Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zuko wakes, as he often does, to two small hands on either side of his face. 

“Kiyi,” he mumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes as he reaches forward and pulls his little sister off of his chest. “Why are you awake?” 

A sniffle sounds off from somewhere along his right side and Zuko’s eyes snap open. Kiyi’s lip is wobbling dangerously, her hair falling out of the haphazard bun he put it in before bed. 

“Why are you crying, sunshine?” Zuko whispers, propping himself up on one elbow.

Kiyi shakes her head and burrows deeper into Zuko’s side. “Miss Mommy.” She mumbles.

Zuko rubs her back and sighs. “Yeah, me too.” 

He looks over at his alarm clock; 6:02 AM. That’s a perfectly normal, healthy time for a five-year-old to get up, right?

“You know what I bet would make you feel better?” He asks. 

“What?” 

“If we got hot chocolate before school.” 

Kiyi’s head pops up and she rests her chin on his chest. Zuko reaches forward and wipes an errant tear off of her cheek. 

“I think so, too.” She says solemnly. 

“Come on, Ki! We’re gonna be late!” Zuko calls down the hall of their apartment, shoving keys and phone and wallet into his pocket. 

“Ready!” 

She skids into the living room, wearing, miraculously, actual clothes, instead of Zuko’s old gi and a pair of shorts like she did yesterday. Still, she’s chosen a sundress with a pair of old rain boots that Zuko knows to have a hole in the back. Zuko glances out the window; thick snow is falling in droves, threatening to white out the entire pane. 

“Leggings and a sweater, little miss.” He informs her. 

Kiyi pouts, dragging down her lip with her finger. “Zukooooooo-“

“Don’t wanna hear it, Ki. If you show up for school in the wrong clothes again, Ms. Song is going to think I’m a terrible big brother.”

“You are!” She yells, stomping down the hall.

Zuko closes his eyes and breathes deeply as the door to her bedroom slams.

By the time she reappears in the living room, a navy blue sweater thrown over the dress and bright pink leggings underneath, she clearly regrets her tantrum.

“You’re not a terrible big brother.” She mumbles as Zuko kneels down to fix her hair- so much lighter than his, so much like Mom’s.

“I don’t wanna be.” Zuko tells her. “Terrible big brothers don’t get hot chocolate for their sisters, do they?”

“No.” 

“I don’t think so, either. Come on, sunshine.” 

“I know you’re upset that Cho’s Tea was closed, but maybe you’ll like this place better?” Zuko asks, hurrying Kiyi through the door. She shakes snow off of her hat and glances around the tea shop Zuko had hurriedly looked up when they got to the shop they usually went to and found a sign denoting it as closed for the high holidays. 

It’s a cozy little place. The walls are painted a deep green, with small red motifs. Several tables in the back are devoted to old people bent over a board game Zuko hasn’t played in years, and classical music plays softly over the speakers. 

“Hm,” Kiyi says, crossing her arms. “This’ll do.” 

“Glad you approve, your highness,” Zuko says dryly, nudging her up to the counter. His phone buzzes on his hip and he pulls it out. 

“Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon!” The cashier says. “What can I get for you today?” 

Kiyi stands on tip-toe, peering up at the cashier, and gasps. “I love the drawings on your hands!” She says, and that drags Zuko out of his screen. 

The cashier is a tall man with dark skin and bright eyes. His hair is shaven on the sides and pulled back on the top, and dark, intricate lines ink his arms and curl down the tops of his hands.

“Kiyi! That’s not polite-“ 

“Nah, it’s okay, man!” The cashier says, grinning. “They’re tattoos, not drawings, squirt!” He sticks out his hands so she can see. 

Kiyi gapes at them. “Did they hurt?” 

“A little! But they’re very important to me and my culture.”

“That’s so cool.” Kiyi turns towards Zuko, eyes wide. “Can I get tattoos?” 

“When you’re fifty-five,” Zuko tells her. 

“You have tattoos-“ 

“I’m fifty-five,” Zuko says, straight-faced. 

The cashier laughs. “What can I get for you two?” 

“A hot chocolate,” Kiyi tells him resolutely.

“Extra whipped cream?” 

“Duh.” 

“Kiyi.” 

“Yes, please.” Kiyi amends. 

“And for you?” He turns towards Zuko. 

“Ah, just a black coffee, please.” He says. The cashier nods and puts in the order. 

“And can I get a name for the order?”

“Kiyi,” Kiyi says. “And that’s Zuko.” 

“Cool!” The cashier bends down and hands Kiyi a sticker of a dragon curled around a teacup, which she promptly sticks to her winter coat. “My name’s Sokka. Pronounced with an -okka.” 

Kiyi giggles and the cashier- Sokka- smiles at her before straightening back up. 

“Hopefully I’ll see you two back in here soon!” He says to Zuko, handing him his coffee. 

“Hopefully!” Kiyi chirps. 

Kiyi’s hot chocolate is nothing but a whipped-cream mustache by the time Zuko parks at her preschool. 

“C’mere-“ he scrubs at her face with the sleeve of her jacket until she wriggles out of his grasp. 

“It’s fine, Zuko, come on-“ she grabs his hand and marches him towards the door. 

“Good morning, Kiyi!” One of the teacher’s aides says cheerfully, kneeling down to help her take off her jacket. 

“Good morning, Mr. Aang!” She says. 

“My, this is quite an outfit you put together today.” He says. 

Kiyi answers something proudly, but Zuko doesn’t hear it. His phone has buzzed again, and he pulls it out to look. 

Good morning, Mr. Sozin, The text reads. This is Dr. Li from Xai Bau Medical Center. Just wanted to give you an update- Azula did fairly well last night, but she, unfortunately, became aggressive with a nurse this morning and has had to be placed under twenty-four supervision. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience.

“-uko? You there?” 

Zuko wrenches his face up.

Aang is standing in front of him, arms crossed, eyes wide. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Zuko swallows thickly. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He lies. “Were you saying something?” 

“I was just telling you that Kiyi did very well last week. No incidents with her classmates or tantrums.” 

“Th-that’s great.” Zuko rubs the back of his neck. Kiyi had not had an easy time adjusting. They moved to the city almost right after the accident so that Zuko could find work and be closer to Azula. The first couple of months had been rough, and she’s only just now starting to be excited about going to school every morning. Zuko looks up. Kiyi’s already playing, building a block tower with a little boy. “She was pretty upset this morning, though. Might want to be on the lookout.” 

Aang nods. “Absolutely. Are you doing okay, Zuko?” 

“Fine.” Zuko smiles thinly. “I’ll see you at pick-up.” 

The car’s freezing when he gets back in, though he can’t have been gone longer than ten minutes. Zuko hurriedly turns the heat on as high as it will go and rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment. 

The bills for Azula’s care are mounting, and Zuko can barely afford the little one-bedroom he has with Kiyi, let alone the hospital. Ursa’s will had left him her bank account, along with his little sister, but he’d used a small amount to pay for Kiyi’s minor hospital bills after the accident and then placed the rest in a savings account. He won’t touch it, even if they become desperate. It’s for Kiyi. If he had managed to finish his degree before-

Zuko cuts off that line of reasoning and picks his head up, rubbing his eyes. That’s enough groveling for one day. 

He doesn’t have a choice. Kiyi needs a home, Azula needs medical care, and all three of them need roofs over their heads. What could have been matters far less than what is. And what is is that he’s going to be late for work if he doesn’t stop feeling sorry for himself in the parking lot of Kiyi’s school. 

“You look happy,” Iroh notes as Sokka cheerfully cleans the coffee machine, a job he usually despises. “Did you do well on your circuits test?”

Sokka’s bright smile dips for just a second. “No,” he sighs. “I got a 70. But hey, the class average was 65! Technically, I’m above average!” 

Iroh chuckles and finished ringing up a young lady with a hazardous amount of curls piled atop her head. “So, if not the test, what is it?” 

“The cutest kid came in today,” Sokka says. “She was asking me all sorts of questions about my tattoos and her dad was adorable- probably only a couple years older than me. Even had this crazy cool scar on his-“ 

Sokka cuts off as Iroh stills. 

“Are you okay, Iroh?” He asks. 

Iroh looks up to give him a thin smile. “Of course. I miss my family sometimes, is all.” 

Sokka smiles back. “I’m sure.” He says softly. “I’m sure you do.” 

Kiyi manages to get through her school day without major incidents, and Zuko cooks a quick stir-fry for dinner and gets her in bed without a tantrum, which is a bigger accomplishment still. It’s far past midnight, and Zuko honestly meant to go to bed, he did, but he’s gotten another late notice for their electricity bill, so now he’s staring at his computer screen, trying to figure out how to force the numbers to make a sum that they stubbornly refuse to. 

The bills are piling up. 

Rent isn’t terribly expensive- he’d been able to sublease the apartment from a medical student who was moving in her with her brother, but didn’t want to break her lease- but between Azula’s care, the car, groceries, clothes- 

Maybe- 

Maybe he should call- 

No. 

Zuko mindlessly reaches up and feels the corners of his scar, rigid and distorted. No. He won’t call him, even if things get much worse. He won’t let him anywhere near Kiyi. 

Maybe he should sell the car. 

Though it won’t get much of anything, and it’ll only pay for Azula’s care for maybe a few more weeks, and- 

“Zuko?” 

Kiyi is standing at the entrance to the hallway. She’s taken to wearing Zuko’s t-shirts to bed, though they’re far too big and slip down her shoulders. She rubs at her eyes and clutches her stuffed dragon tighter to her chest. “Why are you crying?” 

Zuko touches his hand to his unscarred cheek and finds, surprisingly, that Kiyi’s right, he is crying. “I’m okay, sunshine.” He says, and roughly swipes at his face. “Sorry for waking you. Go on back to bed.” 

“You’re sad.” She says stubbornly. “You never go back to bed when I’m sad.” 

“I’m supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.” Zuko points out.

He bites back a wet chuckle when Kiyi rolls her eyes, lets out a huff of annoyance so much like her older sister it makes him ache, and stomps over, climbing up on his lap. 

“Tell me why you’re sad.” She says resolutely, wiping away a stray tear with her little thumb. 

“You’re bossy,” Zuko says instead. 

“Zukoooooooo-” 

“I’m just sad, Ki.” Zuko interrupts her, knowing that if he doesn’t, she’ll continue on until he does. “Sometimes you just get sad for no reason, you know?” 

Kiyi nods solemnly and slumps down into him, head on his shoulder. “Sometimes, I really miss Mommy,” She says. “And sometimes I don’t, but I’m sad for no reason, too.” 

Zuko tightens his arms around her. “It’s okay to be sad for no reason,” he tells her. She stays still on his shoulder for approximately three seconds before popping her head back up and shoving her dragon in his face. 

“Druk always makes me feel better.” She informs him. “I bet he’d make you feel better, too.”

Zuko laughs, really laughs, and stands, putting Kiyi on his hip, though she’s really too big for it. “You know what else would make me feel better?” He asks. “If we watched some Lilo and Stitch.” 

Kiyi gasps and immediately jumps off of him to run to the TV.

She’s out within ten minutes. Zuko runs his fingers through her short hair, makes sure Druk is secure in her arms, and pulls the blanket higher, just as the social worker shows up to threaten to take Lilo away again. 

He doesn’t sleep much that night, though it helps, when his eyes are burning and his head pounding from exhaustion the next morning, that Kiyi does. 

Cute young dad is back.

Though, he kinda looks like shit. There are dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and his long dark hair is not quite as sleek and put-together as it was the other day. His hands shake slightly when he hands Sokka his credit card. 

He kinda pulls off the ‘bedraggled-too-busy-to-sleep look’, not gonna lie. 

“You sure you want three extra espresso shots?” Sokka verifies, and the guy- Zuko, it says on his credit card, right, Sokka should have remembered that- gives him a vacant nod. 

“Please.” He says, raspy. 

“Alright dude, it’s your heart attack,” Sokka shrugs and begins to prepare the espresso machine. “Hey, where’s your daughter?” 

Zuko blinks, and the face he makes is so confused Sokka is immediately concerned that he hallucinated that the cute young dad with a scar came in with a kid. 

“My daughter?” Zuko repeats, and then his unscarred eye widens. “Oh! That- Kiyi’s my sister.” 

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to assume. She’s super cute, man.” 

“Yeah.” Zuko agrees, and wraps both of his hands around the black coffee Sokka hands him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Sokka tells him and watches as he bundles his coat back up and steps out into the horrible Ba Sing Se winter without adding cream or sugar to his bitter monstrosity of a coffee. 

Sokka must still be staring at the door when Iroh walks in, hands full with wrapped goods from the bakery down the street because he teases,

“Are you waiting for a better job offer to waltz in?”

Sokka comes out from behind the counter to help him. “As if,” he scoffs. “I’ll be working here till I die, old man, and then some. I’ll haunt your shop.” 

Iroh shrugs. “You wouldn’t be the first.” 

“Well,” Sokka says. “That’s terrifying. Please never say that again.” 

Iroh chuckles and begins unwrapping a box of mooncakes. He hands one to Sokka. “Help me put these in the display case, or I’ll tell you about the ghost who knocks over the supplies in the back closet.” 

“You don’t have to threaten me,” Sokka grumbles but smiles all the same when Iroh launches into a long story about the old man who owned this building before Iroh bought it. 

Iroh doesn’t talk much about his family. Sokka knows he lost his wife a long time ago, and then his son when he was around Sokka’s age. Sokka knows his nephew lived with him for a few years, and then moved out, and that he has a niece, somewhere out there, but that’s it. 

It’s so obvious how he misses them, especially when Katara drags herself into the shop after a long day of cadaver lab and Iroh immediately fusses over her, or when Aang pops in after school and ducks behind the counter to help Iroh out, and Iroh’s eyes lighten for a moment. 

Sokka knows what it is to have a person-shaped hole in your heart. Even if the hole is old and scarred over, it is there all the same. You can get used to it, after a while, Sokka supposes. Like you’d get used to missing a limb. 

But sometimes, you realize with a jolt of panic that it is missing, and you feel the loss so acutely you can barely stand it. and Sokka knows that’s what Iroh is feeling, as they finish loading the display case, and Iroh briefly touches the watch around his wrist, the initials LTS engraved on the back of the face.

“Hi, Azula.” 

Zuko sits down on the chair opposite to her, and glances out the locked door’s glass top out of habit; Kiyi is still sitting cross-legged on a waiting-room chair, engrossed with the show Zuko turned on on his phone for her. 

“Hello there, Zuzu.” Azula purrs, stretching languidly as though she’s still wearing the designer clothes of their youth instead of sweatpants without the string and a threadbare t-shirt that Zuko’s pretty sure was Ty Lee’s at one point. A purple bruise is blossoming under her left eye, a deep scratch over her eyebrow. 

“Didn’t Father teach you that it’s rude to stare?” She snaps, and then draws her fingertips over the bruise, not even flinching. “Don’t worry, the other guy looks worse.” 

“I wasn’t worried.” Zuko says. He pulls out the plastic bag and sets it on the table between them. “I brought you more art supplies.” 

Azula’s eyes widen. “How did you-” 

“I do talk to your doctor, Azula. I haven’t abandoned you or anything.” Zuko says wearily, scrubbing at his dry eyes. That stuns Azula into a silence so uncharacteristic that Zuko is a little stunned himself. 

Azula pulls the bag closer to her, but lets go of it quickly, lest Zuko thinks she actually wants the bright paints inside. 

“How’s the little brat?” Azula asks instead, eyes flicking towards the door. 

“Don’t call her that,” Zuko says automatically, and then sighs. “Kiyi’s doing okay. She’s back in school, finally.” 

“And you, Zuzu?” Azula crosses her arms. “Are you?” 

Zuko stiffens. “No.”  

“So is that why Father’s not talking to you, or-” 

“Azula!” Zuko interrupts sharply. 

Azula doesn’t flinch- she’s far too conditioned to show any outward fear at a raised tone- but her fist tightens momentarily, and that’s enough for Zuko. 

“I’m not talking to Father because he abused us.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“Azula.” Zuko says again and turns so his scar is on full display, and the hilarity of this situation- that they’re sitting in a visiting room in a psych ward, Zuko with half-scarred face, Azula with a half-scarred soul, and yet, she’s still denying the damage of their childhood- hits him like a semi-truck. 

And Zuko wants to laugh, he does, because he’s twenty-one, and guardian of a five-year-old sister he didn’t even know existed until his mother died in a car crash, and legally responsible for his nineteen-year-old sister who’s been admitted for almost a year of her short life, and rent is due, and his temp job doesn’t pay nearly enough, and he wishes he had someone to help, but he has no clue where Uncle is, and no other adult has ever cared enough to help, and he’s tired. 

He’s just so, so, so, tired. 

So he does. He laughs, and Azula looks at him like he’s crazy, which makes him laugh more, and suddenly there are tears on his cheeks where there wasn’t before, and Azula is even giggling which is more disconcerting than anything else, so Zuko buries his face in his hands and takes a deep breath. 

When he emerges, Azula is trying to hide a half-smile. 

“I gotta take Ki to get new boots.” Zuko says, and wipes his face again. “But I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll bring you that drink you like. I love you, Azula.” 

Azula doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t make a snide comment, so Zuko’s going to take that as progress. 

“Is Azula sick?” Kiyi asks suddenly, in the kid’s shoe section of the store he’s stopped at. Zuko stills where he’s kneeling in front of a shelf of bright pink rain boots. 

“Sort of, yes,” Zuko says. 

“She doesn’t look sick.” Kiyi counters, swinging her socked feet. 

“Well,” Zuko pulls out a pair of boots and hands them to her for inspection. “Do you know how sometimes, if you stay out in the rain, you can catch a cold?” 

Kiyi nods and hops off the stool to model her boots. 

“Sometimes that can happen with our brains, too. Azula’s body isn’t sick, but we went through some scary stuff, just like you did, and it hurt her brain. The doctors are helping her brain feel better.” 

“Oh.” Kiyi says, and sits back down. “Is she ever gonna come live with us?”

“I hope so, Ki.” Zuko says tiredly. Kiyi hands the boots back to him. “These are the winners?” 

Kiyi grins and nods, and carefully starts putting back on her old holey boots.

Zuko glances at the price tag before he closes the box and winces. Guess he’s gonna skip getting coffee for a few days. 

Some days, Sokka comes into work, and Iroh has a heavy air hanging around him. There are usually dates Sokka can ascribe it to: his wedding anniversary, his son’s birthday- but today is several months from either of those and yet, Iroh is nearly silent as he rings up customers. 

Sokka is extra careful in brewing a cup of jasmine tea from the expensive leaves they have imported from outside Gaoling, and he sets the cup on Iroh’s desk. Iroh looks up from his paperwork with raised eyebrows. 

“To what do I owe this- ah- pleasure?” He teases, though there isn’t much mirth behind it as he drags the cup towards him. 

“Hey, I am much better than I used to be at brewing tea,” Sokka argues, sitting down across from him. 

“That, you are,” Iroh chuckles, and doesn’t even make a face when he takes a sip. “My nephew used to be much worse.” 

“Your nephew who lived with you?” Sokka asks. He knows he’s treading on dangerous ground, tries to keep his tone as even as possible. 

“Yes,” Iroh says heavily, and curls both his hands around the cup. “He was in a bad situation at home. Showed up at my doorstep, back when I lived outside the city. He lived with me for a couple of years before his father called him back home. I haven’t seen him since.” 

“You should call him!” Sokka urges. “C’mon, who doesn’t want to see their uncle-” 

“I’ve lost contact with him.” Iroh interrupts. “His father forced him to change his number and moved him out of the country back to the homeland. Leaving him and his sister alone with that mons-” Iroh cuts off and looks down for a moment, and when he looks back up, his eyes are shiny. “Thank you very much for the tea, Sokka. I am a very lucky old man to have people who care about me so deeply.” 

Sokka knows a dismissal when he sees one, so he gets up, and leaves Iroh, hunched over his cup of jasmine tea, and goes back to the front of the store.

Zuko’s phone rarely rings during work hours.

Azula’s hospital generally sends text messages unless it’s urgent, and anyone else who would know how to reach him is either dead or gone, so when it rings around two in the afternoon as Zuko is slogging through yet another Excel sheet, he takes notice. 

The caller ID denotes it as Kiyi’s preschool, and that immediately makes his heart jump into his throat, so he hastily picks it up. 

“Hello?” He croaks out. If there was an accident, if something happened to-

“Zuko?” Aang’s voice comes through, slightly tinny. There’s a distant sound of yelling in the background. 

“Yes,” Zuko says. “Is something wrong?” 

“Unfortunately.” Aang sighs. “Kiyi hit another student, and then had a meltdown after snack time, and I’ve tried for almost an hour now to calm her down, but nothing seems to be working. She’s starting to disrupt the rest of the class, and I’m wondering if it would be best if she goes home for the rest of the day.” 

Zuko holds his breath, counts 1-2-3, and lets it out. 

“Of course,” He says, and winces when a particularly high shriek cuts off Aang’s response. “I’m on my way now.” 

He definitely speeds trying to get across the city, but the tickets are a problem for another day. He hurries into Kiyi’s classroom and finds Aang sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the coat closet. It’s blessedly silent, but Zuko can’t tell if that bodes well or of disaster.

“Hey,” Aang waves and nods towards the closet. “She’s in there. Ms. Song took the rest of the kids out to recess.”

Zuko sighs and takes off his coat. He knocks lightly at the closet door. “Hey, Ki, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a sniffle and a mumbled affirmative, and when Zuko opens the door, he finds his sister wedged into the back corner of the closet, knees pulled to her chest. 

“Looks cozy in here,” Zuko says. He crawls in to sit across from her.

Kiyi looks up from her knees to suspiciously glare at him for a second before she turns away. 

“Are you mad at me?” She asks tremulously. 

“Mad?” Zuko frowns. “Why would I be mad?” 

“I hit Ruon-Jian!” Kiyi wails. “And you told me I’m not allowed to hit people, and now you’re gonna send me back, and I-I-”

She breaks off into sobs, and Zuko can’t stop himself from picking her up and hugging her close until her crying subsides enough that her breathing is somewhat evened out. 

“Kiyi.” Zuko says quietly, and tilts her chin up so she’s meeting his eyes. “I need you to listen to me. There is nothing you could do that would make me send you back. You’re stuck with me forever.” 

“Really?” Kiyi asks. 

“Really,” Zuko affirms, and his heart breaks a little more when Kiyi lets out a half-sob and throws herself back at his chest. “I’m sorry if anything I did made you think I would ever send you back, sunshine. I love you very much.” 

“I love you too.” She says into his shoulder and then pulls back to rub at her eyes. 

“Now, what’s this about hitting Ruon-Jian?” Zuko asks, raising an eyebrow, and Kiyi immediately ducks her head. 

“He was being mean to me,” Kiyi says, and Zuko looks up towards the front of the closet, where Aang nods. 

“We were discussing jobs,” Aang supplies. “And we went around talking about the jobs of significant adults in the kids’ lives, and Ruon-Jian-”

“He told everyone I don’t have a mommy!” Kiyi yells, and Zuko winces. 

“Well, that wasn’t Ruon-Jian’s place to share,” Zuko tells her. “But we don’t hit people, even when they’re mean to us. We tell adults that we trust, like Mr. Aang.” 

“I did tell Mr. Aang!” Kiyi says indignantly. 

“After you hit him,” Aang says, and there’s a note of amusement in his voice. 

“So, next time?” Zuko prompts. 

“Next time I’ll tell him before I hit Ruon-Jian.” Kiyi grumbles. 

Zuko badly hides a snort and kisses the top of her head before fixing her braids, which are completely in disarray. “How about we get out of here, kiddo? Go get a hot chocolate?” 

Kiyi brightens visibly and gets up, running out of the closet while Zuko gathers up her coat and backpack. 

“What do you say to Mr. Aang?” Zuko asks when he finishes buttoning up her coat.

Kiyi runs over and gives him a quick hug. “Sorry,” she says to his knees.

“That’s alright, Kiyi.” Aang says. “We all have tough days. I hope you feel better tomorrow!” 

“Thanks, Aang,” Zuko says over his shoulder as Kiyi drags him out of the room. 

“Anytime!” Aang chirps. 

“Ah! My favorite duo!” Sokka says brightly as they enter the shop. 

“Hi!” Kiyi says, thoroughly cheered from her meltdown by Zuko’s insistence on listening to the Moana soundtrack in the car on the way over. She skips up to the counter while Zuko shakes the snow off his shoulders. 

“One hot chocolate, extra whipped cream?” Sokka asks.

“Yes, please!” Kiyi says, and Zuko ruffles her hair while he scrolls through his work email. 

“Good manners, kiddo.” 

“And one black coffee with eight espresso shots for you?” Sokka asks.

“Just two today, actually. I’m actually trying to avoid a heart attack.” Zuko says dryly, and Sokka snorts and turns around to begin making their order. 

“Oh, forgot this machine was on the fritz this morning,” Sokka frowns. “Yo, boss!” He calls to the back of the store. “Did you fix the espresso machine like you said you were gonna?” 

“Sokka, I had thought than an engineering student would be more than capable of-“

A too-familiar voice, raspy and slow and thickly-accented, comes from the back room, and Zuko freezes at the counter. 

“-as simple as an espresso machine. I am an old-“ 

A man appears in the back doorway, glasses on the edge of his nose, hair still long, but more salt than pepper now, looking down at some papers, and Zuko can barely breathe. 

Uncle looks up from his papers, and when he meets Zuko’s stare, his eyes widen. Sokka is chattering away in the background, and Kiyi is saying something to him, but Zuko can’t hear either of them. 

“Zuko?” Uncle croaks as the papers drop out of his hands. “Zuko, is it really you?” 

Chapter Text