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“It’s a long journey,” Zuko warned, not meeting Sokka’s eyes. The stars were bright overhead; sunup wouldn’t come for a few hours, and the prison was at least a day beyond. “You might want to try getting some sleep.”
Sokka just snorted, crossing his arms over his knees. “Yeah, right.” His tone left no room for argument.
Skin prickling, Zuko mirrored his defensive posture and went back to fiddling with the balloon’s mechanism. Maybe Sokka was just too keyed up about the coming mission to sleep—or maybe, more likely, Zuko thought—he didn’t trust Zuko enough to let his guard down in such a vulnerable space. Either way, the message was clear: no matter what peace he’d made with the group, they still weren’t friends, so Zuko should stop trying to act like it.
Great. Message received. His lips curled into a sneer. As if he’d need to wait until they’re trapped in a war balloon together to kill Sokka, as if he couldn’t have destroyed their whole camp at any point—
He winced, at once disgusted with himself. As much as he’d changed—or liked to think he’d changed—the old thoughts still found ways to slither into his mind, taking advantage of his hunger and weariness to slip in their poison. Years of viewing the Avatar and his companions as little more than prey had affected him more than he cared to admit.
No wonder Sokka could barely look at him.
Suddenly exhausted, he let himself sink down against the wall, resting his head on a pile of sandbags. It was impossibly futile, all of it—the constant running, fighting, hiding—always chasing something new or struggling for just a few more minutes of survival. Training as a swordsman. Going through the motions with Mai. Helping the Avatar, even rushing headlong on Sokka’s suicide quest. What was the point, at the end of it all?
He was alone. And no matter the outcome of the war—win, lose, whatever—he’d be alone at the end, too.
“Well, I’m going to sleep,” Zuko said, not bothering to note Sokka’s reaction. If the other boy wanted to toss him overboard and take his chances on his own, then he could be Zuko’s guest. Hell, if it weren’t that Sokka had people who would actually miss him, then Zuko wouldn’t mind if the whole damn craft took them up in flames. “Do your best not to crash the thing while I’m out.”
***
When he woke, Sokka was standing at the helm, elbows braced on the basket’s walls. Moonlight glinted off his deep brown skin. It was a beautiful scene, really—almost startling in its intimacy, like the night sky and the water tribe boy were linked in a secret covenant.
Zuko’s face heated, and he looked away quickly, clearing his throat.
The muscles in Sokka’s back tensed at the sound. He relaxed a moment later, but still didn’t move, eyes fixed on the slowly brightening horizon.
Zuko watched him for a long moment. For the first time he made himself think about why they were really here—to rescue Sokka’s dad.
(For a minute, he lets himself imagine that—loving someone enough to risk certain death just for the slightest chance of saving them. Being loved enough to make it worth it.)
(Uncle’s face flashes in his mind. He pushes it away.)
Right. To rescue Sokka’s dad. From a prison in Zuko’s home country, where he’d been sent after losing a battle Zuko had done nothing to stop.
The silence built. And when he couldn’t take it anymore, Zuko opened his mouth.
“My father used to say I was lucky to be born,” he said, eyes on Sokka’s back. “And I used to think he was right. But now I’m not so sure.”
Sokka turned, slowly. His face was unreadable.
Zuko dropped his gaze, studying the hem of his sleeve. “Now, I think if I was actually lucky, I wouldn’t have been born at all.”
“Zuko,” Sokka said.
“Your father is rotting in that shithole of a prison because of me.” Sokka flinched, but Zuko barreled on. “Because of what I let happen. Was too weak to stop.” His hands fisted at his sides. “My uncle was the only person who ever gave a damn about me, and how did I repay him? A cell of his own.” Zuko smiled thinly, his stomach twisting at the awful truth of it. Worthless, sang Azula’s voice in his head.
No. Less than worthless—that was too harmless, too generous of a term. Poisoner was better. Destroyer. Ruiner.
Coward.
“No one makes it out of Boiling Rock alive, Sokka.” Zuko lifted his eyes, willing him to see the truth in them. “There’s still time for you to turn back. Let me go alone. If he’s there, I might be able to get him out. But you don’t need to die for this.”
The corollary hung unspoken between them.
Sokka didn’t—but Zuko did.
The more he thought of it, the more sense it made. This was how he could finally fix things. His presence in the group could never do that—not when he’d hurt the Avatar and his friends badly enough that the sight of him only brought pain. Cruel reminders of everything he and his people had helped them lose. No, he’d been a fool to think that fighting with them could ever make things right.
But dying for them?
That might just have a shot.
Sokka was quiet. Zuko hoped he was considering it. He was the “plans guy,” after all—surely he had to see this was the only logical option.
Finally, Sokka spoke. “You know, I’ve really started hating the sunrise.”
Zuko blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting Sokka to say...it wasn’t that.
“Sad part is, it used to be my favorite part of the day. Used to wake up early just to watch it rise, if you can believe that. Me! Early!” Sokka made a small noise, a shade too rueful to be considered a laugh. “But back home, it meant hope. A new day, a new chance to see my father’s ship sailing home on the horizon.”
He broke from Zuko’s gaze, and Zuko followed his eyes, steady and sad, to where they rested on the faint curve of the moon, disappearing into the brightening sky. When Sokka spoke, it was as much to himself as to Zuko. “Now it’s like losing her all over again.”
Zuko held his breath. The silence stretched long enough that he wondered if he should say something, but his mind was blank, stupefyingly empty. He cursed himself silently. He’d never been good at this.
Sokka saved him the trouble. “I let the girl I loved give her life for the Moon spirit. To save us, when it was my job to save her . I failed her.” The bitterness in Sokka’s voice surprised Zuko—he’d tasted that sort of venom before, usually only from his own lips. “I failed her, and it’s something I have to live with every night and day.”
Sokka tore his gaze from the sky. For a moment he just stood there, still as death, and then crossed to sit next to Zuko before he could even react.
Zuko forced himself not to retreat. He could feel Sokka’s body heat, warm and solid, just inches away from him.
He hadn’t realized just how cold it’d gotten.
“I spent a lot of time hating myself for it.” Sokka’s voice was soft. “Wishing it was me, instead. Pulling reckless shit and scaring the hell out of the people I loved. But I didn’t care, ‘cause I thought I deserved it.”
He picked up Zuko’s hand and squeezed it once, then let it rest in his palm. His hand was so, so warm. Zuko didn’t dare breathe.
“So let me remind you what my friends reminded me, okay? Yeah, you may have fucked up,” Sokka said, “like, hugely. In epic proportions. World-record setting—”
“Thanks,” Zuko said drily.
“But the point is, you’re here now, and you’ve changed. You want to be better, and you are better—we can all see it. So it’s time you saw it too. Because hating yourself?” Sokka shook his head. “A lot of wasted energy that could be better spent kicking Fire Nation ass.”
In spite of himself, Zuko cracked a smile. Sokka grinned back, warm and encouraging, and for the first time in a long while, Zuko felt the beginnings of something bright stirring in his chest.
The wind roared, the air suddenly scalding. Sokka grunted as the balloon shook and threw them against the walls. Zuko held on for dear life, his stomach dropping from underneath him.
“I think we’re gonna need that energy soon,” Sokka yelled over the wind. “Because I’m pretty sure we’re here.”