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He doesn’t like to see her like this, passed out on their bed, surrounded by empty bottles, dark hair a tangled mess. It hurts all the people who care about her – her big brother, his little sister, her uncle, his dad – but it pains him most of all.
With a ragged sigh, he reaches up, tying his shaggy hair into a messy wolftail. He’s already set painkillers and a glass of water on their nightstand, moving about their apartment, picking up after her mess and tossing things into the trash. He’s not the cleanest person in the world, and Azula’s borderline obsessed with keeping their space neat and orderly, but when she has these episodes, he finds that he has to hold the place together without her.
Breakfast is already ready in the kitchen – He’s heated up some leftovers from yesterday’s brunch with Zuko and Katara in the city. The blinds aren’t opened yet, and he sets about drawing back the shades so that the soft sunlight fills the apartment. Azula’s a morning person, so she’s usually the one to get up and open them before he wakes up.
Kneeling beside their bed, Sokka brushes some of her hair away from her forehead. “Azula?” he whispers.
Her eyes are bloodshot as they fly open, and her lips twist in annoyance. She groans, rolling over in bed, desperate to escape the brightness of their room.
“Zuli,” he tries again. “You have a meeting with the board this afternoon… Should I call in and tell them you won’t be able to make it?”
At that, she jolts upright, instantly hissing as she presses her fingers to her temples. “Agni.” She accepts the water glass Sokka hands her, downing a portion of it quickly as she keeps her eyes screwed shut. Her silk nightgown is crumpled, and there’s a crease along the side of her face where she pressed too hard against the mattress while asleep. “I slipped again, didn’t I?” she asks him, voice scarily thin and fragile.
He moves to pull her into his arms, but she jerks away from him roughly. “Yes,” he says. His voice is thick with emotion, and he watches her carefully, concerned.
A guttural cry tears from her throat. “Damn it.”
“Azula, we can talk about this – You don’t have to try to be strong and go through this alone,” he begins desperately.
She cuts him off. “No, Sokka. You don’t understand. You can’t.” Her golden eyes flash with anger, and she snatches the painkillers off the table, pouring a few of the tablets onto her open palm, swallowing them in one go before following them with another swig of water.
Sinking onto the mattress beside her, he keeps his gaze trained on her steadily. “You’re right. I can’t understand.” His head falls into his hands as he holds back a strangled cry of his own. “But I can’t stand to see you like this.” He wants to do anything – crack a joke, shovel food down, ignore everything that’s wrong with this situation. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.
“Forget it,” she says, moving to push past him and stumble off the bed.
He catches her before she can make her escape. “Azula, we need to talk about this.” Reaching for her hand, he holds it between them, the ruby on her left hand glinting in the sunlight. “We’re a team, remember?”
Slipping past him, she snatches her hand back, reaching for the necklace lying on the nightstand and clasping it around her neck. The sapphire presses against her throat, and she doesn’t meet his gaze. “Yes. A team.” Her brows knit together as her fingers return to her temples. “Sokka, it’s too bright for you to be opening the blinds.”
“You always like the blinds open in the morning,” he shoots back, rising from their bed to follow her.
Rifling through her clothing in their closet, she holds a bright red pantsuit up against her body, eyeing herself in the mirror across from their bed. “Not after I’ve gotten blackout drunk.” She tosses the suit onto the bed, exiting the bedroom while reaching up to detangle the messy knot atop her head.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats, trailing after his wife. “Azula, this isn’t healthy. Getting so drunk that you collapse in our bed doesn’t do anything but unravel you further. Please.”
Spinning around on her heels to face him, temper flaring, she snaps back, “You don’t get it, Sokka.” Her hands fly to her hips, and her eyes are burning now.
“I saw the results, Azula,” he says levelly, fighting back his own building anger. “I’m just as upset as you are.”
At that, she seems to crumble, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, silk nightgown slipping off one of her shoulders. “I took five tests,” she finally whispers hollowly. “I thought they were wrong. They were all negative.” Her anger subsides, and she looks disoriented, lower lip trembling.
He can’t take it anymore. “Azula.” His voice cracks. He opens his arms to her, and she accepts the embrace, quivering against him.
“It doesn’t matter, Sokka,” she says bitterly. “I never wanted to be a mother anyways. Children are a waste of time and energy.” Her jaw sets again, but she clings to him anyways, her body fitting naturally against his, comfortable and familiar.
Placing a finger beneath her chin and tilting her face up to look at him, he responds, “You and I both know that’s not true.”
Snapping her head to look downward, she’s set on denying it, “It is. Father raised me and Zuko well enough on his own after his divorce with Mother. I never needed a mom, and I don’t need children either.”
“But you want children,” he cuts in gently. “You may not need them, but you want them.” He holds her frazzled form close as she stumbles against him on unsteady feet. “Azula, you know you can always tell me what’s on your mind, right? You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“Five. Tests. Sokka.”
He rests his chin on the top of her head, “I know. But we can keep trying.”
Pushing him away, she hurries through the hallway, stumbling to grip their kitchen table. “We’ve been trying for over a year now.” She goes about tugging all the curtains shut, storming through the kitchen. “I was a week late. I really thought that we’d finally done it.” She rummages through their cabinets, happening upon another bottle of wine. It’s out of her hands before she can take even a sip.
“Azula, you have to stop drinking like this.” His anger is building again, and he snatches the wine, placing it back in the cabinet. “We’re giving the rest of our stash to Katara and Zuko. This isn’t healthy for anyone, let alone someone in your situation. You realize how terrified I get, finding you wasted on the bed when I get back home from work?”
She has the decency to look at least a bit remorseful for a few moments. Then, she pours herself another glass of water, still fighting through her hangover. “Damn it. I just can’t do this anymore, Sokka.” She sits at the kitchen table, where the plate of spicy curry Sokka heated for her is.
Taking his place opposite her, he glances down at his plate, uncharacteristically losing his appetite. Reluctantly picking up his chopsticks, he prods at the slab of salted meat halfheartedly. “Have you… have you talked to Katara about it?” he asks uncertainly.
“No!” she looks mortified. “Why would I ask your little sister for fertility advice?” Her chopsticks slam against the table as she glares at him, shoving loose hair behind her ear.
He grits his teeth in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know – Maybe because she’s an ob-gyn who specializes in this kind of thing? Tui and La, Azula, please let me help, damn it. This is something that’s supposed to bring us closer together, not drive us apart.”
Her teeth bare in a wine stained grin. “Something is wrong with us, Sokka. Maybe we’re just not meant to be parents.” Her plate of food gets shoved away. “I’m not, at the very least. I shouldn’t be a mom. Agni knows I’d end up just like my own.”
“Azula,” he softens. “You’re not your parents.”
Lifting her head up to look at him, she trembles, and her golden eyes are haunted. “You don’t know that.”
He stands to his feet again, crossing around to the other side of the table, wrapping his arms around his wife. “But I do.” Her hand rests against his chest, and he curls around her protectively. “You’ll be better than both of them. You’ll be an incredible mom, Zuli.”
“Not if I can’t get pregnant first,” her voice cracks, and she fists his shirt angrily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why can’t I, Sokka? What’s wrong with me?”
Weaving his fingers through her dark hair and massaging her lightly, he tries to ignore the way his heart sinks in his chest at her despondence. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out, Zuli. Together, I promise.” And the tears begin to course their way down his cheeks as he brings her even closer.
She looks up at him, pressing her lips to his hungrily. “I won’t drink anymore, Sokka, but you have to… you have to help me.”
It’s difficult for Azula to ask for help because she’s so fiercely independent. He finds himself deeply touched by her request. “We won’t stock the cabinets anymore,” he murmurs into her hair. “And I won’t drink out of solidarity. Your health is important, Zuli, especially while we’re trying.”
The bags under her bloodshot eyes are still heavy, and tears slip down her face too. She grips him tighter. “Okay.” She sinks onto the floor, bringing him down with her. Curling up against his chest, she hides her face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him with an anguished need.
They cry together, there on their kitchen floor. The raw vulnerability is unusual for them both, but it’s cathartic in a profound way. As her tears stain his shirt and his body rocks them back and forth, they find peace together, in the comfort of each other’s arms.