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how to avoid Certain Death (and gain a father in the process)

Summary:

See, the thing is— Agni fucking damnit— Zuko doesn’t regret helping Sokka rescue Hakoda from Boiling Rock. It was a step in the right direction, a display of loyalty, a step towards forgiveness. (Zuko doesn’t pale at the thought of loyalty. He doesn’t. He’s just tired, is all, tired and possibly dehydrated.)

However. He will concede that he may have inadvertently fucked himself over, because in the days and weeks after the rescue, Hakoda won’t stop looking at him with something like disappointment in his eyes. That’s not good. It’s really not good, actually, and in fact, Zuko might as well be dead where he stands. Well. He’s had a good run. Not really, but it’s easier if that’s what he tells himself. If he’s lucky, it won’t be too hard to find another firebending teacher for Aang, and—

Oh Agni. Oh fuck. He’s coming over. Smile, Zuko, smile for Agni’s sake, chin up, back straight, head empty, no thought, only respect, respect and survival, it’s going to be fine—

“Hey there. You seem a little pale, are you alright?”

It takes everything Zuko has to suppress a nervous laugh. He is really and truly fucked.

Notes:

it’s been 84 years. here you go

Chapter 1: the one where Zuko swears

Chapter Text

The first time Hakoda meets Zuko, everything falls into place.

He’d heard the stories. Of course he’d heard the stories, who hadn’t? In such a war-ravaged world, gossip was often delivered alongside news of the war, and real events were bent and twisted into larger-than-life propaganda, a rallying cry to the broken citizens of the world to fight back against the Fire Nation, because really, what kind of fucking monsters could do something so horrible?

Hakoda wasn’t one to believe the stories, but he wasn’t enough of a fool to completely dismiss them, either.

So when Sokka first mentioned an angry firebending Prince, Hakoda pointedly did not ask whether or not the Prince had a scar on his face. He didn’t want to know. It was easier to fight a war when any real perception of the enemy was hidden under a mask of atrocities, but part of Hakoda wasn’t prepared for a reality where the Fire Lord burned his son.

Tui and La. He really just can’t win, can he?

He’s overjoyed to see his son again, and gods be damned if he isn’t relieved at the prospect of finally getting out of the hellscape that is the Fire Nation’s prison system.

And then Sokka tells him that the Prince is there, at Boiling Rock, which. Of course he is. But it’ll be okay. It’s going to be fine. It’s not too big of a problem; it does complicate things, but—

“Actually, he’s on our side now,” says Sokka.

Fuck.

Well, he supposes, there’s always the possibility that the stories were just that.

Even so, when a black-haired, scraggly excuse for a teenage boy jumps into view and starts arguing with Sokka, Hakoda doesn’t look at his face. When they’re out, he tells himself, when they’re out he’ll face the truth. He doesn’t think of Sokka, or Katara, or imagine his children with half their faces lost to flame and ash.

And then they’re out, flying away in a Fire Nation blimp stolen from Zuko’s sister.

Zuko’s sister, who would have killed her brother in a heartbeat. Who almost actually did. In fact, if it hadn’t been for that girl— Mai, Hakoda thinks she was called— they would’ve all burned to death in the boiling lake.

It’s an answer, almost. All he has to do now is look up.

So he does.

Zuko had almost settled in to his life in the Western Air Temple. Don’t get him wrong, it still sucked. Between the damp, cold halls of a place long-dead, Katara’s scathing glare, and the half-inedible food, it was unideal at best. But still, it was the closest thing to a home he’d had in a long time. It was… nice, almost.

So of course, Zuko should’ve seen it coming.

See, the thing is— Agni fucking damnit— Zuko doesn’t regret helping Sokka rescue Hakoda from Boiling Rock. It was a step in the right direction, a display of loyalty, a step towards forgiveness. (Zuko doesn’t pale at the thought of loyalty. He doesn’t. He’s just tired, is all, tired and possibly dehydrated.)

However. He will concede that he may have inadvertently fucked himself over, because in the days and weeks after the rescue, Hakoda won’t stop looking at him with something like disappointment in his eyes. That’s not good. It’s really not good, actually, and in fact, Zuko might as well be dead where he stands. Well. He’s had a good run. Not really, but it’s easier if that’s what he tells himself. If he’s lucky, it won’t be too hard to find another firebending teacher for Aang, and—

Oh Agni. Oh fuck. He’s coming over. Smile, Zuko, smile for Agni’s sake, chin up, back straight, head empty, no thought, only respect, respect and survival, it’s going to be fine—

“Hey there. You seem a little pale, are you alright?”

It takes everything Zuko has to suppress a nervous laugh. He is really and truly fucked. Dead on his feet. Shit. Fuck. Okay. Showtime.

“I’m fine, sir,” Zuko says through a polite smile, praying to the gods he’s got the right balance of humble and strong in his voice. “Can I help you?”

Fuck. There it is, that godsdamned look again. Fuck. Shit. Dick and balls and cock and nuts. Okay, he can get through this. It’s fine. He’s fine.

“No— no,” Hakoda replies, like it’s obvious. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Zuko takes a breath. Okay. It’s not— he’s not fucked up too bad yet. He’s got another chance. He can get it right this time, he’s sure of it. “I promise that I’m alright, sir.”

Hakoda’s eye twitches. Right. That was definitely the wrong answer. Right. Okay. Well, what goes around comes around, and honestly, Zuko deserves a good, solid slap across the face anyway. It’s okay. He has it coming. Don’t tense. Relax. Breathe. He waits for the pain to come.

“You don’t have to call me that.”

What?

Zuko forgets himself in his surprise. He stares, mouth agape, more confused than he’s ever been in his life.

“Sir,” Hakoda clarifies. “You don’t have to call me sir. It’s too… formal.”

Silence. Zuko must be hearing things, surely.

“What should I call you, then?” Zuko tries. He hopes he’s picked the right thing to say this time. He can never tell, not when it really matters, and it’s something that’s come back to bite him in the ass more times than one.

Hakoda smiles. Zuko’s sure he must be hallucinating. What did he have for breakfast? Was it something in the water? Is that feeling in his stomach nausea or anxiety? Could it be both? “Just call me Hakoda. It is my name, after all.”

That’s—

Okay then! Delightful. Zuko’s not even going to question it. He’s still alive, fairly uninjured, and somehow Hakoda doesn’t seem too intent on killing him yet (or worse). That’s a win, in Zuko’s book.

“Of course, s— Hakoda. Is there anything else?” Zuko asks. (He won’t make the mistake of not asking again, no matter how much leeway he is being given.)

Hakoda shakes his head, something unidentifiable in his eyes. “No. I’ll see you around, kid. Take care of yourself.” He lightly pats Zuko on the shoulder and walks away. Just like that.

Just like that!

Zuko loses his shit the second Hakoda’s out of sight.

What the fuck. What the fuck! What the fucking fucking fuck! Holy fucking shit! If there has ever been a person who should be dead, it’s Zuko. Zuko should be very very dead. But he isn’t! He’s not dead, but he should be, and somehow that is delightfully and irrefutably worse! Agni be fucking damned. Okay. Right. Okay.

Zuko’s going to go lie down, because. Well, because he’s earned it. (Not really). What the hell. What the fucking hell! What the fuck is going on?