the art of redirecting lightning

by TheRainbowElectric

Summary:

A realization that’s been lapping at the edges of Sokka’s mind all night finally crashes over him in a wave. “You really hate yourself,” he says slowly, as the cold understanding sinks in.

Zuko’s glare could melt glaciers. “You wouldn’t, if you’d done all the things I’ve done?” he says, which would be fair, except — it’s not just about the things Zuko’s done, is it? It’s also about the things he hasn’t. Zuko hates himself for things that are his fault, and things that aren’t. For who he is, and who he hasn’t managed to be.

And Sokka can see, with sudden, sharp clarity, that if he were to plot the strength of Zuko’s self-hatred alongside the strength of his bending over time, the two lines would hug in almost perfect sync. Which leaves Sokka with only one question: whether someone’s self-loathing could run so deep and unrelenting that it sustains their bending for the better part of a decade.

The night before going in search of Sun Warrior ruins, Zuko starts to doubt that hatred is the source of his bending after all. Sokka helps him figure out what it really is.

Sokka used to pride himself on being able to sleep through anything. He can still fall asleep pretty much on demand. Being Team Avatar’s master strategist is exhausting like that. But you can only be attacked in the dead of night so many times before staying asleep becomes a challenge. 

Which is why Sokka doesn’t miss the footsteps passing his cracked door at spirits-only-know what time of night and the soft click of the door leading outside. 

Sokka rolls over, cursing Zuko — if not for whatever he’s doing, then at least for not waiting to do it until morning. Because here’s the thing. While Aang and Toph seem as firmly convinced that Zuko is on their side now as Katara remains firmly unconvinced, Sokka is firmly on the fence about it.

Is it possible that Zuko is just out on a midnight bathroom run? Sure. But is it also possible that he’s sneaking off to call down more assassins or commit grand theft Appa? Absolutely. And is Sokka going to be able to get a second’s more sleep until he finds out which it is? Obviously not.

Sokka slides Boomerang from beneath his pillow and climbs out of bed. It’s still strange, after so many nights huddled close around the same fire, to have everyone set up in their own rooms around the Air Temple. Katara wouldn’t let Aang sleep on the same landing as Zuko, and she took Toph upstairs with them to keep a foot out for approaching firebenders. So Sokka is pulling Zuko Watch alone on the ground floor. 

Or is it…the most underground floor?

Tui and La, Sokka is tired. Better get this over with. 

He edges out of his room and nudges open the door to the outer landing. At first, it’s too dark to see much of anything. Sokka’s only means of locating Zuko are a few sharp clacks of — flint, Sokka realizes, as sparks flare to life over the dead pit of their fire from earlier tonight. He watches Zuko’s hunched form tend the small flame, feeding it sticks and leaves from a nearby pile until it’s bright enough to illuminate his face. 

Sokka is not impressed, exactly, but definitely surprised. He would have assumed Zuko didn’t carry the tools — or maybe even know how — to start a fire without bending. That’s just the thing about powerful benders, in Sokka’s experience. Geniuses at their craft, and all that. But let’s just say Sokka would pack a life jacket if Aang had to man a sailboat without airbending.

If Sokka had any lingering doubts about Zuko’s lost bending being a trick, then his slow, painstaking care of the fire now would have snuffed them out. Not that Sokka had any real doubts after this afternoon. Once Aang gave up on training and went to mess around with Haru and the Duke, Sokka looped back to where they’d been practicing and, from behind the safety of a hedge, watched Zuko work himself into exhaustion for another hour. 

It was kind of morbidly fascinating, especially since there would be these moments where Zuko seemed to get his bending back. Where he’d manage a fist-sized fireball or an arm’s length of flame, and then recenter himself, only for his next round of forms to produce nothing but smoke. Sokka could almost feel sorry for him — until Zuko caught Sokka spying. At which point Sokka is certain that if Zuko could have been spitting fire, he would have been. His ears were already leaking steam like an overstrained engine. 

Sokka wonders if Zuko is about to give bending another go now, under the privacy of night. But once Zuko has coaxed his fire into a healthy crackle, he walks over to the pool where Appa’s been dozing to escape the Fire Nation heat. Sokka leans farther out the door to keep Zuko in his line of sight. But Appa, at least, doesn’t seem worried. He rumbles softly at the hand Zuko combs through his fur before crouching down to rummage through a bag Sokka half-unpacked yesterday.  

Sokka takes another step outside, ready to catch Zuko out for stealing. But what Zuko pulls from the clutter makes Sokka pause. It’s one of the brushes they picked up to clean Appa when he was shedding his heavy coat. Sokka forgot they even had those. He can’t remember the last time any of them groomed Appa — but that’s exactly what Zuko starts to do.   

Over the last year, Sokka has seen a lot of weird things. Many of them while lost in the Spirit World or high on cactus juice. But the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation bathing the Avatar’s flying bison is right up there among the weirdest. Not only because Appa seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself, flipping over to expose more of his belly to the brush, but because Zuko works with such practiced ease, standing at the edge of the pool and patiently sorting through Appa’s tangles like this is something he does every day. 

When it becomes clear that this is all Zuko came out here to do, Sokka’s suspicion gives way completely to curiosity. He lets the door swing shut behind him — because firebending or no, Sokka’s not dumb enough to startle Zuko up close — and right on cue, Zuko whips around into a defensive pose, brush extended like a dagger.  

“Easy, man,” Sokka says, showing his palms as he approaches. “Just me.” 

Zuko doesn’t break his stance as Sokka steps into the light. “What are you doing out here?” 

“Wondering what you’re doing out here,” Sokka says, stopping a few arm lengths away. “Appa got a hot date I don't know about?” 

Zuko blinks. 

“What’s with bison bath time?” Sokka says.

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Sokka would swear that Zuko goes a little red at that.

“Your bison is filthy,” Zuko snaps. “Don’t you ever clean him?” 

“Yeah,” Sokka says, which is a lie but also irrelevant. “For some reason, though, he keeps getting coated in smoke and ash.” 

Zuko’s jaw twitches, and Sokka expects him to parry back — maybe mock how many times they’ve barely managed to escape the Fire Nation on Appa and luck alone. But Zuko simply cuts his shoulder toward Sokka as he turns back to Appa. “My responsibility to clean him up then, isn’t it?” 

“In the middle of the night?” Sokka says, folding his arms.

Zuko spares Sokka a glance, as if debating whether it’s worth trying harder to make him leave, but then apparently decides, correctly, that it’s not. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Guilty conscience?” Sokka quips. 

Again, he expects Zuko to throw back a complaint about how uncomfortable Air Temple beds are, or how loud Sokka’s snoring is, or something. But instead, Zuko’s shoulders hike up and Sokka catches something pained on the profile of his face. “Obviously,” Zuko says through his teeth. “But that’s not — never mind.” 

Sokka isn’t sure what’s more off-putting, the fact that Zuko just admitted to feeling guilty or that Sokka somehow feels like the bad guy for making him. He remembers what Katara said about Zuko luring her into a false sense of security by making her feel sorry for him, and wonders if that’s what’s happening here. But if luring is what Zuko is going for, he’s doing a terrible job, Sokka thinks, as Zuko rolls his pant legs up to the knee and steps into the pool to skirt around Appa’s other side and escape Sokka’s eye line. 

Well, joke’s on him, because there has never been a “never mind” that Sokka didn’t latch onto like a barnacle-squid grabbing the side of a ship. 

“It’s not what?” Sokka says, rounding the pool to keep interrogating Zuko’s back. 

“Nothing,” Zuko says, carefully working through a knot of fur. 

“Tell me,” Sokka says. “Tell me tell me tell me tell m—”

“Fine,” Zuko says, pivoting to pin Sokka with a glare. “It’s not the reason I couldn’t sleep, okay?” 

Sokka considers this. Considers how to respond. Nice to know all the attempted murder doesn’t keep you up at night, is the first thing that comes to mind. But somehow, Sokka doesn’t think that would get the reaction he’d typically expect. Sokka doesn’t know what to do with a Zuko who keeps dodging instead of firing back. The sudden upper hand makes him uneasy.  

“So…what is the reason?” Sokka says. 

Zuko looks at him like that’s a stupid question — like Zuko hasn’t been stupidly withholding for this entire conversation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Zuko says, heavy with sarcasm. “Maybe knowing that if I don’t get my firebending back, the Avatar won’t have a teacher, will never master all four elements and will probably die at the hands of my father, ushering in the end of the world as we know it?”

There’s…a lot to unpack there. First: Sokka didn’t really appreciate until right now just how fresh the whole looming-apocalypse thing is to Zuko, who just last week probably would have thrown a party over Aang’s defeat. So maybe Sokka can cut him a little slack for freaking out.

But second: “The end of the world doesn’t revolve around you,” Sokka says. “If you really lost your bending for good, we’d find Aang another teacher.” 

“Where?” Zuko demands. “What Fire Nation citizens do you expect to find lining up to help Public Enemy Number One?” 

“Besides you?” Sokka says, arching an eyebrow.

“Technically,” Zuko says, lip curling, “I am no longer a citizen of the Fire Nation.” 

“But you must know some firebenders.” 

“Yeah, and they all consider me Public Enemy Number Two.”

“Hey,” Sokka says. “If anyone gets to be Public Enemy Number Two, it’s me, Toph, or Katara.” 

Zuko makes a frankly offensive noise of dismissal. “You’re forgetting my uncle.”

“Your uncle,” Sokka says, snapping his fingers. “I bet he’d teach Aang.”

Zuko pulls his shoulders forward and ducks his head. “Uncle is gone,” he says tightly. “I don’t know where. I have no way to contact him.” 

Sokka deflates, the familiar resignation settling in that this really is all on them. Impossibly, all on Zuko right now. 

Luckily, Sokka has some experience talking people down from end-of-the-world anxiety. Worse comes to worst, he’ll get Zuko a pillow to scream into. That didn’t work for Aang, but Zuko likes screaming a lot more than Aang does. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Sokka says, aiming for the tone Katara uses when she’s trying to rally someone to her ridiculous idealism. It would be better coming from Katara herself, but she seems to be taking a vacation from ridiculous idealism this week. “Checking out the Sun Warrior ruins is a good plan.” 

“And if we can’t find any?” Zuko says. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Sokka says. “Magical mumbo-jumbo usually finds Aang all on its own.” 

“That still doesn’t guarantee I’d learn anything from them,” Zuko says, “or absorb any of their — ” He holds up finger quotes. “ — ‘super old Sun Warrior energy’ just by standing near them.” 

Sokka narrows his eyes. “This was your idea.” 

“I know, but.” Zuko shoves a frustrated hand through his hair. “You watched me fail to capture the Avatar on every continent. You think I won’t find a way to fail at this too?” 

Sokka blows out a heavy breath. “Look,” he says. “I’m not gonna stand here and comfort you about not managing to kill us. But no one is good at capturing Aang. Trust me, I’ve watched a lot of people try. So that’s not a good measure of success. This mission? Is completely different. It’s purely a firebending thing, and I know you’re a good firebender.” 

“I’m not, though,” Zuko mutters, and that, Sokka decides, is enough of this pity party. 

“Not right now you’re not,” he says, ignoring Zuko’s attempted response. “But once you find a new source that’s not so — ” Sokka wiggles his fingers at Zuko. “ — murder-y, you’ll be throwing fireballs with the best of them again.”

Zuko pulls his lower lip between his teeth, turning the brush over in his hands before saying, so quiet that Sokka almost misses it, “What if that’s not the problem?” 

Sokka frowns. “What do you mean?” 

Zuko hesitates, then says, “I’ve been thinking about it all night, and I don’t know if hate was the source of my bending after all. The only person I’ve ever truly hated is my father, and I hate him now more than ever.” 

“What about Aang?” Sokka says. 

Zuko has the nerve to look confused. “I never hated him.”

“You chased him all over the world,” Sokka says, incredulous. “Two days ago, you would have turned him over to the Fire Lord.” 

“Not because I hated him.” 

Sokka scowls. “So you what, hunted him for sport? For fun?”

Zuko scowls right back. “What part of any of that looked fun to you?” 

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because my father told me to.”

“And that was enough?” 

“It wouldn’t be for you?” 

Sokka opens his mouth, then closes it.

Zuko, to Sokka’s surprise, doesn’t seem to take any particular pleasure in shutting Sokka up. He just wipes a tired hand down his face. “I know it’s no excuse for what I did,” he says. “Going after you and your friends was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

It is deeply weird to hear Zuko apologize. It was the other day, too. But at the time, Sokka was slightly distracted by the word “assassin.” Now, it really hits home that this is probably the only apology Sokka will ever get from the Fire Nation, that while it’s more than he ever expected, it’s still so far from enough — and that now he has to decide what to do with it. 

“You’re trying to make up for what you’ve done,” Sokka says. “That’s what matters.” 

“If I get my bending back,” Zuko says, turning the brush in anxious hands again. 

“Right,” Sokka says. “So walk me through this one more time. You hate your father.” 

Zuko nods.

“Which means that if hate was your source, you’d still be able to bend.” 

Another nod. 

“Which means…”

“There’s something else wrong with my bending,” Zuko says, voice as brittle as summer sea ice, “and I have no idea what it is.” 

Sokka rests his chin on the crook of his thumb and forefinger. “Not necessarily,” he says. “Switching sides still could have disconnected you from your source, whatever it is. An identity crisis that big is bound to mess with your head.” 

Zuko nods. “My last identity crisis gave me a fever for three days.” 

Sokka squints. “Is that a firebending thing?” 

Zuko shrugs. 

“Oooookay. Point is, let’s not rule out you losing your source just yet. If you ask me, that’s still the most likely problem, since there’s clearly nothing wrong with your forms.” 

Zuko’s face colors at the reminder of Sokka watching his training.

“Luckily,” Sokka continues, in case Zuko is gearing up for another round of shouting, “if your source isn’t hate, you may not even need ancient sun ruins to give you a new one. All we have to do is help you reconnect with your old one.”

“But I have no clue what it is,” Zuko says, looking way too miserable for a guy realizing the core of his identity might not be evil after all. 

“I’ll help you figure it out,” Sokka says. 

“You?” Zuko says, skeptical. “But you’re — ”

“The only one around here who does everything without bending, and therefore your best shot at getting anywhere without sun magic?” Sokka says. “Yes. Yes I am.”

Zuko’s eyes widen. “I didn’t mean — ”

“Yeah, you did,” Sokka says, rolling his eyes and walking away. “Come on. If we’re gonna do this, I need caffeine.” 

Sokka heads over to the pile of cookware they’ve collected from around the temple and rummages for the teakettle and pot. He nearly drops both with a squawk when he turns to find Zuko hovering right behind him. 

“Sorry,” Zuko says, catching the kettle before it can clatter to the ground. “I just thought — ” Zuko shoves a small pouch toward Sokka. “Black tea from Uncle’s shop. It’s pretty strong.” 

Sokka stares for a moment, then takes the bag of leaves. “You carry this around with you?”

Zuko glares. “It smells good.” 

Sokka holds it under his nose. It does smell good. “It’s perfect,” he says. “Thanks.”

Zuko’s defensive edge softens into surprise. “Oh. Okay. Good. No problem.”

They look at each other just long enough for it to be awkward before Zuko turns on his heel to carry the kettle over to the fountain, hold it under the cascade, and bring it to the fire. Sokka follows, bemused, and sits down across from where Zuko is putting on the water. He’s once again struck by the sight of Zuko doing such a menial task unasked. Maybe he shouldn’t be, given that Zuko used to work in a tea shop. The Appa thing, though. That still defies explanation. Sokka is about to ask when Zuko cuts in with another, “I’m sorry.” 

Sokka lifts an eyebrow. “For what?” 

“For assuming you couldn’t help me because you’re not a bender,” Zuko says, not looking at Sokka as he finishes setting up the kettle and sits back, propping his feet near the fire to let them dry. 

He looks younger like this, Sokka thinks. Soft sleeping clothes rolled up to the elbows and knees, hair hanging down around his eyes. It’s hard to square this Zuko, the one who apologized — and keeps apologizing — with the severe ponytail in a Fire Navy uniform who drove a warship into Sokka’s home. 

“It’s okay,” Sokka says slowly. “Happens all the time.” 

Zuko’s mouth presses into a grim line. “It shouldn’t,” he says, with surprising heat. “Ty Lee can take down most benders with a single pinkie.” Zuko’s gaze slides off to the side and he adds, seemingly to himself, “Master Piandao could peel me like an orange.” 

“You know Master Piandao?”

Zuko’s eyes flick back to Sokka. “You know Master Piandao?” 

“I trained with him while we were traveling through the Fire Nation,” Sokka says. 

“How?” Zuko says. “I mean, not because you’re — but because you’re — ”

“A Water Tribe peasant?” Sokka says, grinning at Zuko’s grimace. “Piandao says the way of the sword doesn’t belong to any one nation.” 

Zuko snorts, but his hint of a smile is fond. “Unconventional as ever. Did your training involve a lot more arts and crafts than you expected?”

“Yes!” Sokka says. “What was with that?” 

“I don’t know,” Zuko says. “But there’s a scar above Master Piandao’s lip from when I threw a calligraphy pen at him.”

Laughter bursts so sudden and unexpected from Sokka’s chest that Zuko flinches. “Are you serious?” Sokka says.

“Yes,” Zuko says, very seriously. 

Sokka laughs again. “You know you might be the only student who’s ever left a mark on Piandao, right?” 

“Oh.” Zuko looks vaguely pleased by this. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Definitely,” Sokka says, feeling oddly invested in keeping that almost-happiness on Zuko’s face. “It’s cool that you studied sword fighting. Seems like most benders only ever learn, you know, bending.”

Of course that honest attempt at a compliment would make Zuko’s expression shutter. “Most benders only ever need to learn bending,” he says bitterly. “I only trained under Master Piandao because — ”

Zuko cuts himself off, and Sokka is starting to realize he does that kind of a lot. 

“Because?” Sokka nudges Zuko with his foot, but pulls back when Zuko flinches and curls in on himself like a caterpillbug, arms wrapping around his shins to pull his legs close to his chest. 

“Pretty obvious, isn’t it,” Zuko says, mouth mostly hidden behind his knees, “why I’m the type of bender who would need a backup plan.” 

If someone had asked Sokka a few days ago to imagine a conversation with Prince Zuko — not a shouting match, but a real, actual conversation — then Sokka could have guessed that Zuko would be short-tempered and condescending. But Sokka never would have guessed that Zuko would be this short-tempered and condescending toward himself. It makes Sokka itch with that uncomfortable urge to reassure him again. 

“Hey, never knock a backup plan,” Sokka says lightly. “Some of my best schemes have been Plan D’s.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow, which Sokka would take a lot more personally if he’d ever seen Zuko successfully execute a single plan, backup or otherwise. 

“All I’m saying,” Sokka continues, “is that training under Piandao would have been a good idea even if you never lost your bending, and it’ll still be a good idea once we get your bending back.”

Zuko chews his lip. “You think we can?” he says, and if Sokka thought Zuko’s posture made him seem young, that’s nothing compared to the sound of his voice now. 

“Yeah, buddy,” Sokka says gently. “I’m sure we can.” 

Zuko regards Sokka for a long moment, then shifts to sit cross-legged, back straight. “Okay,” he says, resting his hands on his knees. “Where do we start?” 

Sokka never would have thought the sight of this Zuko — the one who charged into a North Pole blizzard with no coat — would make something tight uncoil inside him. But it does. 

“Well,” Sokka says, “we do have three other master benders, like, right here to use as examples.” 

Zuko frowns. “But the original sources of their bending all still exist.” 

“I’m not talking about the original sources of their bending,” Sokka says. “I’m talking about their personal sources of bending.”

Zuko’s head tilts, which Sokka does not find endearing. Does not.

“Appa didn’t turn Aang into an airbender any more than badger-moles made Toph an earthbender,” Sokka says. “And Katara could bend years before she met the moon — ”

“Met the what.” 

“Long story,” Sokka says, waving it away. “The important thing is, Aang, Toph, and Katara’s bending originally came from somewhere inside them. Some source they’ve had since childhood.” 

Sokka strokes his chin, certain this would be easier with his thinking beard on, but equally certain Zuko wouldn’t go for it. “Katara’s source is probably protectiveness,” he says. “That was always her reason to master waterbending. Protecting Southern Water Tribe traditions, protecting our family — ”

“Protecting the Avatar,” Zuko puts in. 

Sokka gives him a look. “I was counting him as family.” 

Zuko averts his eyes.

Sokka plants his hands on the floor behind him to lean back and tip his chin toward the ceiling. “If I had to guess, I’d say Aang’s source is joy,” he says, picturing Aang pulling corkscrews on his glider and skidding around on air scooters. “Bending always comes easiest to him when he’s using it for fun.” And hardest, when he’s using it as a weapon. 

“Toph’s might be connection or independence,” Sokka adds. “She sees the world through earthbending, but that frees her from relying on anyone else.”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating,” Zuko says, in a seemingly genuine attempt to not sound bored, “but what is your point?” 

Sokka inclines his head to look at Zuko. “My point,” he says, “is that I can only guess any of those things because I know Aang, Toph, and Katara.” 

“So?” 

“So,” Sokka says, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees and steeple his fingers. “Tell me about your childhood.”

Zuko lurches back. “What?” 

“Your childhood,” Sokka says. “You know, the one with formative experiences that might have shaped your personal source of firebending? Tell me about it.”

The discomfort on Zuko’s face cannot be overstated. “Um,” he says. “No.”

“No?” Sokka says. 

“No,” Zuko repeats. 

“No to following our one lead for figuring out the source of your firebending,” Sokka says, just to confirm. 

“No,” Zuko confirms. 

Sokka sighs.

“Sorry,” Zuko says, fingers picking at the hem of his pants. “But I don’t think it would help.”

“Why not?” 

Zuko seems intent on looking anywhere but at Sokka. “I wouldn’t really know what to say. I had a pretty normal childhood.”

“You’re literal royalty,” Sokka says. 

“Then you’ve already got a good idea what my childhood was like,” Zuko snaps.

Right, which is why Sokka figured that getting Zuko to reminisce about growing up pampered in an actual palace would be the easiest part of this conversation. But as Sokka’s gaze snags on Zuko’s restless forefinger choking itself on a stray thread, an uncomfortable realization slips under his skin: there might be things that Zuko doesn’t want Sokka to know about his history of firebending. 

Sokka’s been working under the assumption that he’s seen Zuko at his worst. But Sokka has only ever seen Zuko far from his father’s supervision. Zuko can claim to hate his dad as much as he wants, but he was clearly once loyal enough to the throne that he agreed to chase Aang all over the world. What else might Zuko have agreed to do while living under the Fire Lord’s roof?

“Just so we’re clear,” Sokka says, every word measured, “whatever you tell me, I’m not gonna judge you, or tell anyone else. I know you’ve changed, and I have a strict policy of doctor-patient confidentiality.” 

“Doctor — what?” Zuko says, face scrunching up in confusion or suspicion or both. 

“I’m basically the Team Avatar therapist,” Sokka says. “Doctor Sokka, if you will.”  

“I will not.” 

“You’re no fun.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Noted,” Sokka says. “But we’re talking about you.” 

That sucks the wind out of Zuko’s bellows. He hunches down, shoulders drawn up as if Sokka’s attention is a physical threat. 

“Listen,” Sokka says, with every last bit of his patience. “I’m not asking for your deepest, darkest secrets. But if I’m gonna help you, you’re gonna have to give me something. The world depends on it, remember?” 

Zuko seems like he might actually prefer to watch the world go up in flames than open up to Sokka. But under Sokka’s unrelenting eye contact and a complete lack of any better options, he sighs. “All right. What do you want to know?” 

“Let’s start with something easy,” Sokka says. “Tell me about the first time you firebent.” 

Even by the firelight, Sokka can see some of the color drain from Zuko’s face. 

“Or not,” Sokka says quickly. “We could start somewhere else.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko says stiffly, apparently committed to the conversation now that he’s relented to having it. “I just — haven’t thought about that in a long time.” 

The tightness between Zuko’s brows and around his mouth tell Sokka that’s on purpose. So he gives Zuko a minute by checking the water, which, thank the spirits, has come to a boil. As Sokka busies himself steeping leaves, he tries not to let his mind unspool all the unpleasant possibilities for why Zuko might not like thinking about his first time firebending. 

Sokka has just placed the lid back on the teapot when Zuko says, “It was in the gardens.”

Sokka looks up to find Zuko watching the fire, warm light dancing shadows across his face. “At the palace?” he prompts.

Zuko nods. “I was feeding the turtleducklings,” he says, eyes darting briefly to Sokka before settling back on the fire. 

It should be difficult to picture Zuko tossing bread to baby turtleducks. But after watching him with Appa, Sokka can see it: Zuko, maybe five or six, lying on his stomach at the bank of a pond, the way Sokka used to lie belly-down at the lip of the ice to feed penguins — back before Sokka knew that penguins were better fishermen than he’d ever be. 

“Azula wanted to play a game,” Zuko continues. “But I didn’t want to, so she — she grabbed one of the ducklings.”

Sokka’s stomach twists. 

“There was this new firebending trick she’d learned,” Zuko says, words going faint around the edges, “where she could heat up her hands without igniting them.” 

“Spirits,” Sokka mutters. 

Zuko lifts his eyes to meet Sokka’s. “I don’t think she meant to really hurt it,” he says, despite how distant his voice has gone. “She used that trick to annoy me all the time.” 

“Annoy you,” Sokka says, carefully neutral. 

“Yeah. Like if she was losing at tag, heating up her hands to make it sting when she got me. Or if I locked her out of my room, heating up the doorknob so I couldn’t leave.” Zuko shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal. Firebenders don’t burn easily.”

Sokka hopes his automatic glance at Zuko’s scar isn’t as obvious as it feels. “But she was burning the turtleduck.” 

Zuko swallows. “Yeah,” he says, and pulls his legs close again to hook his chin over his knees. “It was making these noises, and — ” Zuko’s voice dissipates like smoke, and for a moment, he’s utterly still, suspended in memory. Then, he shakes his head. “I pushed Azula into the pond to make her drop it,” he says, “and when I did, my hands were on fire. The flames weren’t very big, so Azula was fine, but — yeah. That’s the first time I did any firebending.” 

Sokka allows himself three full seconds to stare at Zuko. “Are you telling me,” he says, “that your bending manifested to save a baby animal?”

“Pretty sure the water saved the turtleduck,” Zuko says, pulling a stick from the pile of kindling to poke at the fire.

“You’re still the one that pushed your sister,” Sokka says.

“I guess,” Zuko says, clearly ready to be done discussing it — and that, right there, is the only reason Sokka could ever believe such an absolutely unbelievable story. Because Zuko looks like he might sooner give up a tooth than one more detail about it. 

“Was the duckling okay?” 

“It lived.” Zuko tosses his stick into the fire. “My mother had the whole nest sent to a neighboring estate.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Zuko says tightly. “They were safer there.” 

“Your sister is terrifying,” Sokka says.

“So is yours,” Zuko retorts. 

“Sometimes,” Sokka says, with pride. “But not like yours.” 

“Azula is…complicated.”

Sokka thinks that’s an interesting way to pronounce deranged. 

It must show on his face, because Zuko lifts a helpless sort of hand. “She’s a bending prodigy. You know what they’re like.” 

Sokka is about to say that none of the bending prodigies he knows have ever tortured any baby animals, but decides that a fact-finding mission might be more useful than a fight, here. He cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean, what they’re like?” 

Zuko squints like he knows Sokka just set a trap, but doesn’t know where to step to avoid it. “You know,” he says slowly. “They don’t realize how dangerous they can be.” 

Sokka is fairly certain that Azula knew exactly how dangerous she could be, even as a kid, especially when Zuko couldn’t even — 

Wait. 

“I thought your sister was younger than you,” Sokka says. 

“She is,” Zuko says. “By two years.” 

“But she started bending before you did?”

Zuko fidgets. “Azula started when she was six. I did when I was ten.”

“Oh.”

Even by non-prodigy standards, Sokka knows ten is — late. He saw kids no older than seven or eight bending snowballs at the North Pole, and Aang talks about playing with benders around the same age at the Southern Air Temple.

“Yeah,” Zuko says, shame rolling off him like heat from a fire. “For a while, they thought I wouldn’t be able to bend at all.” 

Sokka prickles. “And that would be so bad?”

“Yes,” Zuko says. “Benders embody the spirit of the Nation. An heir who couldn’t bend would be worse than an embarrassment. He would threaten the sovereignty of the royal family.”

“So what would have happened,” Sokka says, “if you turned out to be a nonbender?” 

“Azula would have taken my place in line for the throne,” Zuko says. “And the Fire Lord might have gotten rid of me to secure her status as heir.” 

Sokka gapes. “He would have disowned you?”

“That would have been one option,” Zuko says. “He disowned me for less anyway.”

“Turning your back on the Fire Nation to join forces with the Avatar is less offensive than being a nonbender?” 

“Oh. No.” The discomfort that Sokka is coming to recognize as Zuko’s resting expression is back. “I meant the first time he disowned me.” 

The gears turning in Sokka’s head grind to a halt. “The first time.”

Zuko nods. 

“When?” Sokka demands. “Why?” 

“When I was thirteen,” Zuko says. “I spoke out of turn in a military strategy session.”

Sokka waits. “That’s it?”

“It was a sign of great disrespect,” Zuko says.

Sokka is torn between disbelief and awe. “What did you say?” 

Zuko’s expression sharpens, sending a bewildering thrill up Sokka’s spine. 

“One of our generals proposed sending a division of newly recruited foot soldiers on a suicide mission,” he says, in a tone that could rust iron. “I told him exactly what I thought about that.” 

Pieces of the scene take shape so easily in Sokka’s mind. It’s not hard to picture the Fire Lord’s evil henchmen plotting their evil plans. Or thirteen-year-old Zuko absolutely losing it at someone. But thirteen-year-old Zuko losing it at one of the Fire Lord’s evil henchmen for plotting such evil plans? In front of the Fire Lord? 

Something like pride swells in Sokka’s chest. “That is so cool.” 

Zuko makes a derisive noise. “It wasn’t cool,” he says. “It was stupid.” 

“It was brave,” Sokka insists. 

“You mean reckless,” Zuko corrects.

“It can be both.”

“Maybe, but it was also useless. My father agreed to the general’s plan anyway, and it cost me everything.”  

Yeah, that’s one of the many, many things that Sokka is struggling to wrap his brain around. “When you found us at the South Pole, you were captain of a Fire Navy ship,” he says. “Crewed by Fire Nation soldiers.” 

Zuko gives him a humorless smile. “A parting gift from my father,” he says, “to carry out the mission I had to complete if I wanted to return home.” 

“Which was?” Sokka says. 

Zuko looks at him like this should be obvious. “To capture the Avatar.” 

Sokka needs a minute — a lot of minutes, actually — to process that. But Zuko doesn’t give him any. 

“I know that’s no excuse for everything I did,” Zuko says, “and I’m really s — ”

“Stop,” Sokka says, because the collection of Zuko’s apologies is starting to feel like a pocketful of rocks. “Just — shut up for a second.” 

Zuko shuts up so hard his teeth click.  

Sokka feels a little bad about that, so he pours a cup of tea and hands it to Zuko before pouring his own.

“Let me get this straight,” Sokka says, rubbing his temples. “Your father banished you at age thirteen and said you could only come home if you captured the Avatar — who at that point had been missing for a hundred years.” 

Zuko’s face threatens another one of those sardonic smiles that Sokka is starting to hate. “You’re surprised my father could be so cruel?” 

“To the Water Tribe? Or the Earth Kingdom? Sure,” Sokka says. “But to his own kid?”

“We are talking about the man whose top military advisors suggested using kids our age for cannon fodder,” Zuko says. “Despite what Fire Nation propaganda says, my father has no great love for his people.”

“But for you?” Sokka says. 

Pain flickers across Zuko’s face. “I was never the son my father wanted. He was probably glad for the excuse to get rid of me.” 

Sokka has spent his whole life trying to be the type of son his father could be proud of, and he knows he hasn’t always measured up. But he’s never had to worry about being the type of son his father wanted. Trying to imagine Dad sending Sokka out to sea on a drift of ice for mouthing off — it’s like trying to picture Katara slinging icicles at him. 

“What about your mom?” Sokka asks. 

“Gone,” Zuko says, and Sokka is filled with a guilty sort of relief that the woman who saved Zuko’s turtleducks wasn't standing idly by while her son got exiled. 

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says. “Mine too.” 

“I know,” Zuko says. “Your sister — I’m sorry. That must have been — hard.” 

Something about Zuko trying to offer this comfort, however small and stilted, warms Sokka’s stomach. “Must have been hard for you too,” he says. 

Zuko hums and blows a whisper of steam off his tea. “She was the only one who never cared that I’d rather sit around naming turtleducks than attend firebending lessons.” 

“Wait,” Sokka says, a smile sneaking onto his face. “You named them?”

Zuko’s eyes narrow. “So?”

“So,” Sokka says, letting his grin go sly. “Now you have to tell me their names.”

“No I don’t,” Zuko snaps, and Sokka’s smile slides away. 

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up a hand. “I was only joking. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know,” Zuko says, hunched over his tea like a porcupillo with its spines out.

And maybe, Sokka thinks, Zuko actually doesn’t know.

“Hey,” he says, softer. “I know I’m asking a lot of questions to get to the bottom of this bending thing, but if there’s anything you really don’t want to talk about, I’m not gonna make you — or, like, make fun of you.”

Real talk: Sokka was one hundred percent going to tease Zuko about naming turtleducks. Messing around about dumb stuff like that feels like one of the few sane, normal things left in Sokka’s life. So much that Sokka doesn’t even mind being the butt of the joke most of the time. But growing up with Dad, Bato, and Katara, Sokka can give as good as he gets. And Zuko — Zuko clearly can’t. 

So Sokka lets Zuko study him for a silent stretch, drinking his tea and knowing that whatever Zuko says next will be a test. But Sokka is so braced for a subject change that he’s genuinely startled when Zuko says, “Ducky.” 

“What?” 

“My favorite turtleduck,” Zuko says, voice even but knuckles white around his cup. “I called it Ducky. You can laugh now.” 

“I’m not laughing,” Sokka says, sparing a wistful thought for Hawky. “I think that’s a great name.” 

Zuko’s expression is one of profound doubt. 

“I’m serious,” Sokka says. “What made Ducky your favorite? I didn’t even know you could tell turtleducks apart.” 

“You can when they’re missing a flipper,” Zuko says, which is officially too much.

“That,” Sokka says, “is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Zuko recoils. “No it’s not. It’s weird and embarrassing.”

“Is it that weird or embarrassing to have a favorite animal?” 

“It is when you’re a prince,” Zuko says, scowling down at his tea.

“I dunno,” Sokka says. “The Earth King seemed pretty attached to his pet bear.”

Sokka’s not sure the Earth King is a great example of someone with a normal level of attachment to his pet, but Zuko doesn’t need to know that. 

“Yeah, well, I was more attached to my pets than basically anyone but my mom,” Zuko says, as if it’s this awful, humiliating secret — even though it doesn’t sound like anyone but Zuko’s mom was worth getting attached to anyway. 

“Did you have a lot of animals at the palace?” Sokka says, and takes it as a small victory when Zuko uncurls slightly. 

“The stables kept dragon-moose and komodo rhinos,” Zuko says. “And a few camelephants.” 

“Cam…”

“Camelephants,” Zuko says, sitting up straighter and crossing his legs. “Big animals — bigger than your bison, with huge tusks and long trunks.” Zuko tries to describe the shape of one in the air with his hands, to absolutely zero effect except forcing Sokka to bite back a smile. “My father only kept them for parades, but I used to hang out in their enclosure when I was avoiding Azula.” 

“She didn’t like them?” 

“Supposedly because of the smell, but...” Zuko’s mouth quirks in a way that Sokka would almost call conspiratorial. “I think she was afraid of them.” 

“Really?” Sokka leans forward. “Why?” 

“Because she couldn’t force them to do what she wanted,” Zuko says. “Camelephants have the thickest hides of any land animal. They’re pretty much immune to firebending and very territorial.” 

“But you used to hang out in their enclosure,” Sokka says. 

Zuko shrugs. “It’s easy to earn their trust if you bring enough apples and swat the crow-flies where their trunks can’t reach.” 

Over Zuko’s shoulder, Appa yawns and flops over in the water. “You spent a lot of time in the stables, huh,” Sokka says.

“Only when I wanted peace and quiet,” Zuko says, defensive for no apparent reason besides it being his default state. “Especially if Azula was in a bad mood. Or having trouble with one of her forms.” 

“Did you guys spar a lot?” 

Zuko shakes his head. “She was too far ahead in our training for that. But when Azula’s frustrated, there tends to be a lot of collateral damage.”  

Sokka drinks his tea to avoid glancing at Zuko’s scar again, but he wonders. He’s wondered before, of course — in an abstract, one-of-life’s-little-mysteries kind of way. Now, Sokka wonders, and wonders whether he wants to know after all. 

Zuko spares Sokka having to come up with a response by saying, “It would have been better, if Azula was the one to switch sides.”

Sokka chokes on his tea. “Uh, no,” he coughs out, wiping his mouth. “What?” 

“She never would have lost her bending,” Zuko says, choosing another stick from the kindling and prodding the fire with it. “Say what you will about my sister, but she’s a once-in-a-generation kind of power.” 

“Yeah, a power you just said you’d rather risk death-by-camelephant than hang around,” Sokka says. “That’s who you think should be teaching Aang?”

“I think the Avatar should learn from the best firebender possible.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sokka says. “You’ve made me fear for my life at least as many times as Azula has.”

“Thanks,” Zuko says sincerely. “That means a lot. But anyone who actually knows anything about firebending can tell you there’s no contest. Firebending is just — easy for Azula, in a way it never has been for me.”

“It’s not easy for Aang either,” Sokka says. “There’s a reason fire is the only element he hasn’t mastered. He needs a teacher who can understand how that feels and help him through it.” 

Zuko stops poking at the fire. “I…hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Yeah, Sokka is starting to get that Zuko doesn’t think very much of himself at all, which — after being mortal enemies for nearly a year, you think you know a guy. But if tonight has taught Sokka anything, it’s that he never understood a spirits-cursed thing about Zuko. And that he might be the first person in a long time to even try. 

That shouldn’t make solving Zuko’s bending problem feel like an even bigger responsibility, when the stakes were already the fate of the world. But it does.

“The first time you firebent, in the garden,” Sokka says, “do you remember how you felt?” 

Zuko tightens his grip on the stick. “Angry.”

Sokka nods, expecting this. “Anything else?”

Zuko is quiet.

Sokka drains the rest of his tea, giving Zuko a few seconds to think. “Were you scared?” 

“No,” Zuko says immediately, and seriously, how did Sokka ever think someone this bad at lying might be trying to trick his way onto the team. 

“Really?” Sokka says. “I would have been scared if someone was burning Momo.”

Zuko doesn’t answer. 

“Did you feel…resentful?” Sokka says. “That Azula was using her power to try to control you?”

“I — don’t remember,” Zuko says, and has Sokka mentioned just how bad a liar this guy is. “It was a long time ago.”

Sokka is tempted to press him. But since that doesn’t seem likely to get them anywhere, Sokka does what any master ice dodger would do: he reroutes. 

“How about this,” Sokka says. “Tell me one of your nice memories of firebending.” 

“Nice?” Zuko says, like he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. 

“Yeah, nice,” Sokka says, resisting an eye roll. “They can’t all be bad.” 

Zuko is silent. 

Sokka’s stomach sinks. “Dude.” 

“I’m thinking,” Zuko snaps. “Give me a minute.” 

Sokka holds up his hands, then pours himself a second cup of tea. 

After a while — too long, Sokka thinks — Zuko clears his throat. “Okay, I have one,” he says. “But it’s not my bending. Does that count?” 

At this point, Sokka will take it. “Sure. Lay it on me.” 

Zuko breaks what remains of his stick and feeds it to the fire. “When I was a kid, my uncle was away a lot, fighting in the Earth Kingdom,” he says, cutting a guilty look over at Sokka. “But one year, Uncle came home for the Fire Lily Festival. He was sitting next to me at dinner, and the readings were taking forever.” 

“Sure,” Sokka says, despite having no clue what Zuko is talking about.

“He could probably tell I was bored and just wanted to keep me from doing something stupid,” Zuko says. “But he bent this little dragon out of flame and flew it around the palm of my hand.” Zuko almost looks like he could smile, if he let himself. “I'd never seen anyone handle fire like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like a pet,” Zuko says. “Instead of a weapon.”

The words net a memory from the depths of Sokka’s mind, of Katara telling Aang what Jeong Jeong said before they fled camp — about how firebending was nothing but a tool to bring pain and destruction. At the time, Sokka filed that away as the guilty rambling of a Fire Nation soldier who’d seen too much. But is that how all firebenders are taught to think about their power? 

“Did your uncle ever teach you the dragon bending trick?” 

Zuko scoffs. “I never asked.” 

“Why not?” 

Zuko lifts and drops one shoulder. “Seemed like a waste of time, when I could barely handle the forms my masters set me already,” he says. “Besides, I’m not good at that kind of firebending.” 

“What kind?”

“Calm bending,” Zuko says. “Sitting there and calling up flames like you’re pulling something out of your pocket.” 

“To be fair, your uncle has been bending way longer than you have,” Sokka says. 

“It’s different,” Zuko says. “For Uncle, making fire is as easy as breathing. Like it is for Azula.” 

“I’m sure it’s not that easy.”

“No, it is,” Zuko says. “A firebender’s power comes from their breath. You can control it in different ways through bending, like you can control your breath to speak or sing. But the fire itself is supposed to leave your body like an exhale.”

“And it doesn’t for you,” Sokka guesses. 

Zuko makes a face like he just ate a lemon-pepper. “No,” he says. “My bending only seems to work when I’m desperate for it.”

“Do you think that might be your source?” Sokka says carefully. “Desperation?” Much as he hates to imagine how desperate Zuko must have felt watching Azula hurt his turtleduck, Sokka wouldn’t say no to a new lead. 

But Zuko shakes his head. “I felt pretty desperate today,” he says. “Didn’t seem to make much of a difference.”

“That’s still good data,” Sokka says, holding onto optimism because one of them has to. “We don’t just need to know how you felt when you could firebend. We need to know what you’re not feeling now.” 

The problem is, as Zuko points out, that his primary driving emotions of fear, anger, and desperation all seem as strong as ever. The only thing Zuko might have felt during the turtleduck incident with no clear parallel now is…protectiveness. 

“When did your firebending feel most powerful?” Sokka says.

“When I was hunting the Avatar,” Zuko says, which Sokka has to admit is not promising. 

“Can you be more specific?” 

Zuko brings a hand up to the back of his neck and angles another guilty look at Sokka. “In the Crystal Catacombs,” he says. “When I was battling the Avatar and your sister.”

Sokka’s first thought is: Well, that sucks.

His second is: “What happened down there, anyway? Katara says you looked like you were on our side for a minute. Before you tried to blow up Aang.” 

“He starts talking about his mother and making it seem like he’s an actual human being with feelings,” she said, and yesterday that seemed like such an obvious con.

Unfortunately, nothing seems so simple now that Sokka knows Zuko is an actual human being with feelings — and all the subtlety of a raging saber-tooth moose-lion. If it looked like Zuko was on their side, even a tiny bit, even for a minute, then he was.

Zuko shifts uneasily. “My uncle and I were hiding from the Fire Nation in Ba Sing Se,” he says. “We’d just opened a tea shop and were — settling down. Building a new life. After I freed the Avatar’s bison, I thought I was ready to put hunting you behind me.”

Zuko takes a sip of likely lukewarm tea and wrinkles his nose. “When Azula found out we were in the city, she lured us to the palace and had me thrown in the Catacombs,” he continues. “She said that if I helped capture the Avatar, then my honor would be restored and I would have my — old life back.” 

“And you believed her?” Sokka says, because come on. He may have seen Azula pass Toph’s lie detector test, but there can’t be anyone in the world who knows better than Zuko how cruel and manipulative Azula is. 

“My sister had everything I ever wanted,” Zuko says. “Following her seemed like a reasonable way to get it.”

“You just said you were happy staying with your uncle in Ba Sing Se.” 

“I thought I was,” Zuko says. “But it’s not that easy, suddenly walking away from your entire life's purpose.” 

“It wasn’t sudden, though, was it?” Sokka says. “You stopped chasing us after the North Pole. You freed Appa. Your uncle swore you’d changed — ”

“But not enough,” Zuko says, shocking Sokka into silence with the way his voice breaks. “Not even enough to help my uncle escape, when I knew what would happen if he was taken back to the Fire Nation, when he wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for me — ” Zuko cuts himself off with an awful choked noise and digs his teeth into the forearm of his sleeve. 

Sokka has never felt so much like he was intruding on a private moment right in the middle of a conversation. 

“You couldn’t have stopped your uncle from coming after you in Ba Sing Se,” he says quietly, trying not to notice Zuko’s eyes shining in the firelight. “I barely know him and I know that.”

“It was my fault he was in the Earth Kingdom in the first place,” Zuko says, voice thick. “I’m the one who got myself banished. Uncle only came along to make sure I didn’t get myself killed. It’s my fault Azula came after him, just like that stupid turtleduck.” 

“Okay, I’m pretty sure the turtleduck wasn’t your fault either,” Sokka says, but Zuko is already shaking his head. 

“It was. Azula only hurt it because she knew I was too weak to stop her. My weakness puts everyone and everything around me in danger — just like it is right now.” Zuko digs a hand into his hair and grips. “I’m wasting everyone’s time with my broken bending when you should be out finding the Avatar a real master. I never should have come here. I should have known I’d mess everything up.”

Sokka stares at Zuko, completely at a loss, because sure. He’s no stranger to self-doubt. But this goes so far beyond insecurity it’s almost — 

Oh.

A realization that’s been lapping at the edges of Sokka’s mind all night finally crashes over him in a wave. “You really hate yourself,” he says slowly, as the cold understanding sinks in. 

Zuko’s glare could melt glaciers. “You wouldn’t, if you’d done all the things I’ve done?” he says, which would be fair, except — it’s not just about the things Zuko’s done, is it? It’s also about the things he hasn’t. Zuko hates himself for things that are his fault, and things that aren’t. For who he is, and who he hasn’t managed to be. 

And Sokka can see, with sudden, sharp clarity, that if he were to plot the strength of Zuko’s self-hatred alongside the strength of his bending over time, the two lines would hug in almost perfect synchrony — from the moment something Zuko loved was suffering because of him, to the loss of his honor and homeland, and the betrayal of the only family he had left. 

Which leaves Sokka with only one question: whether someone’s self-loathing could run so deep and unrelenting that it sustains their bending for the better part of a decade. 

Part of him feels like the answer is a foregone conclusion. The other part knows he'd would be a fool at this point to take anything about Zuko for granted. He has to be sure. 

“Has there ever been a time when you felt really good about yourself?” Sokka says. “Like, really proud of something you’d done?” 

Zuko looks taken aback. “What?” 

“Don’t overthink it,” Sokka says. “First thing that comes to mind.” 

“I guess — I felt pretty good about freeing the Avatar’s bison,” Zuko says. 

Sokka nods. “And could you bend after that?”

Zuko’s brow furrows. “I don’t know,” he says. “I was sick, and then — Uncle and I didn’t bend in Ba Sing Se.” A grimace. “Until Azula brought us to the palace.” 

“What about after you told off that Fire Nation general?” Sokka says. “Were you proud of that?”

Zuko’s face does something complicated. “Briefly.”

“And?” Sokka says. “Could you bend then?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko says. 

“How could you not know?” 

“I was in the healing ward for a while, right after.”

“What?” Sokka says. “Why?” 

“So the palace medics could try to save what was left of my face,” Zuko says flatly. 

The bottom drops out of Sokka’s stomach. “The general did that to you?” he says, voice brought low by horror.

“No,” Zuko says, with the most piercing eye contact of Sokka’s life. “My father did.”

Sokka opens his mouth, but it takes several seconds to unstick his throat. “Your father.”

“Yes,” Zuko says. “And by the time I was in any state to bend again, I was banished at sea with a crew that hated my guts, so no, I wasn’t feeling too proud of myself anymore.”

“Pause, time out, back up,” Sokka says. “Your dad did that — ” He points at Zuko’s scar. “ — and then immediately banished you, for disagreeing with someone in a meeting.” 

After a beat, Zuko says, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Sokka wants Zuko to say it’s not true. That there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. Because otherwise — Sokka feels sick. 

“Your dad,” he says, strained, “is pure evil.”

“You knew that,” Zuko points out.

Yeah, in a ruthless-dictator kind of way, not a disfigure-your-own-kid kind of way.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says.

Zuko’s eyes cut to the side. “It was a long time ago.”

“You get how that’s worse, right? That he did that to a child?” 

Zuko shoots him a withering look. “Yes,” he says. “It was my face.”  

Sokka swallows. “Right. Sorry.” 

When Zuko said he’d been through a lot in the last few years, Sokka thought he meant sleeping in the hull of a Fire Navy ship. Or eating food cooked in the hull of a Fire Navy ship. Not — this.

“You know what Toph said, when you first asked to join us?” Sokka says. 

Zuko shakes his head warily. 

“She said, and I quote, ‘He could have turned out a lot worse.’” 

Zuko digests this. “Well,” he says at last. “You have met my sister.” 

Sokka snorts. “Yeah, I guess.” He tilts his head. “Do you think you would have gone after Aang at all, if your whole life wasn’t hanging in the balance?”

Zuko smiles wryly. “You mean if my father asked nicely?”

“Sure.”

The smile slips. “Probably,” Zuko says. “The Fire Nation raises its people to believe that we live in the greatest empire in history, and that it’s our moral duty to share that greatness with the world.”

“But you don’t believe that anymore,” Sokka says.

Zuko’s face is incredulous. “No. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Honestly? Still trying to figure that one out. I believe that you’ve changed,” Sokka says. “But why? Why now?”

Zuko’s forefinger starts wrapping itself in the stray thread of his pant leg again. “When I was hunting the Avatar, I didn’t meet any civilians except when we came to port to restock — or threaten people for information,” he says, winding and unwinding his finger. “But when I was traveling in the Earth Kingdom, so many people showed me kindness I didn’t deserve. Their families had been torn apart by war, but they opened their homes to a stranger anyway.” Wind, unwind. Wind, unwind. “And when I came home, I realized that my father would wipe all those people off the face of the planet if he could.” Zuko pulls the thread so hard it snaps. “How could I be a part of that? How could I have been part of that for so long?” 

“Because the last time you stood up to your father, he tortured you for it?”

Zuko pulls a face. “He didn’t torture me.”

“Really,” Sokka says. “What would you call it?”

Zuko hesitates. “Light maiming?”

Sokka pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tui and La. Okay, so the last time you stood up to your father, he lightly maimed you for it.” He looks at Zuko significantly. “And you did it again anyway.”

“I had to,” Zuko says.

“You chose to,” Sokka corrects. “How did you feel about yourself then? Good?” 

“Yes and no,” Zuko says, flicking the broken thread away. “I spent so long trying to redeem myself in the eyes of my father, it was a relief to realize I didn't owe him anything. But in turning my back on him, I realized how much I needed to redeem myself to the rest of the world. How many more dishonorable things I had to atone for.” 

“You really don’t take time off the whole guilt thing, do you?” 

“I did have a bounty out on you at the time.” 

“Fair enough.” Sokka thinks of the huge whirls of flame Zuko threw at Combustion Man. “What about after that? When Aang agreed to let you be his teacher?” 

Zuko casts his gaze into the fire, looking like he doesn’t particularly want to admit it when he says, “That felt…good. Just — good. Like I was finally following my own destiny, and I thought — I knew my uncle would be proud of that.” 

A small smile passes over Zuko’s face — the only real, non-sarcastic one Sokka has ever seen him wear. Except, maybe, when Aang said, “I’d like you to teach me.”

“And then you lost your bending,” Sokka says. 

Zuko’s smile fades. “And then I lost my bending.” 

Sokka takes a deep breath. “Well, that pretty much settles it.” 

“What?”

“Your source.”

Zuko frowns. “It does?” he says, which is when Sokka realizes two key things. 

First, that the trajectory of his questioning may not have been clear, when all the shocking revelations he’s been arranging into a neat line of evidence in his head are, to Zuko, just a spread of everyday facts. The sky is blue and grass is green, Zuko’s life is terrible and so is he, so what?

So second, Sokka is now going to have to tell Zuko, to his face, just how supernaturally bad Sokka thinks his self-esteem is. 

Hmm. How to put this delicately. 

“I have a theory,” Sokka says. “But only you can tell us if it’s right.” 

“Okay,” Zuko says, squaring his shoulders. 

“The good news is that I’m almost positive your source isn’t hatred,” Sokka says. “The bad news is that I’m almost positive it’s self-hatred.” 

Zuko’s lips part, but no sound comes out. 

“Think about it,” Sokka says. “You’ve done all your best bending when you felt most like a failure, and the one time you feel genuinely good about yourself? No guilt, no regret? Without being immediately bedridden?” Sokka makes a poof gesture with his hands. “Bye-bye, bending.” 

Zuko still says nothing — for long enough that Sokka starts to worry. This would be a lot for anyone to process, and Zuko is…fragile, right now. Not fragile like glass. Fragile like a tangle mine. But still, fragile. 

“What are you thinking?” Sokka says eventually. 

“I think,” Zuko says, voice hoarse, then clears his throat. “I think you’re right.” 

“Yeah?” Sokka is distantly aware that under any other circumstances, he’d be thrilled at what is hands-down his best detective work yet. But in the face of Zuko’s unreadable expression, it’s impossible to feel anything but sort of sad. 

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “I never would have figured it out, but. Like you said. It all fits.”

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says. 

Zuko lets out a hollow laugh. “Why? This is good news.” 

The chill of unease prickles behind Sokka’s ribs. “Is it?” 

“It means the only problem with my bending is pride,” Zuko says, putting his tea down, “which is something I can actually fix.” 

Sokka does not like where this is going. “Hold on,” he says, but Zuko is already standing. 

“Forget all the horrible things I’ve done to you and your friends,” Zuko says, holding out one hand, palm up. “What about all the people whose homes I’ve destroyed? The people I lied to and robbed? How many hundreds of debts do I have across the world that I’ll never be able to repay?”

“Zuko,” Sokka says, setting aside his own tea and getting to his feet. 

“Like teaching the Avatar could make up for any of that.” A lick of flame flickers between Zuko’s fingers. “Like one good decision could make me a good person.” 

“You are a good person,” Sokka says, surprising himself with how much he means it.

Zuko’s laugh is harsh. His small flame flares. “You know I’m not,” he says. “Spreading war and violence and hatred is in my blood.” 

“Bison dung,” Sokka spits. “That’s what you were taught, not who you are. Or who you want to be.”

“It’s what I’ve done,” Zuko bites back, “which is all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” Sokka says. “It matters that your favorite type of bending doesn’t hurt anyone, and that you’re probably the only person in the world who’s ever stood up to the Fire Lord twice and lived to talk about it.” Sokka takes a step closer to Zuko. “It matters that you didn’t take no for an answer when you came here trying to make things right.” 

Zuko glowers. “Shut up.” 

“No,” Sokka says. “Not until you stop.”

“Why?” Zuko says, the word cracked down the middle. “It’s working.” 

Of course it is. Zuko’s been heaping guilt onto this pyre his whole life. But Sokka’s not about to let him burn with it anymore. “This isn’t the right way,” he says.

Zuko sneers. “So now you know more about firebending than me?” 

“I know more about being on the right side of things,” Sokka says, and Zuko flinches, pulling his handful of fire closer to his chest. 

“I’m getting my bending back,” he says, voice threaded with a desperation that makes Sokka’s own throat tighten. “I don’t see what the problem is.” 

“The problem,” Sokka says, stepping closer, “is that it’s hurting you.”

“So what?” Zuko says. “Isn’t that a fair price to pay for all the people I’ve hurt? Isn’t it good that I remember them?”

“I’m not telling you to forget,” Sokka says. “I’m telling you not to make dwelling on them the center of your bending.” 

Zuko takes a step back. “I deserve it.” 

Sokka steps closer. “You don’t,” he says, surprising himself again with how much he means it. “Even if you did, that wouldn’t make it a good source for your bending. Most of the worst things you’ve ever done, you did because you hated yourself. You’re only here now because you believed there was good in you.” 

Zuko’s eyes narrow. “You think my source might corrupt me again.”

“No.” Sokka drags a hand down his face. “I think you’ve changed, and you deserve to let your source change too.”

Zuko ducks his chin to examine the flame tucked against him. “Why do you care?” he says, the words raw with bewilderment that sets an ache in Sokka’s chest. 

“Because people tend to care when their friends are doing something that makes them miserable,” Sokka says, with less snark than he’d use with anyone else, in case this is real news to Zuko. 

Zuko looks up sharply. “We’re not friends." 

“Nice try,” Sokka says, “but you can’t trust someone with your entire tragic backstory and not end up friends. Besides, you’re Team Avatar now. Friendship is in the job description.”  

“Team…Avatar,” Zuko says, with some disdain, but not nearly as much as Sokka knows he’s capable of, which Sokka is counting as a win. 

“Yup,” Sokka says, taking the final few steps into Zuko’s space. “No getting rid of us now.”

The light of Zuko’s weakening fire reflects bright in his eyes. “Okay," he says.

“Okay,” Sokka agrees with a smile. “So you can probably put that out now.” 

Zuko looks down to where he’s cupping barely a candle’s worth of flame now, hesitating.

“Zuko.” Sokka lays a hand on his forearm, as careful as he’d be reaching out to an injured narwalrus caught in a net. “Come on.”

Zuko swallows. “What if I can’t find a new source?”

“I’ll help you,” Sokka says.

Zuko blinks at him. “You will?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sokka says. “I wouldn’t tell you to get a new source and then not help you find one.” 

Zuko’s mouth parts around a silent oh, and oh, Sokka is an idiot. An unexpected surge of protectiveness wells up in his chest. 

“I promise,” Sokka says, squeezing Zuko’s arm lightly. “You don’t have to do this alone. And not to brag, but I am kind of the plan guy around here.”

“Plan guy,” Zuko echoes. 

“And the boomerang guy, and the meat and sarcasm guy,” Sokka says. “But mostly the plan guy. If the Sun Warriors are a dead end, I swear on the moon that I’ll help you figure out what to do next.”

Zuko’s gaze is as intense as the midday sun on Sokka’s face. But whatever he’s looking for, he must find, because at last, his fist closes around what remains of his flame to snuff it out.

Sokka releases Zuko’s arm along with a breath he didn’t notice he was holding. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Zuko says, rubbing the knuckles of his extinguished hand. “You’re the one helping me.” 

“For trusting me to, I guess,” Sokka says. 

Zuko shrugs. “You’ve helped so far, haven’t you?”

Yeah, but knowing what he knows now, Sokka is shocked Zuko trusted him with even that — when Zuko’s whole memory was basically a creek bed full of snakes coiled under rocks, waiting for Sokka to overturn each wrong stone.

Sokka lets out a short, sharp breath of disbelief. 

“What?” Zuko says, instantly guarded. 

“Nothing,” Sokka says. “Just thinking about how wrong I was.”

“About?”

“You.”

Zuko's brow pinches. “What about me?”

“Everything,” Sokka says. “Everything that matters, anyway.” 

“Is that…”

“It’s a good thing.”

“Oh.” Zuko's expression smooths. “For what it’s worth, I was wrong about you, too.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “You’re really smart. And, you know.” He scratches the back of his head. “Nice.” 

Sokka's cheeks ache with the effort to not laugh. “Wow,” he says. “Thanks.”

Zuko's eyes widen. “I didn’t mean — I knew you must be a good person. To be guarding the Avatar. But I didn’t know you were so good at — talking? And figuring stuff out. So I get why you’d be the team — you know. Advice guy. When before I just thought you were some…” Zuko gestures vaguely, somehow both stiff and expansive in his awkwardness. 

“Some?” Sokka prompts, amused. 

Zuko shrugs. “Typical macho warrior.”

Sokka cannot have heard that right. “You thought I was what.”

Zuko winces. “Sorry.” 

“No, don’t — did you just say macho warrior?”

Zuko folds his arms. “The first time we met, you tried to take on a whole warship by yourself. And then you threw a boomerang at my head!”

“After you kicked me into a snowdrift!” Sokka says. 

“Which clearly didn’t keep you down for long, did it?” 

Sokka can’t help a laugh. “Macho warrior,” he muses, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m gonna need you to repeat that in front of my sister at some point.” 

Zuko’s eyes go wide, and Sokka laughs again — laying a hand on Zuko’s shoulder so he knows Sokka is laughing with, not at. “Dude, Katara is not that scary.” 

“She hates me,” Zuko grumbles. 

“So did I. So did you,” Sokka says. “And look at us now. We’re two-for-two on convincing people not to hate you.” 

Zuko’s expression is drier than desert air.

Sokka grins. “Katara will come around,” he says. “She just has to get to know you, like I did.” 

Zuko shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “You think I should tell her about — what I told you?” he says. “Or are you going to tell her?” 

Sokka would sooner climb back inside a creeping crystal. “You can tell my sister whatever you want,” he says. “But there is a much easier, completely fail-safe way to get on her good side.” 

“Which is?” 

“Helping Aang.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s all it takes,” Sokka says. “Which you’ll be doing once you’re his teacher again anyway.” 

“Right,” Zuko says, eyes drifting off to the side, teeth worrying his lower lip. 

“Hey.” Sokka lays his other hand on Zuko’s shoulder to reel his attention back in. “Don’t worry. I have a good feeling about the Sun Warriors.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, with no conviction whatsoever. “I just want to get it over with.” 

“I can go wake Aang up right now,” Sokka says. “He and Appa are used to night flying.” 

“No,” Zuko says. “The bison should rest.”

Sokka’s mouth twitches. “Then so should you.” 

Zuko snorts. “Not likely.”

“What are you gonna do, then?” 

“I don’t know.” Zuko casts around and gestures at Appa. “Probably finish what I started.” 

“I’ll help,” Sokka says, squeezing Zuko’s shoulders and releasing them. 

Zuko gives him an odd look. “Why?”

Honestly? Because even though he no longer seems teetering on the edge of a downward spiral, Zuko seems like the last person who should be left alone with Zuko right now. “I did just drink half a pot of highly caffeinated tea,” Sokka says.

Zuko’s answering gaze is assessing, but that’s okay. Sokka can accept that it might be a while before Zuko takes anything except open hostility at face value. “All right,” Zuko says eventually, and leads the way back to Appa. 

Sokka snags a second brush out of the bag and joins Zuko at the edge of the pool. Appa rumbles happily under the attention, and Zuko reaches over to scratch under his chin. 

For a few minutes, they settle into a steady rhythm of alternating brush strokes over Appa’s slow, easy breathing. “This is weirdly relaxing,” Sokka says.

Zuko nods. “I used to groom the ostrich horses when I couldn’t sleep.” 

“I used to sharpen spears,” Sokka says. “Especially after Dad left.” 

Zuko sends him a sidelong glance. “How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” 

“I’m still sorry it happened,” Zuko says, setting an unexpected but not unpleasant tightness in Sokka’s chest. “Were you close?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, the tightness in his chest getting tighter. “Still are.” 

Zuko is silent for a beat. “What’s he like?” 

It’s Sokka’s turn to look sideways. “My dad?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

Zuko’s shoulders pull forward. “I don’t know. You know all about mine.” 

Sure, but by necessity, not choice. “You really want to know?” 

“Only if you want to tell me.” 

Sokka takes stock of himself and finds that, strangely, he does. Ever since the invasion, thoughts of Dad have crept into Sokka’s every quiet moment like cold water seeping into cracks. But there’s not really anyone else to talk to about it. The topic of parents is a complete nonstarter with Toph, a bit touchy with Aang ever since the whole map-hiding thing, and too painful to raise with Katara right now. 

Besides, no one else has asked. 

“Well, the first thing to know about Dad is that he’s basically the bravest chief the Southern Water Tribe has ever seen,” Sokka says, and Zuko nods, unquestioning. “But he’s also kind. Really kind. And patient.” Sokka has to laugh to dislodge a lump in his throat. “He’d have to be, raising me.” 

Zuko tilts his head. “Why do you say that?” 

Sokka shrugs. “I was always getting into trouble. Building sea prune slingshots. Falling off boats because I was trying to strap saddles to seal-lions. That sort of thing,” he says, and wow, Sokka hasn’t thought about that in a long time. He’d forgotten just how much had changed — how much he had changed after Dad left. 

Zuko squints. “I don’t know that much about South Pole wildlife,” he says, “but aren’t seal-lions extremely dangerous predators?” 

“Yep,” Sokka says. “That’s the difference between you and me. All your ‘dumbest’ moments are actually feats of bravery with life-altering consequences beyond your control, while all of mine — ” Sokka rests a hand over his chest. “ — are genuinely dumb.” 

“I don’t know,” Zuko says. “One time when I was seven, my pants got caught on a wall I was climbing and a palace gardener had to cut me free.” 

“Cute,” Sokka says. “Reminds me of the time Dad tried to teach eight-year-old me how to sail. When I climbed up the rigging of his cutter, got caught in the ropes, and ended up stuck upside-down, freeing me required full pants removal. In front of most of the village fleet, since we never made it out of the harbor.” 

“Sweet Agni,” Zuko murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Sokka says, with a pang of nostalgia. “As soon as I get back on solid ground, my dad just goes.” Sokka clears his throat to affect Dad’s voice. “Son, that is not what Water Tribe sailors mean, when they say ‘go with the moon.’”

The snort that Zuko tries to hide behind his hand is so surprising that at first, Sokka thinks it’s a suppressed sneeze. But the lines of restrained laughter around Zuko’s eyes give him away, and Sokka has never gotten such a rush of satisfaction from cracking someone up. 

“Go ahead and laugh,” Sokka says. “But don’t try to one-up me on embarrassing stories. I’m the most embarrassing person you’ll ever meet.” 

When Zuko peels his hand away from his mouth, there’s a tentative but definitely teasing angle to his mouth. “Uncle might have you beat,” he says. “He once got captured by earthbenders completely naked.” 

Sokka’s laugh is loud enough to make Appa lift his head and look around. “Okay, I have more pantsing stories to prove my point, but I need to hear this one first. When? Where? How?”

Zuko is full-on grinning as he embarks on a story about Earth Kingdom hot springs, the tracking benefits of foot odor, and his uncle fighting off five earthbenders with only the chain they used to bind him. This memory, unlike so many others Zuko has shared tonight, is clearly close-kept and well-worn. 

Sokka can’t help but wonder if this is what Zuko might have been like, if the kid who went around naming turtleducks had grown up without violence sharpening all his edges. He wonders if this is a glimpse of what Zuko might be like now, given the time and patience to see that it’s okay. Sokka hopes so. 

He wasn’t lying before, when he said that he and Zuko were friends. On some level, you can’t not befriend the people you’re saving the world with. But there’s a difference between being friends with Zuko because Sokka knows him better now, and being friends with Zuko because Sokka wants to know him better, and — Sokka wants to know this Zuko better. He wants to hear more about Zuko’s uncle and the Earth Kingdom people who changed him. To spar with him and find other ways to make him laugh. To see what Zuko might be capable of with a source that doesn’t require being the worst version of himself.  

Because Sokka wasn’t lying about his certainty that Zuko will find a new source, either. The only thing Sokka ever got right about Zuko was his absolute white-knuckled, bare-toothed refusal to give up on something he's set his mind to. Funny, how the thing Sokka used to hate most about Zuko might now be his favorite thing about him. And the thing that makes Sokka really, truly certain that Aang’s training and all the fate-of-the-world that comes with it is in good hands. 

Now, all Sokka has to do is prove to Zuko that he’s in good hands, too.

 

Epilogue

Long-term missions to save the world, Sokka has found, do weird things to one’s sense of time. Some days feel squeezed into mere minutes. Others seem to stretch on forever. 

Today is the second type of day.

When Aang appears just before dawn and invites Sokka to go ruin-hunting with him and Zuko, Sokka is tempted. Especially when Zuko’s eyes flick keenly over to him. But with Appa gone, the others are basically stranded at the Air Temple today, making it the worst — and therefore most likely — time for something to go sideways. 

Besides, leaving Katara in charge? Sokka has to be practical. (Katara likes to pretend she’s the practical one, but look away for five minutes and she’s out stealing from pirates or moonlighting as a river spirit.) Leaving Katara in charge with Toph? Who knows if they’d come back to find the temple still standing. Hanging. Whatever.

So Sokka stays behind. He’s not too worried about leaving Zuko alone; despite the dark circles under his eyes, Zuko looks way better by morning than he did at midnight. Plus, Sokka figures this might be a good opportunity for Zuko to do some one-on-one bonding with Aang. Maybe to the point that he’ll actually start calling Aang by name.

But that doesn’t make it any easier, after Sokka wakes up from his post-all-nighter nap, to sit idly by and wait for them to come back — especially with only Katara’s hand-wringing and Toph’s toe-picking for company. 

Sokka spends most of the day trying to distract himself with maps of the Fire Nation. At first, he’s gathering ideas for contingency plans, in case Zuko comes home today still nonflammable. Scouting for Fire Sage temples or other sacred places that might have the spiritual juice to jumpstart a new source, or at least a library that might inspire some better ideas. 

But the more Sokka pores over his scrolls, the more he finds his eyes idly, then intentionally scanning for places the Fire Nation might be holding Dad and the others. Somewhere like Fire Island, maybe, where they kept Hama. Or a rig, like the one where Haru and his father were taken. Or a prison chamber right inside the palace, like the one in Omashu…

There’s not much intel to get about prisoners of war from a bunch of maps clearly designed for tourists, but Sokka can’t help trying. Talking about Dad last night, however good it felt at the time, only made the sickening pit of guilt that’s been growing in Sokka’s stomach since the invasion harder to ignore. He has to do something. 

And it’s not like he would take off before they solve Zuko’s bending problem. But after that? Aang’s going to be so busy mastering firebending and honing his control over earth and water that Sokka’s pretty sure he could sneak in a quick rescue mission before anyone even noticed he was gone. 

If he can figure out where to go, based on essentially no information — which, the more Sokka tries to come at the problem from every different angle, seems less and less likely. 

That frustration — layered over the constant, low-grade background concern about where Aang and Zuko are now and what they’re doing and if it’s going well — doesn’t leave Sokka a lot of patience for Katara’s relentless pacing. 

“They should be back by now,” she says after lunch, arms folded as she passes Sokka on her latest circuit around the fountain. 

“They’ve only been gone a few hours,” Sokka says around the ink brush between his teeth as he compares the overlapping edges of two maps. 

“Try seven,” Katara says. 

Sokka takes the brush from his mouth and notes the apparent mismatch between a cluster of islands on the eastern border of one map and the western border of the other. Could be something, could be nothing. (It’s probably nothing.) “Okay,” he says. “Is seven hours really that long, in the grand scheme of searching an entire nation for something that may or may not exist?”

“Yeah, relax, Katara,” Toph says from where she’s stretched out in the sun. “I was looking forward to finally getting some peace and quiet without Sparky’s anxiety constantly buzzing through my feet, but you’re almost as bad.” 

Sokka looks over at her. “What do you mean?” 

“Madame Worrywart’s pacing.” 

“No, about Zuko.” 

Toph angles her face toward him. “You can’t tell? Our resident firebender has the resting heart rate of a rabbit-mouse.” 

“And the mind of a rat-snake,” Katara cuts in. “He could have captured Aang and hauled him all the way back to the palace by now.” 

“With what bending?” Sokka says, rubbing his temples to ward off the headache he feels building behind his eyes. 

“We don’t know that he really lost his bending,” Katara says. 

“Yes, we do,” Sokka sighs.

Katara stops pacing. “I can’t believe he got to you too.” 

“He didn’t get to me,” Sokka says, which is not strictly true. A lot of what Zuko said got to him — enough that despite the caffeine crash, it took Sokka a while to fall asleep after settling back into bed this morning. But what Katara’s imagining involves a level of manipulation that Zuko, who wears every emotion on his face like an open wound, is simply not capable of.

“We got to talking last night,” Sokka says, in the face of Katara’s intense skepticism. “He explained a lot about what he was like before, and what’s different now.” 

“And?” 

“And I trust him.” 

“I did too, once,” Katara says, “and he immediately betrayed me.” 

“I know,” Sokka says, “and he regrets that. But he really has changed.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Katara narrows her eyes. “What did he say?” 

“I can’t tell you.” 

Katara scoffs. 

“I’m serious,” Sokka says. “If you ask Zuko, I’m sure he’ll tell you. But I can’t.” 

A hint of surprise, then curiosity creeps into Katara’s expression. “Fine,” she says. “If he comes back, I’ll ask him.”

“When he does, you should,” Sokka says. “Until then, if you can’t trust him, at least trust me. Okay?”

Katara blinks. Uncrosses her arms. “Okay,” she says, an odd look passing across her face. 

And that, remarkably, is that. 

Sokka can feel Katara’s eyes on him throughout the afternoon. But she otherwise leaves him alone to suffer over his spread of mostly useless information until going up to the surface to spar with Toph. Sokka, meanwhile, succeeds mostly in giving himself a stiff neck and is just wondering if it’s too early to justify another nap when, finally, a flying bison backlit by sunset takes shape in the sky. 

Papers scatter off Sokka’s lap as he springs to his feet and races to the edge of the temple. “What happened?” he demands as Appa touches down. “Did you find anything?” 

Aang’s smile as he slides off Appa’s back is promising, but it’s really Zuko’s smile as he follows that makes Sokka’s heart trip over itself with relief. 

“Only the whole Sun Warrior civilization!” Aang says. “And dragons.” 

“Dragons,” Sokka echoes.

“It was amazing,” Zuko says, a slightly dazed edge to his happiness. 

“But your bending?” Sokka says, because even though he can’t imagine Zuko looking like that if there were bad news, he needs confirmation. 

Zuko provides it in the form of an outstretched hand that he immediately, effortlessly ignites like dry tinder. 

“And look what I can do!” Aang says, cupping one palm and summoning a small flame above it, then passing the fire to the other hand and back again, over and over until he’s practically juggling it. “See?” he says, beaming up at Sokka. “No burning!”

“That’s great, Aang,” Sokka says, beaming back.

“I can’t wait to show Katara.” Aang brings his fire into both hands and cups it close before letting it go out. “Where is she?” 

The word “surface” is barely out of Sokka’s mouth before Aang is leaping back onto Appa and hitching a ride out of sight. “Bye,” Sokka says in his wake and turns, still grinning, to Zuko. “So, you got your mojo back. Knew you could do it.” 

“Well,” Zuko says, looking somewhat sheepishly down at the torch of his hand. “Not without help.”

“From dragons,” says Sokka, who is absolutely never sitting out a mission with Zuko again, practicality be damned. “Guess all you needed was the original source of firebending, after all.” 

“Not exactly,” Zuko says. “The dragons showed us visions about the nature of firebending that helped guide me toward a new source, but I still had to choose it myself.” 

“And?” Sokka says. “What is it?” 

Zuko turns his lit hand one way, then the other. A slight pinch forms between his brows. “When the dragons first gave us fire, it wasn’t meant to be a weapon,” he says, slow, as if remembering something from a dream. “It was meant to provide light and warmth. Something that could help sustain our people through the darkest times. So my source had to be something I could sustain through the darkest times, too.” 

Zuko looks up at Sokka. “It reminded me of something my uncle told me, that when the world feels darkest, one thing you can give yourself is hope. And I thought — hoping that I could be better and help restore balance to the world is the only reason I’m here. It’s what should be driving my bending now, and it’s something I have to keep doing anyway, because otherwise what’s the point of any of this, and — yeah.” Zuko hooks his free hand around the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that makes any sense, but — ” 

“It does,” Sokka says, hoarse with unexpected emotion. 

A hesitant smile tugs at Zuko’s mouth. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sokka says, heart squeezing with — affection. Honest to spirits affection for Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation. “Hope,” he says, testing the idea aloud. It sounds good. It sounds right. “It’s perfect.” 

Zuko ducks his head. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and coughs. “There is, uh, one other thing.” 

Sokka lifts an eyebrow. “What?” 

Zuko glances up with a pinched smile of suppressed excitement — and isn’t that something, Sokka thinks, that he’s starting to see enough of Zuko’s smiles to categorize them. “Something else the dragons taught me,” Zuko says, with a flick of his wrist that stretches the flame he’s been holding into a long strand. “Watch.” 

Sokka does, first with curiosity, then recognition and finally disbelief as the tether of fire twirling around Zuko’s hand morphs into the serpentine body of a — 

“No way,” Sokka says, leaning closer to examine the flickering details of the handheld dragon dancing across Zuko’s fingers and slithering a bracelet around his wrist.

“Yeah,” Zuko says quietly, as if not to spook the dragon. “I can’t control it as well as Uncle yet, but it’s just like I remember.” 

The dragon-shaped flame leaps up from Zuko’s hand to coil an intricate series of loops through the air. “It’s beautiful,” Sokka says. He’s never thought of fire that way before. Useful, sure. But not beautiful. 

“I still need practice,” Zuko says, coaxing the dragon back down into his palm. “Especially before I try to teach Aang.” 

Sokka grins. “He was begging you to learn the whole way back, huh.” 

“He hasn’t seen it yet,” Zuko says, letting the dragon curl up into a puff of smoke. “I wanted to show you first. But I figured once he’s mastered the basics, it might be the kind of thing he — oof.” Zuko staggers back as Sokka lunges forward to wrap him in both arms. “What are you doing?” 

“Hugging you, dummy,” Sokka says, then pauses. “You do know what a hug is, right?” 

“Of course I do,” Zuko says, then pauses. “My uncle hugs me.” 

“Good, that’s good,” Sokka says, patting Zuko between the shoulders. 

“Yes,” Zuko says, patting him awkwardly back. “It doesn’t explain why you’re hugging me, though.”

“Because I want to,” Sokka says, the simplest of too many possible answers. “Should I stop?”

“I didn’t say that,” Zuko says, despite still doing his best impression of a coat rack.

“Good,” Sokka says. “Because hugging is also part of the Team Avatar job description. There will probably be a group hug at some point, so prepare yourself for that.” 

“Okay,” Zuko says, sounding more wary than actively repelled, which seems promising. 

Sokka squeezes, then releases him, politely ignoring the color in Zuko’s cheeks. “I can’t believe you learned your uncle’s dragon-bending trick from actual dragons.” 

Zuko shrugs. “Where do you think he learned it?”

Sokka processes this. “Your uncle might be the coolest person I’ve ever met.” 

Zuko looks unimpressed. “You’ve clearly forgotten the white jade bush incident.” 

Like Sokka is ever going to forget any of the stories Zuko told about his uncle last night. “He has a natural curiosity,” Sokka says. “I respect that about him.” 

Zuko shakes his head, on the brink of a smile again. “You do remind me of him, a bit.” 

“Are you calling me cool?”

Zuko smirks. “Not even a little.” 

Sokka huffs. “Rude.” 

Zuko lifts his hands. “Shouldn’t have told me about sleeping with a stuffed penguin until you were thirteen.” 

“Excuse you,” Sokka says. “Professor Snuffles was very cool.” 

“I guess he’d have to be,” Zuko says, “to get elected Chief of the Toys fifteen times in a row.” 

“Wooooow,” Sokka says. “Trust a guy with your deepest, darkest secrets and this is how he treats you.”

Zuko’s amusement buckles with regret. “Too far?”

Sokka cracks a smile. “Nah,” he says, knocking Zuko lightly on the shoulder. “What are friends for, if not trading secrets you thought you’d take to the grave.” 

“Right,” Zuko says, and hesitates before adding, “Thanks for that, by the way. For everything, last night. I never would have figured out my old source on my own. And even if I had, I never would have bothered finding a new one. So thanks.” 

The earnest intensity on Zuko’s face makes a fond warmth bloom through Sokka’s chest. “Hey, you did all the hard stuff,” he says. “But I’m glad I could help.” 

“You did,” Zuko says. “I don’t — I mean, it’s obvious I’m not good at that kind of thing.”

“Talking about yourself?” 

“Talking,” Zuko says. “To people who aren’t Uncle. But you made it…not easy, but easier. So thank you. Again.” 

“Of course, man,” Sokka says, exercising every last bit of his self-restraint not to overwhelm Zuko with another hug so soon. “Any time.” 

Zuko tilts his head slightly. “You really mean that.” 

“I really do,” Sokka says. “All part of the complete friendship package.” 

Zuko nods, thoughtful. “It should go both ways then,” he says. “I don’t have a lot to offer besides teaching Aang — ”

“Hey,” Sokka says, kicking Zuko’s ankle. “Knock it off.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” 

Zuko bites his lip against what can only be another apology. Then, “What I’m trying to say is, if there’s ever anything I can help you with, you should tell me. If you want.” 

Sokka studies the determination on Zuko’s face and knows with gut-deep certainty that this is the exact same look a ten-year-old Zuko would have worn the first time he was set a firebending form, resolve only hardened by his inexperience.

What a waste, Sokka thinks, that someone with so much loyalty to give has had so few people to give it to — and almost always had it exploited. What a bizarre twist of fate that Sokka, of all people, should be offered that loyalty now. He hasn’t felt this much responsibility to handle something carefully since the first time he held a space rock.

“Deal,” Sokka says, holding out his hand — but retracting it before Zuko can shake. “As long as you’re only offering because that’s what friends do, and not because you feel like you owe me.” 

Zuko considers this, nods, and holds out his own hand. “Deal.” 

Sokka shakes on it. “Flameo, hotman.” 

Zuko scrunches up his face. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Sokka says. “All my Fire Nation slang comes from Aang. Is that still what the cool kids are saying these days?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Zuko says. “The last time I saw any cool kids in the Fire Nation, I was ruining a house party by destroying all their parents’ antique furniture.” 

“Huh,” Sokka says. “The last time I saw any kids in the Fire Nation, I was hosting a cave party while pretending to be one of their parents.” 

Zuko blinks once, twice, three times. “What?”

“Funny story,” Sokka says, patting him on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll tell you while I clean up.” 

“What is all this?” Zuko asks, following Sokka over to the pile of cushions he dragged outside to work on today.

“Nothing,” Sokka says, crouching down to shuffle his papers into a neater stack. “Just something I couldn’t figure out.”

Zuko sinks onto a cushion and picks up a map. “Maybe I can help.” 

“Thanks,” Sokka says, “but you — ”

Sokka breaks off, and Zuko looks up. “What?” 

Sokka’s train of thought was just completely derailed by the realization of how stupid he’s been, is what. “Maybe you can help me,” he says, slow and wondering, because what has he been doing with all this stuff all day when Zuko, confirmed attendee of Fire Nation war meetings, is right there. 

Zuko, who sits up straighter, eyes intent. “I can?” 

“Yeah,” Sokka says, with a breathless laugh of disbelief. “Might be the only person in the world who can, actually.”

Zuko’s focus is a dagger. “Tell me,” he says, and Sokka — 

Sokka isn't sure what he would have found more unthinkable, twenty-four hours ago: the fact that Zuko might be the key to saving Dad, or that Zuko would look ready to drop everything to make that his number-one priority. Sokka ran through a lot of what-ifs when Aang invited Zuko to join the team, and never in all of Sokka's wildest best-case-scenarios did he imagine something like this.

Of course, Sokka also never imagined that Zuko might understand, better than just about anyone, how much the Fire Nation had taken from him. And if not for Sokka overhearing Zuko's footsteps last night, he never would have known. It's crazy how close he was to never knowing. 

Sokka's not necessarily about to chalk that up to some Aunt Wu pre-determined destiny nonsense. He is a man of science. But he is also slowly opening up to the possibility that some things, at least, may be influenced by powers far beyond his own control. Nearly getting buried alive in a mythical library by a giant owl will humble a guy like that. 

So Sokka sends up a swift, silent thanks to the moon, the sun and every spirit in between that Zuko cannot for the life of him be sneaky, before saying, “If someone was captured by the Fire Nation, where would they be taken?” 

***

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first ATLA fic, and the first fic I've finished in ages, so I'm feeling a little rusty. But I'm really happy about finally sharing this story, which I started planning in 2021 before hitting like a three-year wall on fic writing. Thank you @stammiviktor for all the support and for beta-ing. Come hang out with me on Tumblr!