Chapter Text
As with all of the impulsive decisions he’s made in his seventeen years of life, Zuko wishes he could say he had good intentions.
But he’s learned, over time, that he’s a selfish creature by nature. He always wants what he can’t have—his father’s approval, his sister’s talent, a single sliver of his nonexistent honor. He’d wanted to capture the Avatar, and that had gotten his ass kicked across the globe. He’d wanted to return to his life as Crown Prince, and then stormed out weeks later with the aftershocks of his father’s lightning bouncing around in his veins. He’d wanted to make his uncle proud, and he hadn’t even been able to break him out of the jail that he’d gotten him stuck in in the first place.
And now...and now, once again, he wants something he knows in his heart of hearts that he simply cannot have; something that he shouldn’t even want in the first place.
Someone.
So yes, Zuko wishes he could say his intentions are good. He wishes that he’d told Sokka about the Boiling Rock in a sense of comradery, and that he’d volunteered on this suicide mission because it was simply the right thing to do.
But Zuko, it seems, never learns. He’s lost and regained his honor so many times he’s not sure he even had it to begin with. And this time? This time is no different. He’s still seeking affection that he doesn’t deserve, knowing full well that there isn’t a light waiting for him at the end of the tunnel.
He wants, he tries, he fails, and he gets hurt; that’s how it’s always gone, and that’s how it will always go. He refuses to let himself get his hopes up, because he knows, he knows how this ends, and he probably deserves it for all the shit he’s done.
He can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, getting hurt by Sokka is better than nothing at all.
Sokka is the first to break the silence on the war balloon, and Zuko really, really wishes he hadn’t.
“Pretty clouds.”
Zuko blinks. What is he supposed to say to that? And why is Sokka staring at him? Do they not practice the virtue of peace and quiet on that flying bison?
“Yeah...fluffy,” Zuko eventually replies, turning back to the tank of flames he’s tending to. He shoots another one in, more out of awkwardness than necessity. Spirits know he’s not cut out for this whole “small talk” thing.
Sokka whistles, and Zuko frowns. “What?”
“What? Oh, I didn't say anything.” He’s quiet for a moment, and Zuko thinks that maybe, just maybe , he can survive this journey without an insurmountable headache.
“You know, a friend of mine actually designed these war balloons.”
Nevermind.
“No kidding?”
“Yep, a balloon...but for war.”
Agni, was this what it felt like talking to him? How did Uncle survive these stilted conversations for three years?
Besides, in all the time since he’s met Sokka, he’s never heard him sound this nervous—not even when Zuko had rolled up to his doorstep and threatened his entire village (which, yeah, not Zuko’s best moment).
Maybe the awkwardness came from the newness of their friendship. Maybe he just wasn’t totally comfortable around the guy who once, as previously mentioned, threatened his entire village.
Or maybe it’s because Sokka wants to be something other than friends. Maybe he also feels that flutter in his stomach when they’re near one another, or hears his heart trying to escape his chest cavity when they spar for reasons other than wartime calisthenics. Maybe he—
No. Maybe he nothing. Zuko knows these thoughts, this part of him, is traitorous. He’s good at squashing them down, smothering them in the flames that live just beneath his skin.
“If there's one thing my dad's good at,” he finally manages to bite out, “it's war.”
“Yeah, it seems to run in the family.”
Zuko jerks his head up at that to see that, wonderful, Sokka’s still looking at him . He can’t help but flush, and tries to convince himself it’s due to anger.
“Hey, hold on,” he says. “Not everyone in my family is like that.”
Sokka holds his hands up in innocence. “I know, I know, you've changed.”
Zuko looks down at the floor, at the shoes worth more than all the clothes he and Uncle owned combined during their time as refugees.
“I meant my uncle. He was more of a father to me.” Zuko pauses, frowning. “And I really let him down.”
He stiffens as Sokka rests his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I think your uncle would be proud of you. Leaving your home to come help us? That's hard.”
Zuko stares at him, at those deep blue eyes that he could get lost in and never want to leave. He swallows, mouth suddenly bone dry. “It wasn't that hard.”
Sokka pulls back, eyebrows raised. Zuko tries to convince himself he doesn’t miss the contact. “Really? You didn't leave behind anyone you cared about?”
A part of Zuko wants to tell the truth. He wants to say no, not really. He wants to say that his thoughts have been preoccupied with Sokka every day since leaving Ba Sing Se, and that he brought those traitorous, traitorous desires back home with him.
But he’d promised himself, the second he felt those... feelings, that Sokka could never, ever know, especially now that he was actually part of Team Avatar. It wasn’t like there were any other firebenders lining up to commit treason and train Aang.
(It wasn’t like Zuko had any other friends left waiting for him.)
“Well, I did have a girlfriend. Mai.” The words hurt coming out, and he has to actively force his face to remain neutral.
Sokka smirks, and Zuko’s stomach definitely doesn’t flip. (At all.) “That gloomy girl who sighs a lot?”
“Yeah.” He tries for a smile, though it quickly falls. “Everyone in the Fire Nation thinks I'm a traitor. I couldn't drag her into it.”
This part, at least, is true; because he still cares about Mai, even if he hasn’t liked her as more than a friend in years. (Maybe he never did.)
“My first girlfriend turned into the moon.”
Zuko’s mind fritzes into overdrive, half stuck in a confused loop of what the actual fuck? and half in a self-destructive reminder that see, Sokka’s straight, give it up!
The only words that manage to escape the jumble in his brain are, “That’s rough, buddy.”
Yeah, he hates himself sometimes, too.
The plan was stupid.
He’d agreed to it, of course, because he craved any smidgen of happiness from Sokka, but it was stupid nonetheless.
In the course of an hour, he’d managed to lose Sokka, thoroughly embarrass himself in front of an entire breakroom of guards, and nearly blow his cover multiple times. Then, to top it all off, it turned out that Sokka’s father wasn’t even there.
Zuko knows with utmost certainty that they’re going to get caught. He knows it like he knows the sky is blue, and his sister is a nutcase, and the Avatar should probably start reaching out to whoever Jeong-Jeong is because there’s no situation in which Zuko gets out of this not in chains.
(If the Spirits are kind, Sokka will make it out unscathed. If the Spirits are kind, it will only be Zuko’s corpse sent back to the Caldera to be paraded through the streets.)
(Your sister was born lucky, and you were lucky to be born.)
(Unfortunately, the Spirits have never held Zuko in very high regard.)
Zuko paces the balcony, staring out at the sea of maroon in the yard. So many prisoners, and yet not one of them is Sokka’s dad? Maybe the guards had lied about the lack of Water Tribe inmates. If he could just find Sokka, they could play a twisted game of I-Spy and be on their merry way. (After they somehow formulate an escape plan, of course.)
Another guard emerges from inside the tower, and Zuko cautiously approaches. “Hey there, fellow guard. How goes it?”
There’s a moment of silence, and Zuko has just enough time to think about how he’d singlehandedly managed to fuck the whole plan up before the guard is lifting the visor of their helmet to reveal a face that Zuko definitely doesn’t see in his dreams.
“Zuko?”
Zuko is quick to shush him, glancing around to make sure no one heard him. “Do you want to get us caught? Because screaming the name of the traitor Crown Prince is one way to do it.”
Sokka visibly deflates, and Zuko feels a pang of guilt. What he says next only serves to make him feel worse. “Listen, I asked around the lounge. There are no Water Tribe prisoners. I’m afraid your father’s not here.”
There’s no mistaking the sheer devastation in Sokka’s eyes, and Zuko removes his own visor to offer what he hopes is a look of apology. (It’s not easy, what with half his face hardened into a permanent scowl.)
“What? Are you sure? Did you double-check?”
“Yeah,” Zuko says softly. “I’m sure.”
Sokka bites his lip, face scrunching up, before whirling around and banging his fist against the wall. “Fuck!”
“I’m really sorry, Sokka.”
He wants to put his hand on Sokka’s shoulder, to give him that same comfort he’d extended to Zuko on the now-sunken war balloon.
“So we came all this way for nothing?” Sokka sighs, pressing his forehead against the wall. “I failed...again.”
Zuko takes a hesitant step forward. He’s close enough to touch Sokka; his arm trembles as he holds it out.
“Listen, I…” The words die in Zuko’s throat the second Sokka’s gaze lands on him. He feels pinned to the spot, like he’s going to be cut up and picked apart piece by piece. (He thinks his heart may explode before Sokka’s eyes even manage to bore into it.)
Then Sokka blinks, and Zuko realizes with a rush of embarrassment that he’s standing there, staring at his friend, with his arm out like an idiot. He quickly folds it behind his back, adopting the military posture he wears like a second skin.
He racks his brain for something smart to say, maybe one of Uncle’s proverbs. They may be ridiculous, but even an extended metaphor about tea is better than admitting to his friend, his very straight and uninterested friend, that he was thinking about what his lips might feel like.
“Maybe we haven’t failed after all!”
Zuko turns to see Sokka rush towards the railing, grinning. Did Uncle’s sayings have psychic powers or something?
“Look!” Sokka says, pointing into the yard. “It’s Suki!”
Zuko squints, trying to parse out anyone even remotely familiar in the mess of inmates. “Who?”
“You know, Suki,” Sokka repeats, as if that helps. “Head of the Kyoshi Warriors.”
He pantomimes opening a fan, and Zuko realizes with a sinking feeling that if he has met this girl, they were definitely not on good terms.
“She kissed me,” Sokka says with a dreamy sigh, leaning onto his elbows. “Right before we left. Because, you know, you were chasing us.”
“Uh, sorry.” He hopes it sounds sincere, or at least not like he’s currently wishing he’d chased Team Avatar off even sooner. “You should go talk to her.”
The words taste like shards of glass on his tongue, but the smile Sokka gives him is almost worth it.