Chapter Text
As with most things in Zuko’s life, his thing with Sokka creeps up on him slowly.
It’s been almost a year since Zuko’s seen Sokka, who happily returned to the North Pole after Zuko’s coronation, and six months since he’s seen Aang and Katara, who have been making rounds across the world with peace talks. He writes to them constantly; Zuko’s probably written more letters in the past year than he has in the rest of his life combined. He remembers receiving the first of many letters from Aang, a month after they all left the Fire Nation (and left Zuko), opening it and expecting something work related, some pressing news for the Fire Lord. Instead, Aang wrote a simple note -- “we’re thinking about you!” -- and a doodle of Appa. The next week, Zuko received a similar letter from Sokka. Hey Jerkbender, he wrote, along with inane stories from the South Pole.
They’re my friends, Zuko realized, slowly and then all at once.
If he’s honest with himself, Zuko didn’t truly expect to become Fire Lord since he was 13 and his face burned in equal parts pain and shame. In the three years of his banishment, of his impossible quest for the Avatar, for honor, he fantasized about being Fire Lord. Late at night and slightly nauseated by the sway of his ship, he pictured himself sitting on the throne, his hair up and neat, looking every bit as regal as he dreamed as a child. This fantastical version of Zuko had the power and respect he always craved, but he sat alone -- no Azula, no Ozai, not even Uncle. His face was clean and unmarked, without his scar. It was a delusion. His father would never accept him, would never allow him on the throne. At 16, Zuko accepted that.
But now he’s 17.The war is finished, Ozai is defeated, and Zuko sits on the throne. And perhaps some of his nighttime fantasy came to life in the neatness of his hair, in the regality of his robes.
But he has his scar, and so does the rest of the nation. Zuko is very conscious of that fact, of the eyes of history assessing him, of that weight on his shoulders. And he’s alone, despite the constant throng of people that follow him throughout the palace. Uncle moved permanently to Ba Sing Se to run his tea shop, and really, Zuko doesn’t blame him. He craves that simplicity again, but knows deep in his bones that it’s his destiny to right the wrongs of his family, and to do so without bringing anyone else into his family’s mistakes. Not anymore.
Loneliness carries a bitter taste, Zuko’s come to learn. He works constantly, in part to avoid introspecting, but more importantly, because it’s the absolute least he can do. The bare minimum. His family terrorized the world for so long, too long. He can’t afford a break -- the people of the world deserve better than that.
If he pulls himself from the despairing pit of self-pity that he’s prone to, Zuko can recognize he’s not entirely alone. He has a drawer of letters in his deck to prove it. Zuko’s come to cherish those letters, reads over them again and again when it all seems too much, just to feel some semblance of companionship. He loves reading about their lives, the people they surround themselves with. And Zuko tries to give back some details without causing a concern. I’ve been tired lately, he writes, instead of, I haven’t slept in 72 hours and I think my eyes might actually fall out if I have to read another report, but I can’t sleep anyway so I might as well read it.
Somewhat unexpectedly, it’s Sokka’s letters that Zuko looks forward to the most. Sokka writes to him like it hasn’t been nearly a year since they saw one another, like Zuko isn’t the monster that chased after them. He writes with an honesty that Zuko envies but that’s so Sokka he can’t help but just feel grateful. It forces more honesty from Zuko, more than he would normally allow. Sokka tells him about the South Pole, the gossip of the small village, and the moments where Sokka just wants to get away from it all.
I love it here, I do, Sokka wrote in one letter recently, but there are days where I want to steal Appa and come to the Fire Nation, if just to see the look on your face. Surprise!
Do it, Zuko wanted to write back, Come. Stay. But instead Zuko told him about the turtleducks in his mother’s garden, especially the stubborn one Zuko named Tophy (just to piss her off), how he’s earned an appreciation for tea that thrills Iroh, and how the hot Fire Nation sun feels baking into his skin. He never mentions the weight in his heart, heavy from the stress of leading a nation towards peace, or the chill of loneliness that’s come to ice his veins.
But Sokka is creeping up on him, in ways that Zuko has trouble ignoring anymore. Whenever he receives a letter with the blue seal of the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko tears it open, a smile already brandishing his face. There are tingles in the base of Zuko’s spine, in the pit of his stomach, that release like bubbles up to his head whenever he reads one of Sokka’s letters. He can hear Sokka’s voice in every word, animated and loud and just Sokka, and Zuko knows he’s in over his head before he’s even seen him again.
But Sokka is not only straight, but taken. Sokka hated Zuko, and beyond that, hasn’t even seen him in a year. In short: there’s no way.
He’s writing a letter to Sokka now and hesitates at every line. It’s too formal, too awkward, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to get it out any other way. Pull it together, Zuko, he thinks angrily. It’s just Sokka, after all.
Sokka,
I’m happy to hear that your Gran Gran is doing better and that Katara has finally seemed to calm down. I know I’m not the best with family advice, but maybe some space from the rest of the family might help. Go on a hunting trip with your father, maybe. I know you said you missed having one on one time with him. Plus, maybe you could find a new place to escape to.
I’ve been okay, though if I’m honest, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. There are groups of Ozai’s supporters across the country that have been getting more active as the anniversary of his defeat approaches. I’m worried that more people will get hurt because of my family, because of me.
I know this is pretty last minute, but as I’m sure you know, the first anniversary of my coronation is coming up in a few weeks. I’ve decided to host a celebration, much to the chagrin of my advisors. Did you know that the Fire Nation was once known for its dancers? I spoke to Aang about it and he suggested that I encourage the arts again -- perhaps one day, the Fire Nation will be known for its dancers again, rather than its destruction. I think it would be good for the people to enjoy themselves, or to find their roots again. Either way, I would like to invite you to attend. I completely understand if you can’t come. But I think it’d be nice to see everyone together again.
Please let me know if you’d like to come. I would really like it if you did. I’ve also given you some Fire Nation spices with this letter, but be careful with the very small black ones. I don’t think your delicate sensibilities could handle a lot of it at once.
Your friend,
Jerkbender
PS: Now that your Gran Gran is better, I’m expecting something good in return. Do NOT try making something yourself again.
---
The celebration is about to begin, but Zuko would much rather slink off to his room to sleep for, say, 16 to 18 hours. Sokka never returned his letter (and Zuko knows, he’s been hounding the mail couriers every day for a week, and he’s actually vaguely worried they’ll gang up on him and kill him soon), and neither did the rest of the gang. They’re not coming, but it’s not their fault. Zuko isn’t sure what he was expecting anyway -- they’re all busy, they all have lives that don’t revolve around Zuko and his excessive party. They’re not coming. Zuko tries to ignore the dread in his gut. He’ll make an appearance, he decides, he’ll say his speech and he’ll talk to Uncle, and he’ll leave.
He can hear the chatter of people now, milling around, and the sound of some light music playing. Zuko sighs. Might as well get it over with. As he steps out from the curtain behind the throne, a hush falls and all eyes turn to him. He avoids looking at the crown too closely. He doesn’t want to see the uncertainty in their eyes as they look at their leader -- a 17 year old boy playing king.
“Welcome,” he says, using an authoritative voice that helped him during his days on that swaying ship, along with a speech he’d written earlier about the necessity of learning history, the importance of the peace he’s trying to foster.
“This is a celebration,” Zuko says, and then smiles, “so let’s celebrate.”
The crowd cheers louder than he imagined they would and, thankfully, the band takes the cue to start playing the music again. Soon the Sun Dancers will perform, then fireworks. Then he can sleep.
He steps down from where he spoke and grabs a drink, keeping his back to the curtain he came from. There’s sweat on the back of his neck and an unsettling chasm opening up in his chest. Deep breath in, and out. He downs the drink in one.
“Now did you even enjoy that, nephew?” an old and familiar voice croaks to his left.
“Uncle!” Zuko says, grabbing his uncle in a tight embrace. “I’m happy you could come.”
“I’m glad I’ve come as well, if just to visit you. It’s been too long, Zuko. You must come to Ba Sing Se, take some time off,” Iroh says, and Zuko winces.
“You’re right, I should. I’ve been busy.”
“Of course, of course,” Iroh nods. “It’s important to take time for yourself, nephew. If not for yourself, then for your country.”
“The Fire Nation needs me right now. There’s no time for breaks.”
“Is this not a break?” Iroh gestures to the party around them and Zuko shrugs.
“The people need a break. They deserve a break. I don’t.”
“Of course you do. Though I will find time to press you about Ba Sing Se later, as I am in much need of some tea, some food, and a good place to sit to watch those Sun Dancers of yours. It looks like someone else wants your attention,” Iroh says and points behind Zuko to a certain man in blue running unceremoniously across the hall.
“Zuko!” Sokka yells, and the guards behind Zuko tense. “Zuko!”
“Sokka?”
Sokka skids to a stop right in front of Zuko and bows so deeply that Zuko is both mortified and impressed.
“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says, head down. But Sokka straightens up immediately and side-eyes the guards behind Zuko.
“Are you guys happy now?” he says to them before launching himself at Zuko, wrapping his arms around Zuko’s shoulders and bringing him close. Zuko hugs him back, a huge smile breaking out on his face, and It’s the best hug Zuko’s… ever had. As soon as Zuko hugs him back, Sokka tightens his hold even more, tucking his chin into the place between Zuko’s neck and shoulder. Yup. Definitely the best hug that Zuko’s ever had.
“Sokka,” Zuko says, reluctantly pulling back to look at him in the face, “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“You thought we’d miss a party?” another familiar voice pipes up, and Zuko can feel that chasm in his chest filling. Aang.
As soon as Sokka steps away, Aang hugs Zuko next, arms around his middle.
“You’ve gotten taller,” Zuko tells him. Over Aang’s head, he can see Katara fondly shaking her head. He smiles at her, and she smiles back. How far they’ve come.
“I had no idea you guys were coming.”
“Sokka convinced us to let it be a surprise!” Aang tells him, and then looks around the room. “Toph should be here somewhere. Honestly, Sokka started running and then, what was I supposed to do? Not run? We were so excited!”
“A surprise, huh?” Zuko says, glancing at Sokka, who shrugs and grins.
“I told you I wanted to see the look on your face. And man, it was priceless.” Sokka mimics him and opens his eyes wide, drops his mouth open. “Totally worth it.”
“I did not look like that.”
“Uh, you did so.” Sokka makes the face again. “Just like that.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Sorry, can you suddenly see your own face or something? Because I saw it. And you made that face.”
“Well, I definitely didn’t see it. But I think Sokka might be right this time,” Toph says, appearing behind Zuko.
Zuko bends down to hug her, and to his delight, she hugs him back.
“Hey Lord Sparky. Are all the reunions over? I want to get some food.”
Zuko laughs -- and, spirits, doesn’t that feel good? -- and points to the food table on the other side of the hall. He grabs another drink from a waiter floating by with a tray, and drinks it quickly. His nerves are officially shot.
“I’ll come with you,” Katara says, “Aang, you want anything?”
But Aang is already bouncing ahead of Toph and Katara both, eyes wide on the buffet table. Katara rolls her eyes and follows after him, leaving Sokka and Zuko alone.
“So, you were really surprised?” Sokka asks. Zuko rolls his eyes.
“I really had no idea. I don’t really like surprises, but I’ll admit, this was a good one.”
“How could you think we wouldn’t come?”
“Everyone’s busy,” Zuko shrugs. “I would have understood.”
“I mean, sure, but -- of course we would come! We all miss you.”
Zuko raises his eyebrow.
“All right! I miss you! Are you happy now?” Sokka pretends to be exasperated, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Zuko can’t take his eyes off it.
“Yeah. I think I am now,” he says and hugs Sokka again, but softer, more gently. “Thanks for the surprise.”
He pulls back and they smile at each other. Zuko’s heart does an odd dance in his ribcage and he doesn’t think he’s been this happy since the gang accepted him -- really accepted him -- after the comet.
“Though next time,” Zuko says, leaning back against the curtain and grabbing the last drink off a tray, “send me a letter, will you? I was dying waiting for something. I’m pretty sure my mail couriers hate me now.”
Zuko knocks back the drink the same way he did the other two, though this time, he immediately feels like something’s wrong. Sokka is laughing, and he can hear it, but it feels oddly distant, muffled. His vision blurs at the edges. Is he drunk? Already? After only three drinks?
“Zuko?” Sokka asks, and suddenly he’s not laughing and moving closer to Zuko. “Did you drink too much?”
“I don’t know,” Zuko says and leans back again, and immediately hisses as something burns his side. Not another burn, he thinks. He looks down, the world moving with him, and sees red, a glint of a handle in his side, pinning him to the curtain. The pain is sharp, annoyingly persistent, and Zuko can’t concentrate on anything else. He groans and moves his hands to his side.
“Fuck!” Sokka yells, hands grabbing at Zuko, trying to keep him upright (when did he start to fall?). But Zuko isn’t aware of much anymore. Suddenly, there’s a flurry of people around him.
“What happened?” he hears Aang ask, and then he and Toph are gone.
“Move him,” his uncle says, and Zuko is so glad Iroh is here, “We need to move him before anyone notices.”
“We can’t! He’s pinned to the curtain!” Sokka says, his arms still holding Zuko upright. “There’s something else wrong.”
Then Katara is batting Zuko’s hands away from his side and replacing them with her own. She pulls the knife out suddenly and Zuko is sure he’s being burned, that his side is an inferno. He can feel his own blood spilling. But then he’s behind the curtain, away from the crowd, and lying on his back.
The burn is suddenly replaced by something cold, something that’s freezing his side and slowly moving up his veins. He thinks he’s well and truly dying now, but then the sensation becomes familiar, and he thinks suddenly of Azula, of lightning hitting his chest.
“I have to keep saving your ass, don’t I?” Katara says.
But Zuko can’t respond. He’s choking, involuntarily making guttural, terrifying noises that Zuko can’t believe is coming from him.
“He’s poisoned,” Sokka says, and then Uncle Iroh is there, his face taking up the entirety of his tunnel vision.
“Uncle,” he tries to say, but it doesn’t come out.
“Hush, Zuko,” Iroh says, and “I’m sorry for this,” before sticking his fingers down Zuko’s throat, and Zuko is retching to the side. He can feel Sokka behind him, holding his head, running his hands through Zuko’s hair. Zuko looks up and meets his eyes and his vision zeroes in on that ocean blue.
He’s dying. Zuko knows he’s dying, but he doesn’t know how to feel. He’s sorry, and he tries to say so. But he can’t hear anything beyond a loud buzzing and all he can see is blue, blue, blue.