Chapter Text
How Sokka stumbled upon the Pao Family Tea House was a story worthy of anecdote. In short, he spotted Jet—the same hooks-wielding, wheat-chewing, manipulative asshole that nearly drowned an entire village in his demented efforts to liberate it—in the over-crowded markets of Ba Sing Se, darting around all ninja-like and obviously up to no good. Sokka followed Jet without notifying the rest of the gang, figuring that Aang had enough on his plate with Appa still missing and the Earth King seemingly uninterested to the point of comatose to their urgent request for a conference. Meanwhile, Katara would only get all red-in-the-face and unhinged at the mere mention of Jet, and Toph—well, Toph didn’t even know who Jet was. And frankly, Sokka couldn’t spare the time and energy needed to explain to her why Jet—who by all means appeared outwardly as if he had every right to be here as a refugee—was deserving of their resentment and paranoia. Or at least, explaining to Toph would be a lot easier once Sokka had a better idea of what exactly Jet was up to.
And now, here Sokka was, standing among a crowd of concerned citizens outside the Pao Family Tea House after Jet bolted into the shop like an absolute lunatic, shouting, “I’m tired of waiting! These two men are firebenders!”
Before long, banished fire prince Zuko-turned tea server was hurtling out the open doors alongside Jet, broadswords ringing against hook swords.
“What...the actual fuck,” Sokka said slowly, watching with equal measures of horror and fascination as the two most hot-headed, deranged, and violent jerks he has had the misfortune of knowing battled it out in the middle of a public square.
“They’re firebenders! I’m telling you!” Jet continued to shout. “I saw the old man heating his tea!”
“He works in a tea shop!” Someone shouted back, and Sokka frowned because—well, Jet’s not wrong. But the thing was, Zuko—with his scar, and short hair, and Earth Kingdom garb—also appeared outwardly as if he had every right to be here, and proving otherwise would be a certain uphill battle as long as Zuko kept his cool and not pummel Jet with a fistful of fire.
Which was no guarantee by any means, Sokka conceded. Maybe Jet wasn’t a complete fool after all.
“Please, son, you’re confused! You don’t know what you’re doing!” The uncle stumbled out of the shop then, wringing his arms in abject worry as Jet proceeded to assault his nephew. The helpless old man act was convincing enough. Concerned citizens were growing restless, readying themselves to defend the uncle and nephew duo.
Meanwhile, Jet and Zuko continued to swing, parry, and deflect one another before finally locking in a heated stalemate.
“You must be getting tired of using those swords,” the freedom fighter taunted, his grin knife-sharp. “Bet you wish you had some help from a little fire blast right now.”
“You’re the one who needs help,” Zuko gritted out, and Sokka grimaced again by the periphery. Spirits, could he use some better comebacks.
Jet spun around and lunged at the firebender from the opposite side, but Zuko managed to block him before advancing for a counterattack. Jet pulled back just in time to bend backwards, Zuko’s blade slicing the air above him, splitting that stupid straw in his mouth into halves.
“You see that?” Jet stumbled, waving wildly at their murmuring audience. “The Fire Nation is trying to silence me! It’ll never happen!”
Cringing with second-hand embarrassment, Sokka buried his face in his hands. Jet—for all of his feral charm and charisma—couldn’t read a room even if his life depended on it. Sure, Sokka knew the truth about Zuko, but Jet was failing hard and fast at convincing anyone else with his aggression and baseless accusations. And the idiot was too haughty to even realize how far the scales had tipped against him.
Should...he be doing something to help? The thought flitted through Sokka’s mind then, belated as it was. But whose side was he even supposed to be on in this situation? Zuko was the disowned Fire Nation prince, hell-bent on capturing the Avatar and stripping the world of their last hope, hunting Sokka and his friends from across the globe and nearly killing them on multiple occasions. Meanwhile, Jet was a radicalized rogue who manipulated other young warriors into aiding him in violent acts of terrorisim, who was more than willing to murder an entire village in his deranged pursuit of vengeance. Spirits, Sokka hated these assholes and wondered, for a moment, whether they could possibly both lose the fight.
The Dai Li eventually arrived, and just as Sokka expected, dragged away a protesting Jet. The freedom fighter had failed to convince the crowd, and several bystanders advocated for Zuko, insisting that he was only acting in self-defense. In a crescendo of hushed whispers, the onlookers dispersed once the show was over, leaving Sokka standing alone in the middle of the street.
He and Zuko locked eyes then, and Sokka managed to catch a fleeting flash of bemusement followed by startled recognition. Zuko quickly rearranged his features to a scowl, chin lifting with stubborn defiance as if challenging Sokka to approach with his own grievances next, if he dared.
But Sokka wasn’t an idiot like Jet. He wasn’t going to attack Zuko in the open, screaming for his arrest with no actual proof to back it up. He returned an angry glare instead, an unspoken warning that this was far from over, before dissipating with the rest of the crowd.
~~
Sokka waited two nights before approaching the Pao Family Tea House, just as Zuko’s uncle was closing the shop for the night. He had chosen to confront the elder of the two firebenders because rather than a fight, Sokka wanted answers, which tended to come more readily with verbal coherence and emotional stability—something that the fire prince lacked in spades.
And despite being a Fire Nation general, the uncle had helped them in the North Pole when his compatriot destroyed the moon spirit. He was the first person Sokka had ever met from the Fire Nation who appeared to adhere to some form of moral compass, and sure, the bars were incredibly low, but Sokka felt in his gut that the uncle might be someone he could trust in this situation, to provide some answers to his questions at least.
“Hi,” Sokka said awkwardly as he approached the shop front. The old man continued to sweep the steps at a leisurely pace, seemingly unmoved by Sokka’s sudden appearance
“Good evening, young man. I was expecting a visit from you.”
“You were?” Sokka tensed, caught out.
“My nephew informed me of your presence during the debacle two nights ago. I have been expecting you since.”
“I’m not here to fight you or your nephew, or anything,” Sokka admitted, “I just want some answers.”
“Of course,” the uncle responded easily, setting the broom aside. “You must have a lot of questions. We can talk over some tea and maybe even a game of Pai Sho.”
“I—no, that’s fine—” Sokka stammered, face-flushed from the old man’s unexpected warmth. “I don’t really know how to play Pai Sho.”
“Ah,” the uncle mused, unperturbed. “But I’ve seen you during our regrettably less friendly encounters in the past, and I believe that you are a young man who can appreciate a complex game of strategy.”
“Well, I do like strategizing,” Sokka confessed, returning a tentative smile.
“Why don’t we step inside then?” The uncle appeared pleased by his response. “I will prepare some tea for us.”
~~
Zuko and Uncle Iroh fled to Ba Sing Se as refugees, Sokka learned that night. After Zuko’s failure to capture the Avatar and Iroh’s betrayal of General Zhao at the North Pole, they were both branded as traitors by the Fire Nation, hunted and despised wherever they went. Sokka would have snickered at the apparent karmic retribution, but Uncle Iroh was so sincere in his apology that Sokka couldn’t bring himself to withhold any sympathy, let alone dish out his insults.
(Although, what Sokka was most sympathetic about was that Iroh had an ungrateful jerk like Zuko for a nephew.)
So Zuko and his uncle were refugees now, hoping to start a new life. A humble, quiet life of tea serving. Iroh believed that his nephew, despite his internal strife, would one day come to realize the error of his thinking and find peace in humility, and who was Sokka to judge whether they deserved a second chance or not?
But until Zuko actually proved himself to be the man that Iroh believed him to be, Sokka wasn’t going to let his guard down either.
In the days that followed, Sokka surveilled the tea shop at a distance, approaching only at closing time for a few Pai Sho games with Uncle. Sokka was still no match for a master like Iroh, but at least, he wasn’t losing as badly anymore. Iroh was full of praise for him after each game, generous with advice, and overall, simply delighted to find a youth who could appreciate the intricacy of Pai Sho. Sokka preened at the attention, swelling with pride every time. Affirmation was honestly so hard to come by when you were the only regular guy on a team of ultra-powerful benders. But what his friends lacked, and Sokka possessed, was the patience and foresight needed for leadership, and Sokka sharpened these skills with every game of Pai Sho, aided and encouraged by the unexpected mentor he found in Iroh.
Deeply, privately, Sokka had begun to wish that Iroh was his uncle instead. Zuko, being the reckless jerk he was, certainly took his clever uncle for granted.
Another week passed before Sokka gathered the nerve to enter the Pao Family Tea House in broad daylight. Uncle was nowhere to be found, probably in the kitchen preparing the latest batches of tea, but Zuko spotted Sokka right away, frowning thunderously as Sokka slipped into a vacant booth without shame.
Ignoring the beckoning of several waiting customers, the fire prince stormed towards Sokka’s table, growling at him in a low, furious whisper. “I don’t know what you’re playing at by coming here, Water Tribe. But if you want to settle this, I’m more than happy to take you on tonight, outside.”
“I’m not here to see you,” Sokka snorted, craning his neck to free his field of vision from the angry jerk towering above him. He finally spotted Iroh by the kitchen entrance, balancing a tray of freshly brewed tea. Sokka broke into a grin, waving animatedly at the old man. “Good morning, Uncle!”
“Ah, Sokka.” Uncle returned an affectionate smile. “Good morning!”
“Uncle?” Zuko, dumbstruck, glared at Sokka, and then to his uncle, and then back. “Why are you calling him uncle?”
Sokka shrugged. “Because that’s who he is?”
“No, he’s my uncle!” Zuko hissed furiously, “You don’t get to call him that!”
“Well, what am I supposed to call him? Mushi? That’s a stupid name. Who even came up with it?” Sokka crossed his arms stubbornly, only to reconsider in the ensuing silence, before adding, “It was you, wasn’t it.”
Zuko's face was flushed in a deep, angry red, appearing nearly apoplectic with rage. Sokka sagged his shoulders in concession, heaving a world-weary sigh.
“Alright Zuko—Can I call you Zuko?”
“Shut up about this, or I’ll—”
“Now, now, Nephew.” Uncle approached their table then, effectively silencing the fire prince with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “No need to threaten customers so early in the morning. It’s not good for business, or your chi.” He then directed his attention to their guest, smiling warmly at the Water Tribe boy. “Sokka, I hope the day has treated you well. What kind of tea would you like?”
“Jasmine tea, please,” Sokka beamed.
“Excellent choice,” Uncle commended him, even for that. “Jasmine is my nephew’s favorite!”
And that, apparently, was the final straw that broke the ostrich horse’s back, as Zuko unleashed a disgruntled howl of frustration, storming away from them before shoving past the dividers that separated the kitchen from the rest of the shop.