he said, resting his lower back against the counter.
Iroh began filling the kettle at the sink. It scraped the iron grating on the stove as he set it down and it took the burner a couple clicks until it came alight with blue flame. He opened the cabinet and plucked the jar of lavender flowers out.
“Was the shop ok without you today?” Zuko asked. He stifled a yawn.
“We close around dinner time, usually. Ming is a very capable employee, I’m sure she had no trouble closing tonight.”
“She?” Zuko blinked, a smile coming onto his face. “Good for Ming.”
“You know, she told me that it was you that gave her the courage to come out. She was always very fond of you. You should come visit with her, before you leave for school again.”
The kitchen felt small with the two of them standing in it. This was strange to Zuko. Often the kitchen had felt claustrophobic, when he was younger, with or without Iroh's presence, but the actual size had taken on a larger form in his memory. He’d stopped growing in highschool, and surely was generally smaller since back then, but something about the distance of a few years made the walls feel drawn in, cozy.
He watched the back of Iroh’s head, the bald spot larger now, as he went through the motions of preparing the teapot. Iroh caught onto the silence, turning with a raised eyebrow.
“What did you mean, when you said you thought you’d lost me forever?” Zuko asked.
Iroh turned off the stove just as the kettle gave the first note of its whistle. He placed the steeping basket in the pot, poured the water, and placed the lid over the pot opening. Already, lavender was in the air.
“I meant that when I saw your sister, when she was hospitalized, she told me that your father had killed you. She was hospitalized,” Iroh clarified at Zuko’s facial reaction, “for her mental health. Which may explain why she told me–” Iroh took a deep breath, “--you had been strangled to death.”
“I don’t understand,” Zuko said after a long moment of peering into Iroh’s tired, lined eyes. He gave Zuko a sad smile.
“Azula has not been well for some time,” he began, but Zuko shook his head sharply.
“No, that’s– not. I don’t know why she said I died . He did that, what she said. But she resuscitated me. She knows I didn’t die.”
Iroh stared at him. It didn't seem like he was breathing at all.
Words pushed at Zuko's chest, so sudden he was breathless with them. They came out on the heels of a sob.
“You were right. You were so right, I should've listened to you.” Zuko’s breath hitched. He continued in a near hiss. “He was so much worse. I'm sorry, Uncle–”
Iroh reeled Zuko in for a hug, interrupting his apology for the second time that day. This one was just as tight, but a different kind of desperate.
“There is nothing for you to apologize for. I should have never let you go back.”
Zuko laughed wetly.
“You didn't 'let' me do anything, I was the one who left you .”
“You were a child, Zuko. Whatever I did that made you think you could not stay with me, that is on me as an adult.”
Zuko pushed back enough to look Iroh in the face.
“You didn’t do anything like that. I– you’ve always said this. I don’t think ahead. I didn’t, then. I just thought as far as him taking me back, I didn’t think about what being back meant. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with what he put me through.”
Iroh placed his hands on Zuko’s shoulders. Despite the wetness in his own eyes, he smiled.
“Then maybe we can agree that the only one at fault is him, and leave it at that. You are back with me now, that is all I care about.”
It turns out that the steeping time for lavender tea is exactly the length of one cathartic cry.
---
Hakoda came down in the morning, half expecting to see Zuko at the kitchen table. He’d managed to remind himself of Zuko’s present location, so he jumped when there was someone sitting there after all.
It was Sokka. He had an open box of leftovers from the lunchette in front of him, the mackerel and pickled daikon, but he was only really picking at it. Sokka brought his eyes up to meet Hakoda’s and they both paused like that.
Hakoda broke the standoff, stepping further into the kitchen to fetch water from the sink. He poured two glasses, set one down in front of Sokka, and sat in the seat across from him.
The intermediate silence was short.
“Remember when you put two fishhooks in your thumb?” Hakoda asked, voice still rough despite the water he’d sipped.
“Yeah,” Sokka frowned and nodded. “We just talked about that like, three days ago.”
Hakoda nodded back and sighed. He ran a hand through his unbrushed hair.
“It was like that, I think. Something painful happens and so it has to mean something, you don’t want to forget it. Or waste it. So you do the next drastic thing, even if it ends up hurting just as bad. And that becomes another big thing that you can’t let go of. And then they keep just stacking up.”
“It’s called the Sunk Cost Fallacy,” Sokka said when Hakoda paused for a second.
Hakoda snapped his fingers.
“Yes, that.” He took a deep breath. “I have many regrets, with you and your sister. There's so much of your lives I've missed out on, because I made a mistake. And so many things I wish I could've protected you from, that I hated to see you suffer from. I didn't want to let go of what had happened with Zuko when you were in high school, because I wanted there to be a way to protect you from it I think, the way I couldn't before. And all that did was push you away from me. Now there's more I'm missing out on and that's my fault, again. Sokka, I'm–” Hakoda swallowed. “I'm so sorry. I know that doesn't take anything that I did back, but I'm ashamed of my behavior.” Hakoda paused for a deep breath. Sokka blinked back at him with wet eyes. “I understand, if you maybe don't want to come back home as much from now on. But, I love you, and I'm proud of you, and I'm always here if you need me. It's important to me that you know that.”
Sokka scrubbed the heel of his palm across his eyes.
“It's not that I don't want to come back home anymore. I just wanted you to stop being a dick,” Sokka said.
Hakoda snorted.
“And I wanted you to be cool with Zuko. 'Cause I love him.” Sokka met Hakoda's eyes with an even gaze. “And he’s been through a lot, I think that’s pretty obvious. He shouldn’t have to go through what he did with his family again. And in the kitchen after the festival, and at the cabin, you were scary . I’ve never been afraid of you before and I barely recognized you, then. I don’t ever want to be the reason Zuko’s afraid, however directly or indirectly. So you can’t ever do anything like that ever again.”
Hakoda nodded, throat stopped up.
Sokka looked down at his own hands, clenched around his chopsticks. Hakoda cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry I scared you, too. I never wanted you kids to have a reason to be afraid of me.”
Sokka gave a half smile and a weak shrug.
“I know, Dad.”
They sat in silence until Bato came into the kitchen. Hakoda took his arrival as a cue to begin getting breakfast together.
“Wait,” Sokka said while eyeing Bato with a raised brow. “You’re here? Then where’s Zuko?”
“Oh, he went back with Iroh,” Hakoda said, squinting at the burner when it took a couple tries to catch. He fiddled with the stove a bit until Bato slapped his shoulder. Hakoda turned, frowning, and came up short when he saw tears gathering in Sokka’s eyes again.
“Whats wrong? Are you hurting?” he asked urgently. Bato stepped around the table and crouched down next to Sokka.
“No, I-- it's fine I'm fine I'm just tired. Seriously it's nothing,” Sokka said, pushing tears off of his cheeks with flat palms. Bato caught Hakoda's eye and jerked his head, banishing Hakoda to the living room.
He stood there, somewhat listless and entirely baffled. It was only his proximity to the front door that let him hear a timid knock.
Hakoda threw open the door with far more vigor than intended, and on the other side Zuko jumped at the swing and the mania that Hakoda was sure was in his eyes. Regardless, Zuko gave a tentative smile.
“Good morning,” he said. He presented the massive thermos and cloth-wrapped box in his hands. “My uncle sent ginseng and cookies.”
Hakoda stepped to the side.
“I think you're needed in the kitchen.”
Zuko's brow furrowed and he hurried, neatly depositing his shoes midstep. Hakoda listened from the hall.
“Zuko?”
“Hey, good-- why are you crying ?”
“I thought you were dumping me,” Sokka wailed.
“I was gone for eight hours ,” Zuko replied with an edge of panic in his voice.
“You didn’t say anything! You just left!”
“You were asleep!”
“Well you-- oh are these cookies?”
“Yes but, ignore them right now. I told you, I'm not going anywhere Sokka.”
Hakoda leaned into the living room, just enough to see the scene in the kitchen. Zuko had Sokka's cheeks squished between his hands. It was hard to tell, from the distance, but Zuko's facial expression was either angry or mortified.
“ I love you ,” Zuko said. His immediate, furious blush made a strong argument for both emotions.
Hakoda leaned back into the hall, figuring privacy was the better bet. Bato joined him seconds later, rubbing his forehead. He gave Hakoda a look, one that said: kids .
The kissing noises got to be a bit much quite quickly, so Hakoda decided on a tactical retreat.
He headed out the front door on the assumption that the boys wouldn’t be able to maneuver outside easily. Bato followed, his steps sounding just behind Hakoda’s. They stopped together, in the backyard but out of view of the kitchen windows. Having fled the romantic comedy fleshing out in the kitchen, Hakoda was just about to turn and suggest some light weeding when Bato hugged him from behind, long forearms crossing over his ribs and pulling him into Bato’s front. When he nuzzled his face into the top of Hakoda’s head, his hair tickled Hakoda’s cheekbones.
“Thank you,” Bato said, his voice warming Hakoda’s scalp and rumbling into his back.
“For me getting my shit together?” Hakoda asked, resting his hands over Bato’s wrists.
“Yes,” Bato whispered emphatically. “Thank you for listening, and working on this.”
Hakoda nodded, a sudden sting in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I owe you a way, way longer apology, I know. Let me know when you’re ready to hear it.”
Bato nodded.
“Some foot rubs too, you owe. Maybe a spa day,” Bato mused.
“A spa day could be arranged. After a couple pay checks, maybe.”
“Hmm. You could also just run me a bath sometime soon.”
“That, I can definitely do,” Hakoda said, turning in Bato’s arms and reaching out for his waist.
“A bubble bath. And put some dried lemon balm in it,” Bato murmured.
“That’s a pain to get out of the drain.”
Bato squeezed Hakoda tighter.
“That’s why you’d be the one doing it.”
---
“This isn’t going to work.”
“No, listen–” Zuko countered, but Hakoda cut him off with a shake of his head. Zuko gave a growl of frustration in response.
“This again?” Bato asked, exhaustion clear in his voice. “I thought we were past this, Hakoda.”
“ And I thought we’d settled on taking two cars .”
“The truck isn’t a car, it’s a truck , and it’s supposed to rain soon. We can’t put the luggage in the truckbed,” Zuko repeated.
“And we also can’t fit these suitcases into the hatchback. I wouldn’t be able to see out of the rearview.”
“You could just stick your head out the window when you need to look back?” Zuko suggested, like it was obvious. Hakoda and Bato gave him a short stare.
“So this is what Sokka meant, about you being a bad driver,” Bato said.
“I was actually talking about him jerking the steering wheel like a kid learning to ride a bike, when he’s nervous,” Sokka chimed in from the front door, too tired to crutch his way down the gravel but too bored to sit this one out.
“I do not–,” Zuko started, though Sokka had other plans.
“Ok, more like someone trying to land us in a ditch.”
“I’ve never even had an accident.”
“That’s not for lack of trying. Also– the side view mirrors? Those exist, there’s no reason you should be sticking your head out the window to look back .”
“There is if you’re reversing!”
“No,” Hakoda said, “that’s when you’re supposed to turn and look out the rear windshield, which I can’t do with the entire thing blocked with suitcases.”
“We can just put a tarp over the luggage in the truck bed,” Bato said flatly.
“Finally, a sensible solution.” Sokka snapped his fingers and pointed. “Bato, don’t let Zuko take over driving.”
“You know what, Sokka,” Zuko shot back, “your mustache looks like Haru’s.”
Sokka gasped.
“I can’t believe it, you’re relying on violence again. C’mere, I’ll heal your heart with the power of love.” Sokka proceeded to make the ugliest kissy face ever seen.
“I was looking forward to driving you, Sokka, if only to get ten hours of peace while you napped the whole way,” Bato said gravely. “But now I’m seriously considering just having you shipped up on a cargo plane.”
“Seconded,” Zuko said.
Sokka finally gave up on his wobbly stance in the doorway. He hopped out onto the front landing and lowered himself to a seat there.
“First of all, rude. Second of all, I thought I was riding with Dad.”
“My legs are too long for your truck, and your cast needs to be elevated. You’re with me in the car, Zuko and Hakoda are taking the truck.”
Sokka paused. They all did; it was a family exercise on slogging through an awkward lull.
“But Dad said we could stop for ice cream at that place right on the coast of the mainland,” Sokka whined, opting for comic relief.
Zuko heaved one piece of luggage, then the other into the truck bed. Bato immediately began lashing the tarp over it.
“Well,” Hakoda said, “I suppose I’ll have to take Zuko instead.”
Sokka squacked. Zuko shrugged and smirked at him.
“That’s rough, babe.”
Sokka couldn’t keep up the false indignation for longer than a few seconds. He deserved it, he supposed.
The past couple of weeks had found him on the worn down loveseat that sat right by the kitchen door of the Jasmine Dragon, which put him close enough to the counter that he could keep up conversation all day with whoever was working.
Zuko put a lot of effort into pretending to be annoyed while serving but he would spend about half of his shifts in the armchair right across from the loveseat, returning Sokka's over-the-top flirtations.
Iroh, on the other hand, was a good match for keeping up hours-long conversation half-shouted across the room. The man was always on the move, pouring and playing pai sho and flirting even more horrifically than Sokka with just about every old lady who stepped through the doors.
Even Ming was up for chit chat while steeping her brews. She gave commentary on Sokka's school books whenever she stopped by his little table and dropped off free pastries on the sly, not that anyone would have called her out on it otherwise. "The Friends and Family Discount", Iroh called it, with enough emphasis on the 'Family' that it made Zuko blush every time.
He used the same phrase when Kanna and Yagoda dropped by for early morning dates, when Bato swung through to procrastinate on his writing by exchanging some of Sokka’s studying materials, and when Toph and Aang came in to bring the volume of the little shop up by about ten notches. He also said it when he handed Hakoda a cup of strong tea every morning when he was dropping Sokka off.
See, for the sake of space and comfortability and years of catch up that were in order, Zuko spent those last couple weeks of summer sleeping in his old bedroom. Sokka had, surely by some divine act (or maybe because he was missing his favorite sentient body pillow), gotten into the habit of waking up early enough to catch a ride to the Jasmine Dragon in the mornings from Hakoda while he made his way to work. But the spirits couldn’t have their hands in everything, so the first ungainly steps Sokka and Hakoda made past a summer spent simmering in resentment were made with their own feet. They made them, though, crutches and tense silences and all.
Sokka had actually been looking forward, a bit, to the longer drive up to school with his dad. It felt efficient, just jamming in all the requisite time it would take to build back their relationship. As it was, he was taking notes on Bato’s impressive memory for oldies. Bato’s rumbling hum settled Sokka into the forseen nap.
He thought about the potholes in the road as they drove through town, the rattle they knocked through his leg. He blinked. He thought about the mimosa trees that flew past and their seed pods, how they used to be the pink flowers Gran Gran would pull down to steep in syrup. He blinked longer. He thought about Katara, pretending she wasn’t crying, hugging him goodbye and hugging Zuko just as long.
He blinked his eyes open in the evening. Bato’s face was illuminated by passing headlights and the rest of what the sun had to give for the day. The mountains were around them like a bowl, which meant they were close.
Bato glanced at Sokka from the corner of his eye.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. That was Hakoda on the phone. He and Zuko are just about there, ten minutes ahead.”
“So they didn’t kill each other. That’s good. And you didn’t wake me, unless you count how you just spent ten seconds on the rumble strip,” Sokka said, sitting up and trying to stretch the crick out of his back.
Bato snorted and reached over to ruffle Sokka’s hair. He didn’t bat the hand away, his wolftail was already surely long lost from his sleeping.
“They did stop for ice cream,” Bato said. “Hakoda says Zuko got some pints to put on ice for you.”
Sokka hummed. His lids still felt heavy. And the sky was already so dark, almost like he should be asleep. What could another ten minutes hurt?
“I gotta say, that really is some boy that you have,” Bato said, voice from somewhere in the dark blue car interior, distinct from the searing, fading orange hugging the mountain tops.
“Yeah, I know,” Sokka replied, smacking his lips and sinking back into his seat.
He smiled. He blinked.
Everything would still be there when he woke up again.