Chapter Text
“Ugh, when did it get so late?”
Sokka glances at the time on his laptop. “You call this late? Seems like someone’s going a bit soft…”
Zuko rolls his eyes. He’s curled up under a heavy duvet, all deep maroons and soft fabric. He looks as sleepy as he sounds - Sokka’s noticed him sinking further and further into the soft cocoon of his bed, eyes growing heavier and heavier by the minute.
“Sorry, I didn’t know that not wanting to stay up until four in the morning every night made me soft.”
“It’s fine. I’ll still love you, even if you’re a big ol’ softie,” Sokka says.
Zuko lets out a tired little laugh, turning his face into the edge of his blanket. “Mmm, I would hope so. You know I’d rather stay up talking to you, but I just can't be tired tomorrow.”
Sokka quirks an eyebrow up. “Oh? You got anything fun going on?”
“As if.” Zuko freezes. “Wait. Did I not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Zuko scrunches his nose, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna be around much tomorrow. Some stuff has been happening at work, and Dad insisted that we get together to talk about it. Apparently, it’s going to be an all day thing.”
“Oh? Shit. That sounds serious. Did he tell you anything about what’s going on?”
“I wish. But you know my father. He likes to keep me on my toes.”
Yeah. Sokka knows more than he’d like to about Zuko’s father, none of it good. This fits in well with his knowledge of the man.
“Well, I hope it’s nothing serious,” Sokka says, nervously chewing his bottom lip. Zuko, looking far more exhausted than before, gives a little shrug.
“It is what it is. It’ll be fine, though. I’ll fill you in on as much as I can once we’re done? Even if it’s all dry and boring, you’ll get to hear every little detail…”
“Good. You know bland corporate drivel really gets me going,” Sokka jokes. It brings a tiny smile to Zuko’s face, an accomplishment in itself. “I should let you sleep, though. You’ll need it to get through a day with your dad.”
“Honestly. Wish me luck, it’ll be a wonder if I make it through without throttling him.”
“You say that like it would be a bad thing,” Sokka grumbles.
“Mmm. A man can dream.”
Sokka laughs. “Goodnight, Zuko.”
“G’night, Sokka. Talk to you tomorrow night.”
________
Tomorrow night doesn’t happen.
Sokka isn’t particularly surprised. Zuko’s father is nothing if not an expert at monopolizing his children’s time. He wouldn’t be shocked if Zuko was still sitting at the office well into the wee hours of the morning, being lectured about quarterly reports or stats or whatever it is that business people love to go on and on about.
He misses his nightly routine of chatting with Zuko, sure, but he gets it, and he fires off a couple of goodnight messages to his friend to make up for it.
There aren’t any messages waiting for him come morning. Sokka brushes it off. Zuko’s probably just sleeping in, making up for a late night at the office.
Something might feel off, but he tries not to overthink it and work himself up into a panic. No news is good news, right?
And then the third day comes and goes in the same fashion.
By the fourth, Sokka doesn’t feel like he’s worrying for nothing anymore.
He sends Zuko text after text after text. They all go unread and at a point, they stop being delivered in the first place. It’s like he’s fallen off the face of the earth, disappearing without a trace.
Suki can’t get in touch with him, either. Aang texts Sokka at one point wondering if Zuko had gone on vacation without telling anyone; Sokka doesn’t have the heart to tell Aang the truth, and he wouldn’t feel comfortable exposing Zuko’s situation to anyone without his consent. So he lies and tells them he’s away for a few days, but he’ll be back.
He doesn’t know when Zuko will be back, but he has to hope it won’t be long. It can’t be long. His heart can’t take it.
Sokka wakes up on the fifth morning feeling sick to his stomach. Almost as if he can’t breathe, an invisible weight pressing down on his chest, anxiety pulling him under with a vice grip.
He can’t take it. So Sokka rolls back over and tries to fall back asleep, clutching his phone in his hands. If Zuko finally calls him, he’s not going to miss it just because he’s asleep.
And then Sokka’s phone is buzzing.
Wedged between his cheek and a pillow, the vibrations jolt him awake. He can almost feel the rumble in his teeth, a wholly unsettling feeling.
It’s disorienting at first. Sokka isn’t even sure how long he’s been out, barely feeling like any time has passed - had he even fallen asleep? But the sunlight filtering in through his bedroom window has changed, so he must’ve been out for a while.
And then he remembers that none of that matters. Because someone is calling him. His phone, smushed against his cheek, rattling inside his head.
Bzzzz.
Focus. Focus, focus, focus. Sokka squints at his phone, and his bleary eyes narrow in on the number on the screen. He doesn’t recognize the caller, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, any call from anyone could be from Zuko. So he answers.
“Zuko?”
“… How did you know?”
A sigh of relief escapes Sokka, and he sits bolt upright. This call is too important to be laying down for.
“Holy shit. What happened? Where have you been? Suki and I have been calling you for days. Even Aang was starting to get worried when you didn’t respond to him, and you know how stupidly optimistic he can be!” Sokka frowns, pulling the phone away to look at the number again, as if to be sure that he’d read the number right. “Where are you even calling from? This isn’t your number.”
“A shitty flip phone with about twenty minutes worth of long distance calling,” Zuko answers. He sounds tired. Beyond tired, even—soul-crushingly exhausted is more like it.
Sokka softens. He might be running on fumes and fuelled by fear, but he’s not going to snap at Zuko. If this is anything like past situations, it’s not his fault. “Right. Flip phone, okay. Why’s that? Where did you even get a flip phone? Actually, scratch that—why do you even need a flip phone? You have a phone already, what happened to it?”
“I still have it. It just doesn’t work.”
“Is it broken?”
Zuko sighs. “Yes, but even if it wasn’t…” He hesitates, and Sokka’s chest feels tight. “Dad cut me off. Cell phone plan, internet… all of it. I’ve basically been alternating between sitting at home in the dark and going to work all week.”
Sokka scrubs a hand over his face. For someone who talks as much as he does, it’s rare to be at a loss for words, but… he genuinely doesn’t know what to say. “Zuko… what happened the other night? Do I even want to know why he did that?”
“No.”
Zuko rarely ever sounds this serious, but that one word sounds like ice rolling off of his tongue. Sokka drops it, for now.
“Okay. Right, so, your dad was a piece of shit as always, and he cut you off from everyone. You somehow got a phone anyways, and you’re… are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“Not yet,” Zuko says, sounding far too blasé for such a heavy statement. “I mean. Physically, I’m fine.”
“That doesn’t sound like you’re fine at all, actually.”
“I’m fine. I’m alive. Isn’t that good enough?”
“It’s better than the alternative, but I wouldn’t call it good enough.” Sokka sighs. “Are you safe tonight, at least?”
Sokka can practically hear Zuko shrugging. “I’ll be fine. Everything is fine, Sokka.”
“Right. Just like last time?”
“Just like last time.”
Sokka huffs. “Except you weren’t okay last time, Zuko!”
Dead air. Zuko isn’t saying anything, and for a second Sokka’s afraid that he’s lost him again. But he can hear something on the other end, even if he can’t make out what it is.
“I only have so long to talk to you tonight, and I don’t want to waste it all going around in circles about this. I’m fine, Sokka. Drop it, please.”
Oh. He’s crying. Sokka’s familiar with the sound—Zuko’s voice gets raspier than usual when he’s upset, and it’s as rough tonight as he’s ever heard it. He’s been trying to hold it together—which is worrying, because it’s not like he’s been doing a fantastic job of it.
“… Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—“
“No, it’s okay. You didn’t,” Zuko reassures, sounding very upset in spite of his protests. “… I’ve just really missed the sound of your voice.”
Sokka swallows hard around the lump in his throat. “I know. Missed yours, too.”
“Talk to me? How was your week? How’s everything up there?”
It’s deflection, and Sokka knows it. But he can never say no to Zuko, so he complies. He talks. And Zuko listens.
Sokka keeps track of the time. He stops himself with time left on Zuko’s phone to spare, not wanting to waste all of Zuko’s minutes—if things get worse, he needs to know right away. Zuko can’t just be unreachable again. Zuko grumbles about it, but he relents when he hears the clear concern in Sokka’s voice.
“I’ll get Mai to put more minutes on the phone. Or I’ll figure out how to do it myself.”
“Okay. And you’ll call if something happens?”
“With all three minutes I have left, yes.”
Sokka sighs out a laugh, the rush of it aching in his chest. He lingers on the line a moment too long, knowing he needs to hang up, to give Zuko the time to get in touch with him if he needs to. But he allows himself this much: a few seconds of listening to Zuko’s soft breathing on the other end, proof and reassurance that he’s alive and safe in this moment, at least.
“I’ll talk to you soon. Promise,” he says, and Zuko hums in return. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Sokka.”
“Stay safe, okay?”
“I’ll try my best.”
The call goes dead.
Sokka lets his hand fall to his lap, staring at Zuko’s new number on the screen. He mindlessly saves it under Zuko’s name, just in case he calls again.
He hears footsteps coming down the hall. Suki pokes her head into his bedroom—she must’ve been listening, waiting for the end of the call. “Was that Zuko?” Her expression is equal parts hopeful and worried. Sokka nods.
“Yeah. It was him.”
“Oh, thank god. Is he okay?”
Sokka hesitates. “… No. No, I don’t think so.”
Suki sits gingerly on the edge of his bed, brushing his loose hair back from his face to try and catch his eye. “What happened? Did he tell you?”
Did he? Sokka doesn’t think so. Details here and there, sure, but vague ones at best. Really, Sokka knows almost nothing.
What he does know, though, is that Zuko isn’t okay. That much would be clear from fucking space. Sokka has known Zuko for over a decade at this point, and he doesn’t ever sound like that unless he’s at the end of his rope, unable to mask how he’s feeling any longer.
“Sokka?” Suki prods, slim fingers raking through his hair, tucking it behind one ear.
“… I think Zuko needs us right now.”
________
It doesn’t take much to get Suki on board with Sokka’s plan, crazy as it might seem. “Honestly,” she admits, “I’m surprised we didn’t do this sooner.”
They barely pack anything between the two of them—just enough to get them to San Francisco and back. Keys, phone chargers, passports, extra underwear. Sokka brings his Switch, and Suki brings her laptop, and those are the only two extraneous things they take with them.
Suki takes the first shift behind the wheel while Sokka obsessively checks the map on his phone. As if the highway has somehow grown shorter since the last time he looked. Seventeen hours from Nelson to San Francisco, give or take. Less, probably, with the way Suki drives. More, if her ancient truck decides to act up along the way.
It might be old, but at least Suki’s truck has an aux cable that Sokka has the honour of controlling—an honour that can be just as easily taken away if one plays too many loops of the fucking Cantina song again, Suki reminds him.
It’s nice, though, having something to distract them from the looming worry over Zuko’s situation. To lose themselves in the familiar comforts of a road trip—the music, the clear blue sunny sky, and the beautiful pacific northwest scenery.
He can’t stop thinking about Zuko, of course, and nothing’s going to change that. But with 1500 kilometres left to drive, he needs something to take his mind off of things.
It’s not much. But it’s enough to get him through.
________
“You’re… positive this is where he lives?”
Suki’s in the passenger’s seat next to him, staring slack-jawed at the townhouses lining the street. Sokka looks back down at his phone, second guessing the address he’s had stored in his phone for ages.
He’s always known that Zuko’s family was well off, to say the least. He couldn’t exactly miss it—he’d seen photos over the years of Zuko in reluctant attendance at extravagant parties, wearing clothes that looked expensive enough to cover a couple months’ rent for Sokka and Suki’s modest two bedroom duplex.
It’s one thing to know that, though, and another thing to actually see it. If the address is right, it looks like Zuko’s house could fit their duplex inside five times over, with room to spare.
Sokka glances at Suki across the console, stomach twisting. What if they’d driven halfway across the continent just to end up at the wrong rich person townhouse complex? Did that mean he was about to knock on some stranger’s door at three in the morning and get his ass kicked?
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
He hops out of Suki’s truck, backpack slung over one shoulder and a pizza box tucked under his arm. The steps to the front door are bordered by immaculately tended flower beds, probably maintained by some strict HOA. The houses are gorgeous, but there’s no differentiating one tan townhouse from the next. Sokka feels vaguely like he’s stepped into some sort of Stepford Wives neighbourhood, unsettled by the sameness of it all.
He raps hard on the door, shaking his hand to ease the sting. It’s pitch black inside, and stays dark long enough for Sokka to worry that he hadn’t been heard. But then, a light flicks on in a top floor window. He can see cream coloured curtains illuminated by the light, a shadow passing by… he hears footsteps thudding down stairs as they draw nearer…
The porch light flicks on, but the door doesn’t open. Not yet. For a second, Sokka braces himself for the worst - a guard dog let loose on them, an angry resident with a gun… but the door doesn’t budge, and nothing arrives to tear him and Suki to shreds. The silence drags on, and Sokka glances at the peephole in the door, shooting the friendliest smile he can muster in its direction. “Pizza delivery,” He offers, in what he hopes is a non-threatening voice.
“… Sokka?”
His name is muffled through the wood, but Sokka still catches it. And he can’t say for certain, but the voice sounds familiar. He’s hopeful. God, he’s hopeful.
The door swings open. Standing on the other side, wide-eyed and exhausted, is Zuko.
And Sokka might just cry. After a solid day’s worth of fearing the worst, seeing Zuko standing there is almost enough to knock the wind right out of him.
Zuko’s here. Right in front of him, solid and real and more than just a voice on a call. Looking a little more worn out than Sokka would like to see, but alive. Sokka forces himself to keep it together, for both of their sakes.
“Pizza delivery,” Sokka repeats, though he makes no move to actually offer the box to Zuko. “You did order a pizza, right? Or is now not a good time? I mean… if you have company over, or anyone you might not want to see you… ordering pizza… we can come back whenever. If that works better.”
He hopes he’s making sense. But Zuko’s staring at him like he’s speaking gibberish, so it’s just as likely that this is a stupid middle of the night idea, failing in execution. He’d just been so terrified of walking up to Zuko’s house only to find that he wasn’t alone, that his father was there with him.
He hadn’t wanted to put Zuko in danger like that. He knew he needed to give him an out, a way to send them on their way without raising suspicion if needed.
They probably didn’t need to bring an actual pizza, but it felt like the right choice.
Zuko doesn’t say a thing. He’s barely even moved since answering the door, his fingers still gripping the handle too tightly. “Are you alone?” Sokka finally asks under his breath, trying to snap Zuko out of the spell he’s under. “Is your dad here? We’ll come back later if he is. I’m not risking things if he’s around.”
The pizza box in Sokka’s hands nearly goes flying from the force of Zuko’s hug. Suki graciously snags it before Sokka drops it entirely, and suddenly he’s hugging Zuko back, clutching the back of his shirt so tightly that he feels like he might accidentally rip it.
“You’re not here,” Zuko chokes out against Sokka’s shoulder, and Sokka can hear the shock in his voice. “There’s no way you guys are actually here.”
“We are. We’re really here, I promise.”
Suki brings the pizza into the house, and Sokka brings Zuko. He refuses to take his hands off of him yet, and Zuko seems more than happy to lean into the arm around his shoulders, steadying him. “I’m so sorry for waking you up. We left as soon as we could after we talked, which… yeah, leaving soon was great, but it did mean getting here in the middle of the night.”
Zuko seems a bit dazed, but he nods anyway. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just… I’m still… what are you even doing here?”
Sokka and Suki catch each other’s gaze over Zuko’s head. “Suki and I were… worried,” Sokka starts. “To say the least.”
“So you drove all the way to California? In one day?”
“You say that as if that isn’t something you’d expect us to do,” Suki teases, ruffling Zuko’s already sleep-messy hair. That simple, affectionate touch seems to hit Zuko particularly hard—he looks at her for a moment before reaching out, pulling her close and hugging her with the arm not wrapped around Sokka’s waist.
“You guys are insane. You know that, right?”
“Oh yeah, absolutely.” Sokka agrees.
“If my dad had been here… I can’t even imagine how angry he’d be if he knew I had friends over.”
“That’s what the pizza scheme was for. Had to make sure you were alone. See, Suki, it was a great idea!” Suki rolls her eyes. Sokka beams.
Zuko doesn’t smile.
There’s a frantic air about him, his hand trembling as he twists the back of Sokka’s shirt between his fingers. “Not to sound ungrateful—because, don’t get me wrong, the fact that you’re both here is… I can’t even tell you how much that means, but… you know you can’t stay here, right? Not for long, at least. You never know when he might come check up on me, and seriously, if he sees either of you here—”
“Oh, we’ll be long gone before he comes by.” Sokka says, squeezing Zuko’s shoulder reassuringly. “And hopefully, you will be, too.”
Zuko snorts. “Right.”
“I’m being serious!”
“Great. That’s the plan, then? Are we gonna go do some sightseeing around the bay? Head to the Golden Gate bridge, maybe take a ferry out to Alcatraz? See the sights, and hope that my dad doesn’t kill me for leaving without warning when I eventually come back?”
Sokka frowns. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. That’s a terrible idea.”
“Yeah, it is.” Zuko bites out.
Zuko’s acidity startles Sokka, but it isn’t entirely unfamiliar. And he knows Zuko well enough by now to know that his anger isn’t really directed at himself or Suki.
“Hey. Listen to me.”
He coaches his voice into the softest, gentlest tone he can manage, keeps his hands light on Zuko’s back as he guides him to sit on a nearby loveseat, kneeling on the hardwood at his feet. “Suki and I aren’t stupid. We’re not just here for a visit; we’re here to bring you back home with us.”
That’s what finally gets Zuko to look at him. “…Seriously?”
Sokka squeezes Zuko’s hands. “Yeah. We want you to come with us when we leave,” He repeats. Zuko lets out a laugh, bowing his head.
“Well. That sure as hell isn’t happening,” he says. Blunt, as if there’s no wiggle room, as if Sokka was ridiculous to even suggest it in the first place. “I appreciate the thought, but… yeah. No way.”
Sokka trips over his tongue, caught off guard and speechless. “What? Why not?” he asks, a deep frown creasing between his eyebrows.
“Because it’s an even stupider idea than the first one. It’ll never work. My father would never let me, I have a job that’s impossible to do long distance—“
“A job you actively hate,” Sokka grumbles.
“A job that keeps me from being homeless, thank you very much.”
Sokka closes his eyes. This isn’t happening. They didn’t drive seventeen fucking hours for things to go this way.
“And then at the end of it all,” Zuko continues, and he’s dropped Sokka’s gaze again, staring over his shoulder at the stupid abstract coffee table behind him. “Once you’re ready for me to go home, I come back here to… what? You think my father is bad now, I can’t even begin to imagine what he’d be like after that…”
“… Zuko.” Sokka can barely speak through the tightness in his chest. “You know I meant that we want you to stay with us long term, right? Like, as long as you want? We came here with Suki’s truck for a reason: to pack up as much of your shit as we can and get you the fuck out of here for good.”
Zuko is quiet for a beat. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but Sokka catches a hint of uncertainty—so he really hadn’t realized what Sokka meant, had he? A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he shakes his head. “You say you want that now. Come back to me after a few months of living together and you’ll change your tune.”
Sokka faceplants into Zuko’s knees, groaning. “No. No, I won’t, believe me. If years of talking to you every single day hasn’t put me off being your friend, living together won’t do it either.”
Zuko rolls his eyes. Sokka feels like he’s seconds away from bundling his idiotic friend up in a blanket burrito and throwing him in the back of Suki’s truck anyways.
“I can’t just leave my job, Sokka.”
“Bullshit. Yes, you can.”
“I told you things have been crazy there lately, and without me around, what will Dad do?”
“Figure it out? Stop using his underpaid son to solve all of his business problems? Actually do his job for a fucking change?”
Zuko huffs. Sokka’s got his chin resting on Zuko’s knees, watching him intently. Waiting. Hoping.
“I wish you’d called before coming here. I could’ve told you not to bother.”
Sokka shakes his head. “You didn’t hear yourself on the phone this morning. Nothing would’ve stopped me after hearing that.”
“I told you I was fine, Sokka. It’s not my fault you didn't believe me.”
“I can’t believe you think this is fine.”
“I’m alive. Isn’t that good enough?”
It’s an echo of his earlier words. Sokka isn’t even sure if Zuko realizes it or not. But sitting there, watching Zuko say those things, the hopeless look in his eyes as he tries to convince himself to believe in what he’s saying… it hurts. It feels like something has a vice grip on Sokka’s heart, threatening to crush it the rest of the way.
“Yeah? Fine, then,” he says, shaking his head. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me honestly that your dad isn’t gonna hurt you the second we leave you alone with him, then I’ll believe you. We’ll go home without you, no questions asked. But if there’s even a chance that he might, if you think for even a second that you could be in harm’s way with him around…” Sokka’s voice catches, and he presses his face to Zuko’s knee, exhaling a shaky breath. “I just need to know you’ll be safe. I can’t keep going on, dreading the day things finally get worse.”
He expects immediate protests from Zuko. Hollow reassurances that he’ll be okay, which Sokka will have to grudgingly accept as true because, like an idiot, he said he would.
But they don’t come.
Instead, he feels a soft, warm hand settle on the crown of his head, fingertips scratching lightly at his scalp. And he finally lifts his head, looks up. Zuko’s staring down at him, his mouth half open as if about to argue, but finding at the last minute that he can’t.
“Sokka, I…”
Zuko is overwhelmed, his eyes wet and scared and scanning Sokka’s face for any hint of an idea of what to do next. He’s grasping desperately for a lifeline, and Sokka is more than willing to offer him one.
He surges up onto his knees, pulling Zuko into a hug. It’s mostly awkward discomfort at this angle, but it hardly matters—it’s still what both of them need, something solid to hang onto. Zuko collapses into his arms, exhausted, every ounce of fight gone from his body.
Zuko sounds meek and unsure when he finally speaks, as if he’s standing on a precipice with no clue what the future holds for him. But he’s jumping anyway. “I’ll do it,” He whispers. “I’ll go with you.”