Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zuko had thought becoming Fire Lord would be a bit more glamorous than this. 

Zuko feels like he’s been stuck in this bed forever. He’s going to lose his mind stuck in this bed, in this room. If he can’t get out soon he thinks he’s genuinely going to set the sheets on fire. If one more maid or guard or whoever comes in shaking and hardly speaking above a whisper, he’s going to lose it. Except he can’t because then everyone will only be more afraid of him than they already are. Which is ridiculous because Zuko can hardly sit up without getting out of breath. 

His chest still hurts something terrible, and Zuko knows rest is the only thing that will help it get better. But Spirits, there’s so much to do, and the world is in shambles, and somehow it’s become his job to fix it, but he can hardly breathe. 

Zuko is both overwhelmed and so incredibly bored. 

After so long constantly moving, the sudden shift to staying put is jarring. Being forced to stay in one room is maddening. For years, Zuko had the entire ocean at his disposal, to move wherever he wanted. For months after that, he roamed the Earth Kingdom at his leisure. For months after that, he traversed with the Avatar, and yeah most of that was running for his life, but it was good. Now, Zuko feels stuck. Stagnant. Trapped. 

But he has to be here. The Fire Nation is his home. His people need him. He can’t abandon them just because this room makes him claustrophobic. Zuko can’t run, not from this duty. This is where Zuko makes a stand and starts the beginning of the rest of his life. As a leader, as a peacekeeper, as Fire Lord. 

And if he has to start that stuck in a bed, then Zuko will do it. He’s not happy about it, not by half, but he will do this. 

Zuko only wishes he had someone else with him. The only time Zuko has been alone in the past three years was the weeks he spent back in the Fire Nation before running away again. Before that was the ship with Uncle and his crew. After that was Aang and his friends. Zuko has gotten used to being around people. Having at least one person near or right next to him for years. So this– these people skirting around him, keeping a wide berth, hardly looking at him– it’s taking its toll. Hard. 

Maybe if at least one of his friends stayed, he wouldn’t feel this crushing loneliness. Zuko knows that’s selfish to think, they all have their own things to be doing. Just because the war is over doesn’t mean they have nothing else to do. No, if anything that just means the group of them are going to be busier than before. Or maybe if it was easier to keep up communication, easier to send letters that didn’t take days or weeks to get to each other. 

But damn if it isn’t lonely. 

And maddening to be stuck in this Spirit’s-damned bed.

The knock on his door startles Zuko out of his melancholy thoughts. He waits for whoever it is to enter on their own, as he’s used to from traveling with a group of space-invading teenagers. When no one enters, Zuko sighs, harshly reminded once again that none of his friends are around. 

“Come in,” Zuko calls, rubbing at his chest after. A servant enters, quiet as a mouse and not looking up from the roll of parchment in her hands. Zuko knows he’s seen her before, but he doesn’t know her name. He’s not even sure she’s the one who usually brings him his letters. None of them will look at Zuko long enough for him to learn their faces. 

“Pardon me, Lord Zuko,” she says, just loud enough to be heard clearly. “You asked to be notified immediately if any of your… friends sent correspondence.”

“Thank you,” Zuko sits up straighter, fighting off a wince. The news perks him up with a burst of energy, and he steadily ignores the twinge in his chest. The servant hands him the letter, making sure her fingers don’t touch Zuko’s, and practically flees the room. 

Zuko sighs as deeply as his body will let him. That fear is something he’ll have to handle eventually. Something he’ll have to figure out how to handle and fix. Zuko puts it out of his mind for now, unrolling the letter. It’s from Katara, updating him on how she’s doing, how things are at the South Pole, or what Aang has been up to. Katara’s letters don’t come the most frequently, no that honor goes to Aang, but Katara’s are the longest and Zuko appreciates it. At the end of Katara’s letter, there’s a small mention of Sokka. He’s not doing too great, apparently, and Katara is starting to worry. 

Of all his friends, Sokka is the only one who has yet to write to Zuko. Zuko figured that Sokka was just busy and that he would write in his own time. (On his worst days, Zuko believed that now the war was over, Sokka didn’t want anything to do with him. Zuko forces that voice quiet, but it still shouts once in a while.)

Well. If Sokka isn’t doing well, and if Sokka isn’t going to write, Zuko will just have to reach out his hand first. And there’s no time like the present. Zuko reaches beside his bed for his set of brushes and parchment. It pulls, but once again Zuko ignores it. Maybe if Zuko just keeps ignoring it, it’ll go away faster. Maybe that’s not advice Zuko should share with Sokka, though. 

Sokka,

Sorry I haven’t written until now. I’ve been stuck on bedrest for the past two weeks… 

For a long while after returning home, Sokka switches between feeling frighteningly numb and unbelievably sad. 

That first night home, after the reunions and celebrations and tears had all run their course, Sokka stared at his old bed and felt like he was looking at a stranger. He looked around at all the things he left lying around, things that Gran Gran never moved the months he’d been away, and felt like an intruder. Sokka had clumsily lowered himself down, trying in vain not to jostle his still-tender leg. When he laid down, his once comfortable bed had felt so stifling. So foreign. Sokka rested his head on his pillow, and before he knew it he was crying. Strong, heaving tears that were burning hot on his face and made him feel nauseous with how they wracked his body. He didn’t sleep that night, just dozed in and out.

And when Sokka woke, it was with a terrifying feeling of numbness. A familiar one.

Sokka doesn’t get out of bed that morning. Or that afternoon. Or even that night. Different people bring him meals, come to check on him, and try to convince him to move. Old friends and mentors bring him dried jerky that he dreamed about having again, but now he can’t stomach it. The little kids he was training before he left no longer look so little, and he can’t bear to put a weapon in their hands, no matter how much they cajole and beg. Gran Gran takes one look at him, still bundled in his blankets, and sighs so weary and understanding. She sits down next to him, runs her fingers through his tangled hair, and starts lowly singing a lullaby from when he was a child. When he was so small. Before war and fire and devastation had entered his life.

It breaks him all over again. 

It feels terribly like after they lost his mother.

It feels terribly like grief. 

He doesn’t know what he could be mourning. The final fight was a resounding success. They fought tooth and nail, and they came out bloody and bruised, but they came out winners. None of them died, they didn’t lose anyone. They were injured, some of them seriously, but they still made it. They’re recovering, slowly maybe, but they are. The war is over, the Avatar is stronger than ever, Zuko is the new Fire Lord, and hope is finally back to the people. There’s nothing to be sad about. Nothing to be grieving over. Nothing to mourn.

“Oh, darling,” Gran Gran whispers, her fingers never faltering their path in his hair. “You’ve lost so much these past few months. You’ve ended a war. You’re mourning your innocence, my love.”

It takes Sokka a few days after that to muster the energy to start a routine. It’s as follows; Sokka gets up, gets ready for the day, stretches his muscles that don’t seem to know what to do now that he’s not running for his life all day every day, eats breakfast with Katara and Dad, and hobbles around the village looking for something to do. Sometimes he hangs out with the kids he used to train, but instead of handing them weapons, he plays children’s games with them. They build snowmen, have snowball fights, or skip rocks. It’s simple and fun; kids being kids. It’s the childhood Sokka never got, and he’s glad to help these kids get it instead. Other times, he manages to find some task or another, nothing too strenuous that would hurt his leg. Moving things or helping to strengthen walls. Sometimes he helps with the food; salting meats or cleaning fish. He hasn’t been out fishing since he got home, and it’s killing him a little that cramping himself in the fishing boat is too much for his leg. 

Sometimes, he sits with the men who were just released from prisons all over the Fire Nation. They sit near the fire, close enough to keep the chill away, but not close enough to feel the flames. They never look at it. Instead, they stare at the snow or the ocean, drinking in the sights as if they thought they would never see them again. Maybe they didn’t. They hardly ever speak, these men. And Sokka can see the shadows in their eyes. The haunt. Oddly enough, Sokka feels a kinship with them, a comradery. He feels a little better after these times, knowing he’s at least not alone in feeling so little. 

One day, his routine changes a little. 

They get letters more often than would be expected from living in the Southern Water Tribe. But since the war has ended, people from all over the world have been keeping in contact with them. Usually, the letters are for Dad or Bato, or maybe even Katara. Occasionally, one will be addressed to Sokka, asking his opinion on invention ideas, or simple check-ins. It’s not often, so when Dad hands him a tight scroll, sealed with the Fire Nation’s symbol, Sokka’s a little surprised. He can’t think of anyone other than Zuko, or maybe Master Piandao that would reach out. But Piandao hasn’t before, and Zuko hasn’t exactly been the paragon of keeping in touch lately. And yeah, Sokka knows it’s wrong to be bitter about that, contact is a two-way street and all that, but it’s taking all of his energy to simply reply to people, forget reaching out first. 

So Sokka is surprised, and tentatively happy when he unrolls the scroll and recognizes Zuko’s practiced, elegant script. 

Sokka,

Sorry I haven’t written until now. I’ve been stuck on bedrest for the past two weeks. I’ve been sleeping so much it’s hard to tell how much time has passed. If Uncle weren’t still here I’m not sure I’d know much of anything. The healers all say I should stay in bed for another two weeks, just to be safe, but I think I’ll go mad before then. I’ve taken to asking everyone who comes in to check on me to bring me more papers to read. They do, but they do it without looking up from the floor. I’m afraid they all think I’m like my fa Ozai. I don’t know how to change that. 

How have you been? Katara’s last letter said you were struggling a bit. Don’t be mad at her– if anyone is going to understand you struggling with still being hurt, it would be me. I don’t really know what advice to give you on that, or if you would even want any. Just hope you’re feeling better. If anyone deserves some damn peace after all this mess it’s you. I hope finally being back home helps. 

Speaking of home, how is everyone there? I hope your men made it safely. I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry it happened at all. 

Honestly, I’m not sure what else to write. I guess I just wanted to talk to you. I think I miss you guys. The only people I talk to here are Uncle and a staff that’s terrified of me. Is it strange to say I miss before? When we were all together? I know that’s terrible to say– we were at the height of the war and fighting for our lives. Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Should probably try to rest some more. This wasn’t much of a letter, but I hope you write back anyway. 

Stay safe,

Zuko

Hm. Turns out Zuko’s not much better with words in writing than he is in person. That’s okay, Sokka’s used to it by now. Charmed despite himself, Sokka hunts down some parchment and begins to write back.

Zuko,

I don’t know what Katara has been telling you but I’m fine. I guess I’m struggling to adjust to being home and not on the run, but that’ll get better with time. No need to worry about me. While Katara was talking about me, I bet she didn’t tell you about how she accidentally dumped herself in the ocean last week… 

Reconstruction was turning out to be much more difficult than anticipated. Not that Zuko thought it would be easy, no. He was under no illusions about how time-consuming and arduous the task would be. There are too many things to do, and too many things to fix for this not to be a grueling effort. Zuko will be surprised if it gets done in his lifetime. In fact, it most likely won’t. He has one hundred-plus years of bigotry, hate, violence, and death to undo, change, and somehow make better. It seems an impossible task, but Zuko is full of determination, perseverance, and hope. 

And oh, the results will be so worth it. 

But before he can revel in what will be, Zuko has to focus on doing it. Which means he can no longer put off the mound of paperwork in front of him. Who knew staging a coup, overthrowing the previous Fire Lord, and claiming the title all while technically still being banished and wanted would have so much paperwork involved? Zuko is bracing himself to pick up the nearest roll of parchment– he can spy the signature of the admiral that took over for Zhao, ugh– when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yes?” Zuko calls. Ming, one of the guards handpicked by Uncle Iroh, enters the office. 

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” Ming starts, and Zuko barely manages to avoid making a face. The staff, what’s left of them after Uncle Iroh swept through, have been walking on eggshells around Zuko. He can’t blame them, but he also doesn’t know how to show them that he’s not like Ozai. That he won’t be. “This letter just came for you.”

“Thank you, Ming,” Zuko reaches out, his chest twinging where Azula’s lightning hit him. He’s not healed completely yet; the wound on his chest is still tender, his heart still sometimes stutters, and he’s not supposed to do anything too strenuous. But he can stand and he can walk and he can do the more menial tasks required of being Fire Lord. Ming exits the room with a dip of his head, going back to guarding the door. Zuko sighs at the thought of even more military correspondents, but he brightens immediately upon opening it. 

Zuko,

How are you feeling? How are you healing up? If my timing is right (and it always is), you’ve been off bed rest for a week now. Have you been taking it easy? The last thing we need is for you to work yourself to death when you were just given a clean bill of health. 

I’ve been doing better myself. A few setbacks when I first got home. It’s been so long since I’ve walked on snow, I’d almost forgotten how. Sometimes I swear we were gone for a decade, but it’s hardly been a year. I had a few slips, and that’s made healing more slow going for me. Don’t worry, though! I’ll be back to normal in no time, I’m sure of it. With Katara here– and some of the Northern Water Tribe members on their way– there’s no way I won’t be. 

Things are slowly but surely picking up here. Every warrior has returned home. At least, the ones that are still alive. We’ve been able to reunite so many families that have been separated because of that damned war. Men that have been gone for so long are finally home. It’s a beautiful thing. We’re working on rebuilding now, and now we have the time to rebuild properly, and with more strength. Things are looking brighter, for the first time in a long time. I just wish I could help more. 

How are you supposed to send off letters normally? I’ve never done it when talking about things other than fighting the war. The usual “be safe, don’t get caught by the Fire Nation” doesn’t seem like it’ll cut it here. Though maybe that is all still relevant to you, now that I think about it. I’m sure the Ozai supporters aren’t happy with you at the moment. Let me know how that’s going? I won’t lie, I’m worried. 

Be safe, don’t get caught by war supporters,

Sokka

Reinvigorated, Zuko picks up his brush and a fresh sheet of parchment, but not to do work. 

Sokka,

I’ve been well. I won’t do you the disservice of lying to you; we all know I’m probably overworking. Does it count as overworking if I’m sitting down for most of it? There’s so much paperwork. Too much. I’m considering setting it on fire, but somehow I’m certain that will only cause more paperwork. Surely, creating this much parchment is bad for the environment… 

Sokka is feeling a little useless, to be honest. 

The war against the Fire Nation is finally over, and Sokka played a huge part in that. He helped the Avatar on his journey, stood with him as he learned how to master the elements. He fought beside the Avatar. He was one of the tactical minds behind the final battle. He was instrumental in the final fight, and he knows the war couldn’t have been won without him. Sokka’s been away from home for a year, and in that year he’s grown and prospered and lost and flourished. Sokka has grown into the person— into the man— he wants to be. 

Yet here he sits, finally home after so long, and feeling useless. 

It’s been a few months now since the almost end of the world and the subsequent end of the war. A few months since Sokka has been home. Things were rough at first; he’d been lost, adrift. He still feels that occasionally, but he’s been getting better. Been finding things to keep him busy, to remind him that life doesn’t stop now that there’s no war to fight. Just because he’s no longer moving at a breakneck speed, doesn’t mean he’s not moving at all. 

Healing has been a part of that. His body and his mind. Sokka might not like the whole talking about his emotions thing, but he’ll be damned if it doesn’t make him feel better. Keeping in touch with everyone helps; writing letters to Aang, Suki, Toph, and Zuko. Add to that how his leg has been healing little by little, Sokka is well on his way to being back at full strength. 

However, there are still some setbacks. Small ones. Minuscule. They don’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. So really, Sokka should just get over it— 

Sokka’s leg is hurting him today, more than it usually does. The bone aches; sharp pains shooting when he puts too much pressure. He relies on his crutch in a way he doesn’t like. 

But not as much as the looks of pity he’s getting from everyone he passes. 

Sokka refuses to let this keep him down. Refuses to sit back in his igloo, waiting for others to bring him information or busy work. Sokka can still stand, and stand he does, hobbling to the information center to the best of his ability. It takes him a while to get there, and when he does it feels like he’s interrupted something. 

The group of men looks up as Sokka enters, all conversation dropping off at once. It makes Sokka freeze like he’s not supposed to be here, but Sokka has always been welcome in this room. Or well, he has been since he’s gotten older. Since he was the one in charge of the entire tribe. Everyone is staring at him, but no one looks annoyed or irritated. Dad is closest to him and he has a huge smile on his face. Actually, everyone in the room looks… 

Excited. Happy. Anticipatory. 

Sokka’s gut eases, his anxiety lessening but his suspicion growing. 

“Hey…” Sokka trails off, limping forward until he can lean on the table, going for casual. For once, Dad doesn’t shoot him a concerned look. 

“Sokka,” Dad greets with a smile and shoulder squeeze. “I was hoping you’d come in today. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Alright,” Sokka nods. Dad doesn’t look stressed or anything close. He looks eager and–

Proud. Dad looks proud. 

It’s making Sokka more and more curious. He observes the room, but no one gives him any hints. They all just have similar expressions. The men start shuffling around; gathering papers and maps, shifting chairs, and putting back on their shed layers. One by one, the men leave, all with parting smiles or slaps on the back. 

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Bato says. On his way out, he grips the back of Sokka’s neck, squeezing gently. It’s a familiar grip, one that settles him in his body and leaves him standing on solid ground. 

“What’s going on?” Sokka asks, moving around the table until he’s standing next to Dad. 

“How are you feeling, son? With everything going on, how are you holding up?” Dad asks, not unlike how he’s been asking ever since he and Katara got home. It seems out of place here, when Dad is clearly gearing up for some bigger conversation. 

“I’m feeling good,” Sokka answers slowly. It’s even mostly true. Yeah, his leg has been aching even more today, and sometimes he gets lost in that spiral of uselessness. But overall, Sokka is doing leagues better than he was months ago. He’s doing better than he was weeks ago. “I mean, my leg is hurting a bit more today, but that’s not unusual so…”

“No, I meant up here, Sokka,” Dad taps his own temple. “How are you feeling?”

Sokka sighs. It’s much easier to admit to himself how he’s struggling than it is to say it out loud. He’s been working on talking things out and letting others know when he’s feeling down, but still. Dad has always been the strongest person Sokka knows, and looking him in the eyes and admitting that he’s feeling weak is harder than fighting the Fire Nation. 

But Sokka did fight the Fire Nation. He can do this, too. 

“I’m doing better,” Sokka hedges. He can’t quite look Dad in the eyes when he continues, but he’s saying it, which is what matters. “It gets hard sometimes, I guess. I went from doing too much to nothing, ya know? So now I just feel… useless sometimes. Like fighting the war was all I was good for, or good at, and now it’s finished. But It’s gotten better. Now that I’m talking about stuff and writing letters to everyone.”

“Good, that’s good,” Dad nods. “But uh, I had this idea. I thought… it might help with that feeling you’ve got.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a lot like me, ya know?” Dad laughs, rubbing his face with a rough palm. “If we’re not moving, doing something big, we feel like we’re not doing anything. We can’t take breaks or let ourselves rest. It’s not the healthiest, but I think you’re working on that a bit better than I am.”

“But I am doing nothing,” Sokka points out. Or maybe argues, the tight feeling in his chest is making it feel like he wants to argue. 

“You’re not doing nothing, son,” Dad shakes his head. “You’ve been resting. Healing. That’s important, that’s not nothing.”

“You just said you had an idea that would help me with that feeling,” Sokka repeats. 

“Right,” Dad is back to smiling again, and Sokka is left all the more confused. “I had this idea. This job that I think you’d be a perfect fit for. You don’t have to start it now, or right away, or even ever if you don’t want to. If you need more time to rest or heal. Get back into the swing of things, the feel of life.”

“Well, what is it?” Sokka can’t think of a single thing. There’s no need for war strategy anymore. No battle plans to strategize. Not if Zuko has his way with how he’s changing the Fire Nation. Coming up with new inventions will always need doing, but Sokka’s already kind of been doing that. Coming up with better ways of building, more solid structures. More effective ways of fishing and hunting. 

“How would you feel about… being an Ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe? Leading communications between us and other Nations, between me and other leaders. Advocating for our people, on behalf of us.”

“I– What?” Sokka asks, not registering what Dad just asked.

“It would be more of a focus on politics, definitely, and I’m not sure how you feel about that. I know you’re more of a hands-on guy. Inventing, building, creating. You have a brilliant mind. I don’t want to hinder that. But I also think that’s why you would be perfect for this. You’d be a fresh mind, with fresh ideas. A new, young mind, and with all the life experience you’ve had, you know better than anyone what we need.”

“I–” Sokka cuts himself off. He’s heard what Dad is saying and sees his thought process. But it– it just sounds so big. So important. Speaking for his tribe? Leading communications between Nations? Being a– a go-between between Dad and other leaders? That sounds like a job for Bato or one of the other guys. Someone older, someone who’s done this before or for longer. Not a kid who just so happened to help end a war. 

“Dad, I don’t know…” Sokka stops. He rarely feels speechless, but this has got him at a loss for words. 

“Sokka, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this.”

That makes Sokka gasp, looking up from the table he’d trained his eyes on. Dad is looking straight at him, expression so serious. Not a hint of doubt. Only truth, and confidence. 

Confidence in Sokka. 

It… does something to strengthen the confidence in himself.

Politics isn’t Sokka’s favorite thing, but he’s pretty good at it. He helped King Kuei, he dealt with all the personalities of the White Lotus and every other warrior he got to help in the final battle. He’s been part of political discussions since the end of the war. He could do it.

Sokka has thought about stuff like that before. How he can improve things not just at home, but around the world. Sokka is pretty sure he’s had at least one thought in every town, in every village he’s visited. On how he could make things better, something he would change or improve. 

He could… He could do this. 

“Yeah,” Sokka says, his voice far away with the thought already forming in his mind. “Yeah, Dad. I think I can do that.”

Dad smiles, just as bright as he did the day Sokka and Katara stepped off the ship and were home to stay for the foreseeable future. 

Sokka exits the igloo what feels like hours later. The sun is dipping below the sea, casting everything in pink and purple light. Sokka’s leg still aches, and a small, quiet part of him still thinks he doesn’t deserve this. But a bigger, much bigger part of him is bursting with excitement. 

Sokka already has so many ideas that his brain is full to bursting. Sokka has spent more time traveling the world than any other member of the Southern Water Tribe. For all that Dad and his crew sailed and fought, they didn’t travel in the same way Sokka did. They didn’t explore like Sokka, Katara, and Aang did. They didn’t walk through the entire Earth Kingdom, they didn’t pass through swamps and deserts, they didn’t hide from the Fire Nation in plain sight. They didn’t hear civilian stories, live among them, or connect with them. Not in the same way Sokka did. 

Sokka can do this. He’s confident he can do this. Sokka has always been an inventor; a builder. 

He can help invent and build a better system. He can. 

Back in his room, Sokka collapses at his desk. He starts to jot down a list of all the ideas zooming in his head, but they’re going too fast for him to focus on one longer than it takes to note down a few words. Too buzzed to even be annoyed, Sokka reaches for a fresh sheet of parchment. 

Oh, Sokka has to tell everyone. He’s got to start writing and sending letters immediately. Suki, Toph, Teo, and Haru, Master Piandao, the rest of the White Lotus, Chief Arnook, Zu–

Zuko. 

In that moment, Sokka wishes more than anything, that he could tell Zuko in person. He wants to share this news, wants to see Zuko’s face, wants to know if it would light up with pride like he thinks it would. He wants it like a punch to the gut. For the first time, Sokka regrets being home and he curses the ocean in between them. 

For now, a letter will have to do. 

Zuko,

I know I just wrote to you a few days ago, but I have news! 

My dad and I just had a conversation, and he wants me to take over as the Ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe… 

… I know I haven’t done anything yet. I just accepted the position hours ago, but I  have this great feeling. It’s like this pressure in my chest that’s getting ready to burst, but not in a bad way! I’m full of so much energy now. There’s so much I want to do, I think I’ll never get it all done in my lifetime. Is this how you feel as Fire Lord? Inspired and overwhelmed, but ultimately too damn determined to care about how long it might take? 

And the best part is I already know what I want to do first. Communication has been a lot better between our tribe and up North– they even sent some healers down to us when the war first ended. But they only stayed for a few weeks before going back home. The Southern Water Tribe used to be just as prosperous as the North, but the war took a big toll on us. I want their help in getting us back to what we were– what we could be.

I can’t wait to tell the others. You’re the first I’m writing to. I think this is gonna be really good for me, Zuko. I really do. 

Stay safe,

Sokka

Zuko’s first reaction to seeing another letter from Sokka so soon was fear. Something terrible must have happened to give Sokka a reason to write so soon after sending his last letter. Zuko hadn’t even had a chance to reply to the latest before another was in his grip. Sokka must have sent this one off just a day or two after the last one. This had never happened before; new letters arriving before they had responded to each other. No, their communications thus far had stayed steady. The weeks apart didn’t disrupt the flow of their conversations. If anything, the weeks apart made Zuko all the more fond and excited when a letter from Sokka arrived. But this– a letter days apart– was enough to strike fear through Zuko’s newly weak heart. 

All kinds of things flew through Zuko’s mind as he rushed to his room to read this letter in private. There had been whispers and rumors of a Pro-Ozai group gathering support in the Fire Nation. Zuko had done his best to investigate but so far he and his people were finding nothing. But that didn’t mean those rumors didn’t have merit. Maybe this group was more solid than they realized. 

Sokka was a war hero. The bounty on his head during the end of the war was high– higher than most established, adult warriors. After the day of the eclipse, word had gotten around the Fire Nation that Sokka was Team Avatar’s strategist. That they never would have gotten as far as they did without Sokka’s planning. Any soldier or warrior worth their salt knew that you could have the strongest team in existence– but they were nothing without a good brain. And Sokka’s brain was great. Brilliant. Ozai and Azula knew that to get rid of Sokka would be a fatal blow. And if they knew it, then every single member of the Fire Nation military knew it, too. Zuko didn’t have to try to imagine how many ex-soldiers and Pro-Ozai supporters placed heavy blame on Sokka for the ending of the war. 

(And they are right to do so, for all the wrong reasons. Sokka painstakingly planned out battle strategies for weeks. Sokka had plans A-Z, 1-100, and more that Zuko could never comprehend. Sure, he’d planned with others, with seasoned veterans and more experienced fighters, but Sokka was never far from the control center. No decision was made in those final moments without Sokka’s approval. 

And thanks to Sokka’s planning they had won. They’d succeeded. 

For most, that was a great thing. For some… Sokka was public enemy number one.)

The thought of Sokka being hurt struck Zuko with a fear he didn’t know he could feel. His already tight chest was ready to explode at the thought. He couldn’t imagine what he would do, how far off the deep end he would go if this letter was news that Sokka was hurt. 

Sokka had so quickly become Zuko’s best friend. The two of them clicked in a way that was so natural, so easy, it was hard for Zuko to believe they hadn’t known each other their entire lives. Zuko felt more at ease in Sokka’s presence than anyone– save for maybe Uncle. But– in a different way than Uncle. Zuko felt heard and understood on a basic level when he was with Sokka. Their letters were no different. When reading them, Zuko didn’t feel like there were oceans between them. No, it felt like Sokka was right next to him. Huddled close, sharing Zuko’s warmth, and speaking softly to each other. 

The letter in Zuko’s hand quickly makes him realize that Sokka being hurt is Zuko’s worst nightmare. 

And then, like a punch to the gut, Zuko remembers that other people exist. Katara, Aang, Toph, Suki, Sokka’s father, his grandmother, his entire tribe. Haru, Teo, The Mechanist, the others who fought alongside them. Anyone could be hurt.

Katara often traveled with Aang, maybe one of them was hurt. Zuko didn’t even want to think about how many people out there may want to hurt Aang and by extension the group that helped the Avatar succeed. Maybe Sokka’s father had encountered someone on a recent trip. Or any of the other Southern Water Tribe warriors that Sokka was close with. Maybe one of the men recently released? Zuko is sure some ex-guards would love to get ‘revenge’ on ‘escaped prisoners’-- Spirits some of the people Zuko has dealt with in the past few months have been insane. 

Or maybe it had nothing to do with war revenge. Perhaps something simple and mundane happened. A boating accident, a hunting accident, even an illness. Something serious that would necessitate writing so quickly. Something that couldn’t wait. 

Zuko had been prepared for the worst when he finally closed his door solidly behind him and unraveled the parchment. He’d held his breath scanning the length of the letter. It wasn’t the shortest letter Sokka had sent (a few simple lines when Sokka had been angry with him), and it wasn’t even close to the longest (pages when Sokka had sent him some advice on how to handle himself in a meeting with former war generals). Zuko had braced himself when reading the first few lines, fearing someone he loved was hurt or in danger.

Zuko was met, not with fear and pain and loss, but with happiness. Excitement, wonder, amaze. 

Pride. 

A breathless laugh escapes Zuko, all of his adrenaline fading at once and leaving him shaky. Zuko sinks onto his bed, trembling fingers holding the letter up for him to read again and again. Sokka’s glee is contagious even in writing, and Zuko finds himself smiling down at the paper. 

Zuko lets himself collapse against the bed, holding the letter to his chest so it doesn’t fly away. The last of the adrenaline has left him exhausted, the fear making way for affection. Of course Sokka would be too excited to share this good news to wait. And he shouldn’t have had to, good news deserves to be shared just as readily as bad. It was just Zuko’s paranoia that had him jumping to the worst conclusions. 

Zuko reads the letter again. He knows he has a sappy look on his face, but he can’t help it. Sokka was so thrilled to write to Zuko that his letters were rushed, words running so close together that for some Zuko has to squint to make them out. It’s as if Sokka hardly lifted from the paper at all, he wrote so fast. The thought makes Zuko smile again; that Sokka was too overjoyed to write to him, to share this with him, that he could hardly leave space between his words. Zuko can practically hear Sokka’s voice in his head as he reads along, speaking so fast and so quickly that his voice has gone breathless but Sokka is still rushing to get all the words out. 

An Ambassador, huh? Well, it would only be proper for the new Fire Lord to meet with the new Ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe formally. In the spirit of maintaining positive relationships between Nations, of course. 

It seems Zuko has a trip to plan. 

Sokka,

While I am incredibly proud of you, and am certain this role of Ambassador will fit you like a glove, getting this letter so soon after the last one had me fearing the worst. I suppose that’s not entirely your fault. I’ve grown so used to bad news that I’ve come to always expect it. 

Maybe when it comes to you, I should start expecting the best instead. 

Now, Ambassador sounds like a very important title. I know you’ll carry it well. It was only a matter of time before you started taking over the world. We’re already in better hands for it… 

Sokka has been so busy with his new role as Ambassador that he doesn’t notice that he hasn’t gotten a new letter from Zuko in weeks. 

Okay, that was partly a lie. Sokka has been very busy. He’s opened communications with at least one diplomat from every nation, several diplomats in the cases of the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation. He’s tried to reach one from every region to get perspectives from every part of the globe. Sokka is under no impression that ways of life are the same for someone who lives in the city and someone who lives on the outskirts. 

Regardless of how little free time he has, Sokka is painfully aware of how much time has passed in between letters with Zuko. It seems these days that he measures time by how many letters he sends. They usually send three letters a month to each other, sometimes more if they send letters days apart instead of waiting for a response. Sometimes they’ll have multiple conversations going at once; one set of letters about the reconstruction effort, the other more personal.

One day Sokka will be getting a letter about meeting minutes and budgets, and the next Sokka will get an entirely new letter about Zuko sharing a childhood memory. Sometimes it’s a jarring shift. Sokka will be in the mindset of work only to get thrown into a precious memory of a time Zuko snuck into the palace kitchens with his mother. It dredges up memories of Sokka’s own time with his mother. He might not have snuck around a palace with his mom, but she used to hold Sokka tight in her lap and recount hunting adventures; jostling him all around like he was riding the ocean waves from her lap until Sokka was a giggling mess. 

Today marks week two without a response from Zuko. Sokka has sent two since the last one Zuko sent. He should have gotten a response a few days ago at the latest. Sokka knew they both responded the same day they received a new letter, and even the slowest messenger hawk would have gotten a letter to him by now. 

So, Sokka is starting to worry. Just a little. A tiny bit. 

Maybe a lot. 

Zuko despises tardiness. He’s read Zuko’s rant about late military men to know. He would never keep Sokka waiting like this under normal circumstances. Zuko has even written him a simple ‘I’m so busy and tired that I can hardly see straight. I’ll write you properly in a few days.’ before! So this– this total silence is new and scary and Sokka hates it. 

The worst part is Sokka has no idea what to do. As much as he wishes he could, he can’t drop everything and head to the Fire Nation. He can’t track down Zuko and demand to know what’s going on. He can’t find Zuko and make sure he’s okay. He can’t do anything. Sokka hasn’t felt this useless in a long time. 

All Sokka can do right now is wait, and he’s never been good at that. Luckily, or unluckily, he only has to wait a few more days. 

The letter from Aang comes on a gorgeous day, one that is ruined spectacularly before it can even properly begin. 

Sokka doesn’t get the news straight from Zuko, which frankly, pisses him off an impressive amount. 

He knows it shouldn’t. He knows this anger is coming from a place of worry– of fear– but he can’t help it. Sokka is halfway across the world, clutching a piece of parchment with eighteen simple words, entirely unable to help. To see for himself that Zuko is okay. The words on the parchment aren’t even from Zuko. And even if they were, Sokka wouldn’t know if they were accurate, or if Zuko’s condition had changed since the letter was sent, or if Zuko was lying just to keep Sokka from worrying which is absolutely something he would do. But it doesn’t even matter because Zuko wasn’t the one to write this letter. Aang was. 

Katara and Sokka,

There was an assassination attempt on Zuko. It’s been taken care of. He’s okay. I’ll write again soon. – Aang. 

Eighteen words. Four sentences. 

None of them from Zuko. 

Sokka may be panicking a bit. Or maybe a lot. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Aang– he does! More than almost anyone! He trusts Aang with his life, with Katara’s life. But this short letter isn’t enough to reassure him. Sokka has a million questions. What happened exactly? Who did it? Was it more than one person? Was Zuko hurt? How was Zuko hurt? What’s being done to protect him? What’s being done to make sure this never happens again? What does “it’s been taken care of” mean? Does “he’s okay” imply that Zuko was hurt but not seriously? Or does it mean that Zuko made it out unscathed? 

Most importantly: Why didn’t Zuko write them himself? 

Is he unable? Was he hurt badly enough that he couldn’t write? Is he too busy? If that’s the case, what does he believe is more important than assuring his friends he’s safe and healthy after an assassination attempt? 

Before Sokka fully registers what he’s doing, a fresh parchment and dripping brush is in his hand. Sokka’s handwriting isn’t great at the best of times, but right now with his shaking hands and jerky movements, it’s near illegible. He barely remembers to sign his name at the bottom, some subconscious part of him knowing that whoever screens Zuko’s letters would toss one not signed. Sokka barely waits for the ink to dry before rolling the parchment and sending it off with the messenger hawk that had patiently waited. 

Zuko, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay. Not Aang, not Uncle Iroh, not one of your guards. You. Please. 

Sokka 

The next few days pass by in a blur. Sokka can do nothing but wait for updates that are slow to come. He can’t risk leaving home and setting out for the Fire Nation in case he gets a response from Zuko. Another letter from Aang arrived two days after the first one. It was just as short, letting them know that Aang was going to stay in the Fire Nation for a while until things settled down. There was no mention of Zuko, and it did nothing to ease the anxiety in Sokka’s gut. It just made the constant feeling of nausea even worse. 

Sokka does his duties in a haze. He studies his maps without seeing them. He outlines safe travel routes in a daze. He responds to letters automatically but without much deeper thought. He walks around without truly seeing anything or anyone. The only thing that remains clear is the sky, where Sokka keeps watch for messenger hawks. It’s clear in his vision and clear of any letters. 

For days, Sokka drifts like this. Until finally, he spies a spot in the sky, far away but getting closer with each flap of its wings. Sokka barely lets the poor thing land before he pulls off the letter and practically tears it open. 

Sokka can see the letter is long, but that hardly registers. He instantly recognizes the looping, aristocratic handwriting of Zuko’s, and the knot in his stomach finally starts to untangle. This letter is from Zuko, not another from Aang. Not from someone else. Finally, Zuko has written him. Despite knowing this, Sokka skips to the bottom of the letter to the signature, some part of his brain not wanting to believe it’s real until he sees Zuko’s name for himself. When he does, Sokka’s breath catches. 

Yours,

Zuko

Sokka’s entire brain whites out, not a single thought entering or leaving. His eyes are stuck on those two words. Sokka had been so eager to read this letter, and now he couldn’t switch his focus from the send-off. From that word. His mind can’t move past the implications of it. 

Has Zuko realized how that simple word could be taken? Does he know that Sokka will take that claim and keep it? Did he mean it in the way Sokka is hoping he did? Does he know the power that one word holds? Does he know that Sokka is going to take that statement and hold it so close it burrows into his chest? Does he know that Sokka is just as much his, as Zuko is to him?

Yours. Yours, yours, yours. 

It feels right. As if part of Sokka had been missing and Zuko handcrafted a piece to fit perfectly, and that piece just happened to be in the shape of the word yours. Sokka had feared that he would be nervous to face these emotions head-on, but he feels settled. It feels so normal, so natural to accept this. Of course he has feelings for Zuko. These days Zuko feels like an extension of himself, even though they haven’t seen each other in person for so long. Sokka is stretched across oceans and valleys and mountains, but he doesn’t feel strained. It’s a gratifying stretch because, on the other end, he knows Zuko is there reaching right back for him. 

Sokka is finally able to read and register the letter. He’s worried, but Zuko’s blunt way of describing everything that happened keeps him grounded. The offer to write every day, just for him, gives Sokka butterflies the likes of which he’s never felt before. I don’t want you to ever feel in the dark when it comes to me … 

This entire letter feels like a confession. Like Zuko just couldn’t keep it in anymore. When Sokka writes back, he ends his letter by taking a step he’s been too afraid to make so far, but if Zuko can put himself out there, so can he. 

I think it’s time the Fire Lord and the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador met in person, don’t you? I know there’s a lot we have to talk about. 

Yours,

Sokka

The assassination attempt had been a wake-up call. 

Zuko had gotten too complacent. He hadn’t taken any threats seriously enough. He felt too at home here in the palace for the first time since his mother died, he’d let his guard down, and he’d paid for it. 

Zuko had taken to walking the grounds of the palace at night when he couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the safest, but he’d been lulled by the memories of doing the same as a child, back when he wasn’t important enough to want to hurt. He’d been told by his guards that if he wanted to walk at night, he was to take someone with him, no matter the hour. Zuko had agreed at the time, but he’d never taken the warning to heart. He’d been warned that it was dangerous for him to wander alone, but Zuko had simply thought his guards were being overly cautious. 

Zuko knew now that wasn’t the case. If anything they weren’t being cautious enough. Zuko knew that there was a Pro-Ozai group in the makings. Zuko had known, maybe not how many, but he knew that his father still had his fair share of supporters. He had his share of violent supporters. He had his fair share of smart, violent supporters. Zuko should have expected an assassination attempt would come sooner rather than later. They should have been prepared. They shouldn’t have been caught off guard. 

But Zuko hadn’t been prepared. He hadn’t expected it. He’d gone for a walk during a restless night. A night where not even rereading Sokka’s letters could put his mind at ease and lead to sleep. He’d wandered about in the gardens, skirting the edges of the palace grounds. No guards were with him, though Zuko knew some were patrolling around both inside and outside. 

Zuko hadn’t registered the whistling sound of the arrow until it had already pierced his shoulder. Zuko had cried out, more in shock than in pain. On instinct, he’d ripped the arrow from his shoulder and another whistle had him ducking down just in time to dodge the next. 

The fire was equally unexpected but easier to handle. Muscle memory took over, and the two benders that had ambushed him had Zuko’s attention, while a third came at him from behind with a knife. Zuko had become more used to fighting one-on-one recently, and it was taking his brain a moment to adjust to multiple attackers. Luckily, he was as healed as he was going to get from Azula’s lightning, so shortness of breath wasn’t an issue he had to deal with. If this attack had come months ago, he would have been in much more trouble. 

The benders were experienced, but so was Zuko. The blade wielder was less so, and certainly not as skilled as Zuko. He had gotten in one swipe to Zuko’s side, and while he was close, Zuko disarmed him and used the handle of the blade to knock the man unconscious. The close combat meant burns were inevitable, but none of them were serious. Zuko kept moving, hoping that would make things harder for wherever the archer was hiding. Arrows continued to be shot, but none of them hit their mark. 

Zuko had only been fighting alone for a few minutes before the commotion was noticed by the patrol guards. To their credit, they jumped into action immediately, and within another minute, both benders were apprehended. His head guard Ming had taken one look at the arrows littering the ground and started a search for the archer before Zuko even had to say a word. It was most likely due to his quick action that the woman was caught at all. She’d had a headstart in escaping and almost managed it. 

Zuko didn’t want to think of what it would have meant if she had. 

With all four apprehended, it was now just a matter of questioning. Zuko had been forced to the infirmary while Ming escorted the would-be assassins to the cells. They were separated as far as possible, and eyes were never taken off them. Zuko’s prognosis had been two gashes; one to his shoulder from the arrow and one to his side from the blade, and a few minor burns across his arms. Both cuts needed sutures, and the head nurse had Zuko stay for an hour to observe the wounds and make sure there were no slow-acting poisons to worry about. Zuko had aggravated the wound on his shoulder by ripping the arrowhead out in the way he had, and he was certainly feeling it. It would be difficult for him to move his arm for a while until the injury settled. 

It’ll be hard to write to Sokka now, is Zuko’s first disoriented thought once the adrenaline of the attack starts to fade. 

The thought shocks Zuko enough that he freezes, stopping his fidgeting on the bed he’s been confined to. Until now, Zuko has been good at shoving his growing feelings of fondness for Sokka into a tightly sealed box in his mind where they couldn’t take over. With each letter that box has become filled to the brim and was threatening to burst. Zuko knew the moment it did, whichever letter broke the loosening seal, it was going to consume him. Mind, body, and soul. 

And heart, a little voice whispers from the same corner of his mind that box lives. 

Zuko’s first semi-coherent thought being about Sokka isn’t surprising. Lately, Sokka has been taking up all the free time Zuko’s mind can allow. Receiving Sokka’s letters brings him feelings of joy and contentment that he can’t compare to anything else. Rereading them puts his busy mind at ease as if he’s curled up under a warm, soft blanket. Writing back to Sokka makes his traitorous heart flutter in ways that would terrify him if they didn’t feel so natural. 

“Is everything alright, Lord Zuko?” Kai, one of the guards now stuck to his side like glue, asks when Zuko doesn’t move for a full minute. “Is something wrong? Are you in more pain?”

“No,” Zuko answers absently, even as his side throbs as he forces himself to relax back into the bed. “I’m just lost in thought. Have any of them talked yet?”

“No, sir,” Kai shakes his head. “Ming reports that they’ve all stayed completely silent so far.”

Zuko hums. He’ll have to decide what to do about that. He won’t be like his father. Won’t be like Ozai and torture answers out of them. But he can’t let this slide, can’t let this attempt on his life be seen as a weakness. His opposers will jump on this opportunity to name him an unfit leader, a vulnerable and fragile leader. Zuko knows he must make an example out of them, it’s just the type of example. Should he handle this swiftly and violently? Or should he show mercy?

Truly, Zuko already knows what he’ll do. He’ll question them without torture. He won’t stoop to that. And when questioning is done, however successful it is, they will be sent to prison rather than execution. Oh, different prisons surely. They’ll be separated from each other, but not through death. He will not follow in his father’s footsteps. 

Zuko just has to convince everyone around him this is the best course of action. 

During the hour Zuko is under observation, he has Kai write and send off a message to Aang. If there’s been an attempt on Zuko it stands to reason that soon there will be an attempt on Aang, if there hasn’t been already. He considers asking Kai to write one to Sokka as well, but it feels wrong. Like he would be letting Kai in on a secret, even though everyone knows he and Sokka exchange letters as fast as they can write them. It feels wrong. 

So he doesn’t write to Sokka until he can do it himself. 

In the days to come, Aang arrives in the Fire Nation in a flurry. He admits to riding the whole night without stopping to get there as soon as possible, and poor Appa collapses in a heap as soon as he lands. Aang hovers around Zuko ceaselessly, never leaving his back unguarded. With Aang and Ming teaming up, Zuko is never alone. It seems everyone is shaken up by this assassination attempt, and how close some of his injuries were to being serious. A bit higher and the knife would have struck Zuko between the ribs. A bit lower and to the left and the arrow might have struck his heart. 

Questioning begins, and at first, the perpetrators tell them nothing. Not until Aang himself comes into the room, expression as serious as Zuko’s ever seen it, and gripping his glider until his knuckles are white. They don’t tell them everything about their group, but they confirm that the Pro-Ozai’s have been gathering. They’ve been planning this for months, and while this may be their first attempt, it won’t be their last. 

They seem to delight in revealing that. Zuko tries not to let it get to him. 

Aang writes to Katara, and by extension Sokka, to let them know what happened. Zuko still can’t move his arm without pain and he knows writing a letter would be too difficult, especially the kind of letter Zuko wants to write. He knows Sokka won’t be satisfied with anything other than a full retelling, with no details left out, and Zuko intends to do that for him. 

Four days after the incident, Zuko gets a letter from Sokka. He’s been expecting one since Aang sent his own. Zuko opens it immediately since he hasn’t gotten any privacy recently, there’s no point in waiting. 

Zuko, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay. Not Aang, not Uncle Iroh, not one of your guards. You. Please. 

Sokka

Zuko’s breath catches, and he hopes no one around him notices. The letter was clearly rushed, and based on the smudges Sokka didn’t even wait for the ink to dry before sending it. Zuko doesn’t know what Aang wrote in his letter, but it must not have been enough to put Sokka at ease. Guilt crawls up Zuko’s throat as he thinks about how worried Sokka must have been this past week with no news. 

Okay. Pain or not, Zuko needs to write to Sokka. 

He’s already in his office, even if he isn’t alone. One guard is in the room with him, standing in front of the window, and Aang is lounging on one of his chairs, reading through reports and transcripts of interviews from people who used to work in the palace. They’ve figured that this group must have at least a few ex-employees involved since the assassins knew the layout of the palace and its grounds. Ming and Rin are stationed outside of the door. 

Ignoring the ache in his shoulder, Zuko begins writing. He apologizes for waiting so long to write, assuring Sokka that he’s okay. He’s injured, but not seriously, and things have been hectic. He details the attack and his resulting injuries. Zuko is tempted to downplay it, but he knows Sokka will find out eventually and be hurt that Zuko lied. Sokka will see it as a sign that Zuko doesn’t trust him, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Zuko explains what little information they’ve been given from the questioning, and hesitates when closing out the letter. 

Things are hectic, as I said, but I’ll try to write more if it will help. You’re far away, and your work at home is important. I’ll keep you as updated as possible about what’s going on here. If you want, I’ll write you every day. I’m not sure the messenger hawks will appreciate it, but I would, for you. I don’t want you to ever feel in the dark when it comes to me. 

Please keep yourself safe. I don’t know what I would do if you were hurt. Probably something reckless and stupid, but I doubt I would regret it. 

Zuko knows he’s getting a little too affectionate, perhaps with this. He’s beginning to lay his cards out for Sokka to see, not guarding his heart as closely as he should. That box in his mind is starting to creak open. 

Zuko can’t help it. He doesn’t want to anymore. With a flourish, he signs off the letter. He even waits for it to dry before sealing it up. 

Yours,

Zuko

Time becomes defined by Zuko’s letters. Sokka waits with bated breath for the next one to arrive. 

If possible, they’ve been sending more letters to each other than before. It was more difficult to plan a way to meet in person than they anticipated. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; Zuko is the new Fire Lord to a healing nation, and Sokka is doing his level best to continue changing the world. The two of them are stupidly busy. 

But then Zuko has the idea of doing what equates to a tour of peace, essentially. Meeting with leaders of the different nations on their terms in a show of good faith, promising that the Fire Nation has put their ways of war behind them and that Zuko wants nothing more than peace. Naturally, the Southern Water Tribe is the last place he’ll visit. 

But those plans were finalized months ago. Zuko’s trip began weeks ago. 

Zuko is on his way to Sokka now. 

Sokka, 

I know we’ve sent and settled all of the official correspondents, but this letter isn’t coming from Fire Lord to Southern Water Tribe Ambassador. This one from Zuko to Sokka, just us. 

I’ll be at the Southern Water Tribe in a week’s time. I can’t wait to see you soon. 

Yours,

Zuko 

Sokka feels his cheeks heat up while reading the letter, and he can’t help himself. His entire face feels warm, all the way down to his neck. In a few short days, Zuko will be here. The next time they communicate will be in person. For the first time in over a year, Sokka will be hearing Zuko’s voice instead of reading his words. He’ll be seeing Zuko’s face instead of his looping letters. He’ll hear the emphasis of those striking underlines loud and clear. The letters shared between them have always felt real, have felt intimate even, but the knowledge that Sokka will have Zuko in front of him soon… It’s almost too much. 

The week before Zuko arrives feels like it crawls by. Sokka is so wired with energy that he finishes all of his duties before the afternoon. Then he has to spend the rest of his days trying to distract himself and fill time, but nothing can hold his attention for long. He catches himself watching the ocean constantly. As if the longer he stares, the further out he’ll be able to see. It never works, his vision just gets blurry the longer he stares, but he can’t make himself stop. 

Eventually, he’ll look out into the water and see a ship in the distance. And that ship will be holding Zuko. And then Sokka really won’t be able to do anything but sit and watch as the ship gets closer. 

In typical fashion for Sokka, he misses when Zuko’s ship breaches the horizon. The entire tribe has noticed how distracted Sokka is, and so they’ve taken to keeping him entertained. Of course they have. There’s no way to keep a secret in his small home, and normally Sokka doesn’t mind, but it’s weird that everyone knows how excited he is to see Zuko. They may not know exactly why, but they suspect enough to send him sly smiles whenever he glances at the water. 

Sokka had been helping Gran Gran and some of the other women carry in the dried laundry, and then he got conned into helping them fold everything. When he came back outside, it was to the sight of a ship in the distance, most likely only an hour or two from hitting their shore. The dark ship was clearly Fire Nation metal, and though he couldn’t make out the flag flying in the wind, he was sure it was the Fire Nation crest. Sokka can do nothing for a moment but stare, a crazy grin widening on his face. 

Zuko was almost here. 

For the next two hours, Sokka was as good as useless. Every task he started was interrupted by his inability to stop glancing at the water, cataloging the new distance of the ship. Thankfully, no one seemed annoyed with him and he never got more than a sarcastic eye-roll or fond sigh. 

Sokka gives up on distracting himself fairly quickly. He ends up pacing, uncaring of who can see him. He’s sure he’s even visible from Zuko’s ship, but Sokka can’t bring himself to care. Eventually, Dad and the other warriors come out to wait with him; an official greeting party. Ambassador Sokka may be, but Dad is still Chief. He’s the one Zuko is going to be meeting with the most, no matter what their ulterior motives for planning this trip were. 

The Fire Nation ship docks. The ramp lowers. A guard exists first, and then–

Sokka is seeing Zuko for the first time in over a year. 

Sokka couldn’t tell anyone a thing about him or how he’s changed in the past year. All Sokka can do is stare into golden eyes that are looking right back at him. 

Before Sokka knows what he’s doing, his body is moving forward. Slowly at first, picking up speed until he’s nearly running. He doesn’t take his eyes off Zuko until he’s crashing into him, arms wrapping tightly around Zuko’s warm body. Zuko returns the gesture automatically, and they’re gripping each other tight. So tight that Sokka can feel his arms shaking with it. They’re both probably using too much force, they might be bruising each other, but neither of them loosens their grips. Sokka dimly notes that he’s gotten taller than Zuko when Zuko’s head fits perfectly in the dip of Sokka’s shoulder without him having to duck down. The way their bodies seem to slip together so perfectly makes Sokka’s stomach swoop. 

“Sokka,” Zuko breathes out, warm air tickling his neck and making Sokka shiver. 

“Zuko,” Sokka sighs. It feels like they’re sharing a secret. Like one of their letters brought to life. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay in each other’s arms, but it’s not long enough. Someone clears their throat behind them, and Sokka reluctantly pulls away. From the way Zuko’s hands linger, Sokka thinks he must be just as unwilling. 

“Apologies,” Zuko says, taking a step away from Sokka and moving to greet Dad properly. His voice is deeper than Sokka remembers. 

After that, everything is a blur of official meetings. Talks of peace and reparations; how Zuko and the Fire Nation could even begin to make up for the pain and suffering that’s been caused. It’s sobering to be involved in, the reminder that Zuko wasn’t always good. That for a while, he was firmly under his father’s thumb. 

But like so many times before, Zuko proves just how much he’s grown and changed. He admits his own hand in things readily, he’s blunt in that way he’s always been, maybe a bit too much considering the subject matter. Some of the men bristle at it, while others seem to appreciate the candor. Zuko doesn’t try to push blame, but he’s very clear in his efforts to “clean house” and get rid of Ozai supporters. 

“My vision for the future is not the one my father sought to bring about,” Zuko says. He’s looking Dad in the eyes and his voice is strong; the way it was when he addressed his nation at his coronation. Zuko is always confident, but when he’s like this, so sure and earnest it takes Sokka’s breath away. “My goal is for peace. No war, no animosity, not even a simple truce. I don’t want this to be an eggshell type of peace. It will not be weak. This war has left us all broken and damaged. I intend to make us all stronger.”

And well. There’s not much anyone can say to argue with that. 

Sokka isn’t involved in all of the meetings. Logically, he understands why he’s not always needed. There are just some conversations that need to be had between just Zuko and Dad, or just Zuko and the released prisoners. Not everything is politics either; Sokka knows Zuko has been bearing his heart plainly. Laying his intentions and emotions out for all to see and judge. His love for his people, his care for his country, his sorrow in the pain that’s been caused because of his family, his desire to make this peace permanent. Sokka is sure Zuko is being more heartfelt than any leader should be but it seems to be paying off. 

It’s just difficult to tear himself away from Zuko’s side. 

After so long of only communicating through letters, having Zuko in person feels like a novelty. Like he’ll disappear at any moment and Sokka will have to wait another year and another thousand letters before he can see him again. Before he can hear his voice, watch all the little ways his expressions change, before he can touch again. Sokka feels like he’s becoming addicted to Zuko’s voice and touch. Sokka is so familiar with Zuko’s writing that each brushstroke has begun to feel like a caress and a whisper. 

But those letters are nothing compared to hearing the words Zuko has written spoken aloud. They’re nothing compared to the feel of Zuko’s fingers grazing against him. 

After what feels like an eternity, but is actually only until nightfall, Zuko is busy. Too busy for casual conversation with how focused he is on performing his duty. There’s little time for more than shared gazes and smiles and fleeting touches when Sokka leaves the room. It’s not until after nightfall, when Sokka is sitting by a fire that Zuko settles down next to him in the snow. Zuko’s body heat comes off him in waves, and Sokka finds himself leaning closer on instinct, seeking out the extra warmth even with all his layers. 

Zuko lets out a hefty sigh, the stress of the day leaving him all at once. He eyes the fire in front of them, slowly dying since Sokka hasn’t been feeding it as he should, lost in thought as he was. With a focused, deep breath that Sokka recognizes from Aang’s training, the fire grows; hotter and bigger until it settles, larger and warmer than before but nowhere near out of control. Satisfied, Zuko leans back and lets his eyes drift closed. 

“Finished for the day?” Sokka asks. It’s the first words they’ve spoken to each other that haven’t been work-related since their greeting this morning. 

“Yes,” Zuko doesn’t open his eyes yet, but he leans more solidly into Sokka’s shoulder. “Chief Hakoda has promised a later start tomorrow, to give us time to settle in properly from travelling. Truthfully, there’s not much more to discuss, but I still plan to stay a few days.”

“Worried that something might come up?” 

“Hoping to spend some free time with a friend,” Zuko corrects. Sokka’s heart squeezes at the word friend. What he feels is so much more than friendship, and he thinks Zuko feels it too. But at the same time, they are friends. Before anything, Sokka and Zuko are best friends, and that is also precious to him. Sokka is sure his feelings for Zuko wouldn’t be as strong if they didn’t have that foundation. 

“Kai is also enjoying the snow,” Zuko continues when Sokka takes too long to respond. He finally opens his eyes, casting his gaze around until it lands on where Zuko’s guards are getting snowball-making lessons from children. “He’s never seen it before. We may have to schedule more visits just so he’s not deprived.”

“That would be nice,” Sokka agrees unthinkingly. “Seeing each other more. For Kai’s sake, of course.”

“Naturally. No other reason for me being here. It’s not like you live here or anything.”

“Oh, I know I’m not as important as Kai’s new obsession with snow,” Sokka jokes, but it falls flat when Zuko turns to look at him. He looks so serious, all traces of good nature gone in an instant. The flames flicker in his eyes, golden and red and stronger as the fire feeds on Zuko’s emotions. It doesn’t feel dangerous, though; only comforting. Sokka doesn’t think he’ll ever be afraid of fire again as long as Zuko is around.

“Sokka,” Zuko’s voice comes out just above a whisper. They’re so close there’s barely inches of space between them. A ways away children are squealing and adults are laughing. It sounds like the kids have started a snowball fight with Zuko’s guards, but Sokka can’t bear to look away from Zuko in this moment. 

“You know the main reason I’m here is for you, right? The peace talks are important, and it would have happened eventually, but the reason I planned the trip was to see you.”

Sokka had known on some level that was true. They hardly bothered to hide their true reasoning when writing letters discussing this plan. They’d been desperate to see one another, but with how important they’ve both become, they can’t afford to spend precious time on a pleasure trip. 

“I mean… I kind of knew, but…” Sokka breaks eye contact, feeling like it’s too much. It’s like Zuko can see right into his soul. But Sokka can only bring himself to look away for a moment. He’s drawn back to Zuko like a moth to a flame. Zuko takes Sokka’s silence as an invitation to continue.

“I came here last so I wouldn’t need to rush off somewhere else. I can take my time here. With you.”

“With me?” Sokka repeats. They’ve gone from speaking quietly to whispering, their voices almost carried away with the wind. 

“With you. For you. However you want to say it. For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here,” Zuko confirms. 

“I’d have you forever. It’s not even a question,” Sokka admits, mouth moving faster than his brain. 

Zuko gives him a sad smile. “I would be with you in person forever if I could, but that I can’t do. Sorry.”

“No, I know. I just– I’d have you forever,” Sokka repeats with a shrug. 

“Even if we’re not together, ” Zuko emphasizes. “In the same place, seeing each other. You still have me.”

“Do I?” Sokka feels like there’s no air in his lungs. He’s lightheaded, unable to take a full breath, and unable to look away. He feels so close to bliss. 

“Of course,” Zuko says like it’s a given. “I don’t sign my letters yours for anyone. Just you. I think I’ve been yours for longer than even I realized.”

Yours, Sokka echoes. Yours, yours, yours. 

Sokka can’t help himself anymore. He sways forward, pulled into Zuko like he’s got his own gravity, tailored just for Sokka. They meet in the middle, lips crashing together with their force. Zuko’s lips are chapped from the cold wind, but oh so warm. All of Zuko is so warm, and Sokka knows it from his fire bending, but it just feels like him. Like Zuko was born warm; body, personality, all of it. 

It’s the most incredible feeling.

“Me too,” Sokka gasps when they break apart. They don’t go far, lips brushing with every word and sharing air. “Me too. I’m yours. Zuko, I–”

I think I’m in love with you. But that’s too much to say too soon. That doesn’t stop Sokka from feeling it. Judging by the smile he feels spreading on Zuko’s lips, he understands anyway. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, turning the word into a kiss. And then another, and another. “I know. Me too.”

Maybe they don’t need to say it yet. For now, they can hold onto yours. Let that carry them through until the next time they see each other. Zuko will have to leave in a few days. Back to the Fire Nation, back to entire oceans and deserts separating them. It’ll be hard to go back to only having letters now that he knows how Zuko feels in his arms, how Zuko’s lips taste, but they’ll survive. The time will pass, and they’ll figure out how to see each other again. Until then, the letters will do. They’ve got them this far. Got them to yours and will carry them even further. 

Maybe Sokka will even sign his next letter off with love.