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Zuko flinches.
Aang probably doesn’t see it with all the flames obscuring his vision, but Sokka, sitting on the side and watching the two practice, sees it plain as day.
Aang is improving. Sokka isn’t a firebending expert by any means, but even he can see that his movements are more fluid now, more precise than the messy bursts of fire he was throwing around before. He kicks his leg into the air, drawing a circle of flames that pulls Zuko’s attention away from the fist that he follows up with, a well-timed punch creating an explosion of fire just in front of his face.
And Zuko flinches. Sokka watches as he falters, fire leaving his hands and his body stiffening. For a moment, he is entirely still. Then, as Aang readies another punch, he snaps back into action, and the moment is lost.
But for Sokka, it lasts a little longer.
He hasn’t really thought about Zuko’s scar up until now. When he first saw him, clothed in red and armour, he had been too focused on the presence of the fire nation in his village at all to think about his appearance, and by the time Zuko moved from enemy to awkward-almost-friend, Sokka had long since grown used to it. So it is only now, watching as Zuko and Aang continue their sparring, that Sokka thinks wow, that must have hurt.
He wonders how he got it. In battle maybe – but when would he have fought against another fire bender? A training accident, then. Or a childhood injury – maybe he and Azula used to play the same way Sokka and Katara had snowball fights, except with fire instead of snow and third-degree burns instead of damp clothing.
A sudden curiosity builds up within him, and Sokka has to know. A different person may have waited, worried about being too rude, too intrusive. But Sokka is not that person – he is logical and pragmatic. If he wants to know the answer, then the best way is to ask.
Aang lets out a small whoop as Zuko declares training done for the day, and the two stretch and wander over to where Sokka is sitting. And, with all the tact he can muster – that being none at all – Sokka says, “Hey Zuko, how’d you get that scar anyway?”
Zuko pauses mid stride. Aang does too, turning to look at Zuko’s face as though he was only just noticing it.
“Why do you want to know?” Zuko bites out in reply. Sokka shrugs with feigned nonchalance.
“Just wondering. “
“Well don’t,” Zuko says. He snatches up his towel and walks purposefully away from him and into the temple. Aang and Sokka watch him leave, before Aang shoots a troubled look at him.
“I don’t think that was the best way to ask,” he says.
“Yeah, you don’t say.”
***
So Zuko doesn’t want to talk about his scar. Fine. That’s perfectly normal - why would he? He’s a private guy, Sokka can respect that.
Except now he’s even more curious.
He’s never been very good at subtly, and he knows Zuko catches him looking at it over the next few days. Sokka has lived with the war long enough to know a thing or two about burns. A scar that dark would come from a close, scorching flame. For it to leave a mark like that and yet not destroy his eye…
The scar, Sokka thinks, is the intentional work of a very talented firebender.
“Would you stop that?” Zuko snaps two days later. He and Aang are training again, and Sokka, with a lack of anything better to do, is watching. Again.
“Stop what?” He asks, gaze drifting to the left side of Zuko’s face.
“That. Staring at me. “
Aang fiddles awkwardly, eyes darting back and forth between them.
“Of course I’m staring at you; I’m watching you do your jerkbending. Would you prefer me to go stare at those bushes instead?”
Zuko scowls. “You know what I mean. “
Sokka sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’m sorry.” And he is, because he’s not stupid. He knows that Zuko’s probably had his fair share of stares and whispered comments, and he knows that he’s probably really not helping.
Zuko nods stiffly. He starts to say something, then thinks better of it and turns his attention to Aang.
“Fifty hot-squats. Over there.” He points to a random area behind him. Aang whines, but does as Zuko says.
They are silent, Zuko watching Aang dutifully carrying out his exercises.
“Not now,” he says finally, “Not here.”
“Okay,” Sokka replies, and they leave it at that.
***
“It was my dad,” Zuko says, and Sokka feels his blood run cold.
They sit around the campfire, its light painting the courtyard of the temple with a low, orange glow. The others have long since gone to bed, and only the two of them are awake.
Zuko stares absently into the flames, expression eerily calm. “I spoke when I wasn’t supposed to, and wouldn’t fight when I was.” He grips his forearms, fingernails digging into the pale flesh, and Sokka can’t help but imagine that same flesh charred and smouldering on his face.
He feels sick.
“How- why would he do that?! He’s your dad.”
“He’s the Firelord,” Zuko murmurs. “He’s not a good person.”
And wow, understatement of the year award. The Firelord has ordered sieges and battalions, sacrificed armies and civilians, imprisoned Sokka’s family, killed his family, he knows all this. But the idea of a man doing something like that to his own son…
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
That’s one year younger than Katara.
He tries to imagine his little sister quivering under their father’s gaze, his spear raised high as he brings it down to slash-
And he can’t. Disgust wells up inside him and becomes anger, cold and sharp and incandescent.
“You were a kid! How could someone do something like that to – to a child?”
“I don’t know.” Zuko stares past him into the fire, his eyes flickering golden in its light.
“Shit,” Sokka says. He leans back and runs his hands down his face. “Shit.”
Zuko gives a bitter laugh. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he doesn’t know if he’s apologising for asking about it or that it happened at all.
“It’s okay,” Zuko says, “It was a long time ago.”
“Still,” he watches the firelight dance among the creases of scar tissue that spread across the left side of his face, the colour like dried blood. He thinks of Zuko seeing it every day, in every polished surface, branded as if the Firelord were saying run as far as you will, but this part of you is forever mine.
“Still.”
They are quiet for a long time after that. Zuko, after a while, sighs heavily and gets up. In silence, Sokka copies him. He takes the bucket of water that Katara keeps beside the fire and pours it over the flames, listening with a vague satisfaction as they hiss in protest. Opposite him, Zuko watches.
“I’m sorry,” Sokka repeats, because there’s nothing else he can think to say.
“Yeah. Me too.”
Silence.
“I’m gonna…go. To bed.” Zuko says, and Sokka nods.
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
“Mm. You too.”
Sokka watches Zuko’s silhouette disappear into the shadows, guided only by a small, pale flame resting on the tip of his finger. It’s tiny and weak; Sokka could probably hold his hand in it and escape without so much as a burn, but Zuko still holds it a good distance in front of him.
Sokka sees the light turn away into the temple, and is left in darkness.