Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night before their anniversary, Sokka configures the spark candle on his bedside table to pop three times before sunrise. Zuko always goes to work early, but Sokka is determined to get morning snuggles this time. Maybe he can even convince Zuko to slow down—they can have breakfast in bed, and trade lazy kisses, and watch together as the sun spills buttery strips of light over the eastern horizon. Even the thought of it is enough to make him wistful. 

The next morning, the candle goes off just the way it should. Sokka stretches leisurely, rubbing his eyes and yawning. The room is still dark, and the sheets are soft and cool against his skin. He’s tempted to curl up and go right back to sleep, but even more tempting is the thought of burrowing up to his husband and kissing his dumb cute face until he giggles. Intending to do just that, Sokka takes a deep breath, rolls over, and—

“Druk!” he cries in outrage. “Where is your father?”

The sheets next to Sokka are empty and cold. He fumbles to sit up and light one of the nearby lamps, discovering that even the wick is cool to the touch. Zuko hasn’t been here for quite some time. Where on earth could he have gone? Even he doesn’t schedule meetings so early in the day. He could be doing paperwork, Sokka supposes, or eating an early breakfast, or dying at the hands of assassins.

No, he reminds himself sternly as soon as the thought crosses his mind. Zuko is safe here. We’re all safe here. 

It’s been years since an attempt has been made on Zuko’s life. His guards are trained by the Kyoshi warriors themselves, vetted by his senior staff, and present with him almost every waking moment. If someone had been trying to hurt him, there would have been a ruckus—and Sokka has managed to train himself out of a lot of inconvenient habits since the war, but waking up to the slightest sound of struggle? That’s one habit that’s not leaving. Sokka has, in fact, invited it to stay.

A flutter of leathery wings alerts him to Druk’s movement seconds before a warm, lithe weight perches on his shoulders. Druk’s muzzle touches his ear, whuffling softly. Sokka reaches up to scratch behind his nubby horns. It’s a comfort to know that Druk is still here. If someone had managed to get past the guards to hurt Zuko, Druk would have let everyone in the palace know about it very loudly and very heatedly. 

“Well,” Sokka says, flopping back onto the mattress and setting Druk on his chest, “I guess if Zuko isn’t here, I’ll give all his cuddles to you instead.”

Druk has no complaints to make.

Sokka lounges in bed for several more minutes, threading his fingers through Druk’s soft golden mane and humming a quiet little lullaby. Druk drops his head onto Sokka’s collarbone, beginning to nibble affectionately at the strands of loose hair that touch his neck. The little dragon isn’t great at grooming, and he tugs more often than Sokka would prefer, but the gesture warms his heart anyway. 

Eventually, however, Sokka grows bored of laying in bed and having his hair chewed on. Besides, he does genuinely want to know where Zuko hurried off to this morning. He sits up, draping Druk around his neck like a particularly uncomfortable scarf, and goes to get ready for the day. The process takes longer than usual, but it’s all for a good cause: Zuko is going to totally oogle him. He chooses a lightweight Fire Nation tunic and dark trousers to match, then slips on his best (read: least tattered) boots. Once he’s dressed, he washes his face and combs his hair into a neat wolftail before carefully removing his betrothal necklace. 

The betrothal necklace is gorgeous—although, okay, Sokka’s probably biased—and an absolutely vital addition to any outfit. The strap is simple, dark blue. The pendant is a flat disc of pale moonstone shot through with dapples of black tourmaline and polished to a gleam. Zuko had found it, he’d explained, in the ancient volcanic crater of Caldera City. The pattern on the front is carved by a shaky, inexperienced hand, but Sokka loves it no less for that. He cleans the stone carefully before clasping the necklace back into place around his throat and checking himself out in the mirror. Zuko’s gonna like this. Not that Sokka likes to brag (although he really, really does), but he is a catch. 

Once he’s satisfied with his preening, he goes to find Zuko. Sure, maybe they missed watching the sunrise together, and the lazy morning cuddles, but there’s still time for breakfast! He heads for Zuko’s office with Druk, waving cheerfully to the attendants in the hall as he passes them. One of them, he notices, is carrying a rose.

“Ming,” he says, his eyes widening, “is that from Shoji?”

Ming nods enthusiastically, her cheeks flushing pink. “It is! He asked me out today—oh, Sokka, you simply have to meet him. He’s a darling.”

“The more you talk him up, the more curious I get. You’ll have to bring him around sometime. I know Zuko’s been waiting for you two to get together—you know you’re the topic of, like, all the palace gossip, right?”

“I’ve been privy to some of it, yes,” Ming says, laughing. “What can you do? There’s got to be something for the staff to talk about.”

Sokka grins. “You know it. Well, I hope things go well for the two of you. Did he say where he purchased that rose, by chance? The last I checked, all the florist’s shops were sold out after the festival.”

“A florist from the Earth Kingdom just arrived yesterday, actually. She’s set up a stand in the market, but if you’re looking to buy something, you’d better hurry. Shoji said this was the last rose she had.”

Sokka’s eyes widen, and he comes to a sharp stop in the hall. “For real?”

“For real. Go on. It’s your anniversary, isn’t it? I’ll tell Firelord Zuko where you’ve gone if he asks for you.”

“Yes, thank you, Ming! You’re the best!” 

Sokka takes off, sprinting back down the hallway. Several of the servants toss him amused looks as he passes them; they’re far too accustomed to his spontaneous behavior to be concerned by his mad dash out of the residential wing. He bursts out of the palace and trots across the courtyard, squinting in the pale sunlight. He can’t overexert his bad leg too much, or it’ll bitch at him about it for days afterwards—but for Zuko, he can tolerate a little bit of a jog. 

“I still wish,” he pants, cradling Druk in his arms as he hurries to the marketplace, “that you were big enough to fly with already.”

Druk chirps at him, wiggling in excitement, and remains exactly the size of a ramen noodle.

Several vendors call their greetings to him as he enters the marketplace, and Sokka responds as cheerfully and breathlessly as he can. The florist’s stand isn’t difficult to find—there’s an enormous line in front of it, and the air nearby smells like powder and petals and pollen. His eyes water, and he sneezes. Druk shrieks in offense.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sokka says, sniffling. “Allergies.”

They find their place at the end of the line, and Sokka rocks his weight from foot to foot as he waits. Are there going to be any flowers left by the time he gets to the stand? What kind of flowers should he even get? It’s been a while since he visited the Earth Kingdom, and he’s not well-versed in their flora. He knows Zuko likes fire lilies, and roses of all colors, and peonies. Surely he can find something like that here?

“Sir, is that…?” Someone taps his shoulder, and he turns to find a wide-eyed old man staring at him—or, more precisely, at Druk. “Is that a dragon?”

“Oh, yeah! This is Druk.” Sokka bounces Druk gently in his arms. “Say hi, Drukky.”

Druk huffs a mouthful of smoke and thrusts his face into the crook of Sokka’s neck instead. 

“Sorry. He’s cranky.” Sokka smiles apologetically at the man. “He gets it from his dad.”

So as it turns out, having a small dragon (and being recognized as the Firelord’s husband because of said dragon) has its benefits. He’s ushered to the front of the line, and for once he doesn’t complain about the special treatment. This is for Zuko. Unfortunately, the florist is still running low on stock when he reaches her. Petals litter the cobblestone street beneath his boots, and the buckets of fresh flowers look depressingly empty. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling at the florist. “I’m looking for something romantic. What do you have like that?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” the florist says apologetically. “We were swamped this morning. You know the Fire Nation—they always need their flower fix!”

Ridiculous but, Sokka now knows, true. The Fire Nation loves flowers.

The same can be said of its leader.

“That’s okay. I can figure something out.” Sokka’s brow furrows, and he sweeps his gaze over the smaller flowers near the back of the stand. One cluster looks startlingly familiar—the leaves are dark green, and the flowers are small and soft and white-petaled. “Is that jasmine?”

The florist brightens, gathering a bunch for him to examine. “It is. I can put it in as part of an arrangement, if you’d like.”

“No, no, I’ll just take the jasmine.”

“Just the jasmine?” Her eyebrows arch. “Are you sure?”

He can understand her confusion—jasmine isn’t a particularly impressive flower on its own. It’s bushy, and twiggy, and the actual blooms are rather underwhelming compared to all of the foliage. Zuko loves it anyway. Sokka knows it reminds him of his uncle, of the tea shop he first found home in, and of Ba Sing Se. He nods earnestly. 

“Yes, just the jasmine, please. Thanks so much!”

Sokka returns to the palace with a vase of bushy, sweet-smelling jasmine in hand. He practically struts down the hall towards Zuko’s office, his head high and his cheeks pink from the exertion of speed-walking back in time for breakfast. The servants grin at him as he passes, trading sly glances with each other. The guards outside of the office arch their eyebrows, then step neatly aside to let him enter. One of them winks as he passes.

“Zuko?” Sokka calls, pushing the door open with his shoulder. “Hey, good morning.”

Zuko glances up from his desk—which is littered with an absolutely obscene amount of paperwork—and blinks at him. His eyes latch onto the flowers and don’t let go. “Sokka? What’s this?”

“Flowers for you.” Sokka stops in front of the desk, beaming. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“Are they jasmine?” Zuko stands, dipping his face so he can inhale the scent of the blooms. When he straightens up again, his eyes are warm and there’s a smile on his face. “You spoil me.”

Sokka puffs his chest out. “As I should. You wanna make a place for them?”

Zuko scrambles to clear a spot on his desk, which is a far more arduous task than it should be. Sokka sets the vase down, dusting pollen off of his sleeves before reaching for Zuko. He wraps his arms around Zuko’s shoulders, and Zuko leans into him and tucks his head beneath Sokka’s chin. A soft kiss gets pressed to his throat, just beneath his betrothal necklace, and he sighs contentedly. 

“The flowers are really beautiful. Thank you,” Zuko says, squeezing him. 

“You’re welcome. I missed you this morning.”

“Really? You were asleep when I left.”

“I know, but I wanted to see you before you went to work. I know I didn’t tell you that, so it’s not your fault, but—” Sokka hesitates. “I got worried when you weren’t there.”

Another light kiss, this one pressed to the corner of his jaw. “I’m sorry. I just got up early to get some extra work done. Today’s a busy day.”

“Oh.” Sokka’s shoulders droop slightly. “I was going to invite you to breakfast, but I don’t want to interrupt your work if you’re that busy.”

Zuko leans back to meet his eyes. Druk seizes this as his chance to insert himself into the conversation, scrambling from Sokka’s shoulders to Zuko’s and warbling at them both. Zuko chuckles, reaching up to rub Druk’s head.

“Hey there, baby boy,” Zuko says. “Good morning to you, too.”

“He helped me pick out the flowers.”

“Did he?”

“Well. Sort of. He used his dragon privilege to get us to the front of the line.”

Zuko grins, sharp and fond. “That’s my boy.”

“So?” Sokka asks hopefully. “Breakfast?”

Zuko reaches out, squeezing Sokka’s arm apologetically. “I do want to go, but I need to finish this paperwork soon. I have some priority business this evening and the last thing I need is a bunch of legislation distracting me.”

“What business? Can I help?”

“Not this business, no. It’s sensitive.”

Sokka glances away. Zuko has important business all day, huh? More important than celebrating their anniversary together? That’s...weird. Zuko always celebrates with Sokka, even if it’s just dinner together. Always. 

Today he hasn’t even mentioned it. 

Option A —> “Oh. I—yeah, that’s okay. A Firelord’s gotta do what a Firelord’s gotta do, I guess. What if I helped you finish this paperwork instead, so you can have lunch with yours truly and still have time for your super secret business later tonight?”

Option B —> “Zuko, come on, you’ve been working since before sun-up. You’re too stressed. Just look at all this paperwork! How about you leave it for a little while and grab something to eat with me? I think you could use the break.”

Chapter Text

“Oh. I—yeah, that’s okay. A Firelord’s gotta do what a Firelord’s gotta do, I guess. What if I helped you finish this paperwork instead, so you can have lunch with yours truly and still have time for your super secret business later tonight?” Sokka suggests.

“Would you?” Zuko brightens, looking hopefully at him. “That would be a big help. You’re sure you don’t have anything else you need to be doing?”

Sokka drags up a chair, settling in and kicking his feet up on Zuko’s desk. They’re quickly shoved back off. “Nothing that can’t wait. Now c’mon. What are we doing here, babe?”

Zuko explains his system of organization for the papers, as well as what needs to be done with each stack and where they need to be filed. Together, they make steady progress through the pile of paperwork on Zuko’s desk. Druk curls up in Zuko’s lap as they work, yawning enormously—this, so it seems, it not enough to entertain him. Sokka can relate. Paperwork is his least favorite part of working as an official, but even he can allow that it’s a necessary evil. 

They’re almost halfway done when someone knocks on Zuko’s door. Zuko extracts himself from underneath Druk, depositing the dragon into Sokka’s lap instead, and goes to answer it. Sokka expects him to invite his visitor in. Instead, he steps out of the office entirely and shuts the door behind him with a gentle click.

Um, excuse him? Rude.

Sokka frowns at the door, setting his elbow on a stack of census records and propping his chin in his hand. Maybe it’s got to do with his super secret business tonight. What kind of business does he need to keep secret from Sokka, anyway? Sure, there are some Fire Nation rituals and ceremonies he’s not privy to, but that’s about it. As both Southern Water Tribe Ambassador and Prince Consort, he’s kept in the loop about most Fire Nation business. It’s weird for Zuko to turn him out so completely. 

“Weird,” he emphasizes to Druk, who chatters sympathetically at him. 

He’s tempted to sneak his way to the office door and listen in on Zuko’s conversation, but he resists the urge. If he’s that curious, he’ll just ask, like the mature, grown-up adult man he is. Even so, his questions claw at him until Zuko returns several minutes later. He looks happy. Sokka squints suspiciously at him.

“What was all that about?” he asks.

“Just a messenger,” Zuko says, stopping in front of the desk and folding his hands behind his back. “I need a favor from my favorite ambassador, if he’s still in a helping mood.”

“Oh, boy.”

“It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.”

“That’s what you said before you sent me to Mali.”

“We agreed not to talk about Mali.”

Sokka sniffs haughtily. He’ll never forget Mali. (He has yet to scrub the smell of mashed tomatoes and yogurt out of his official robes.) “Fine. What do you want?”

“I need you to pick up a package for me in the city,” Zuko explains, handing Sokka a small card with a name and address on it. “A man named On Ji will meet you at the Split Bean by the pier. I know it’s a little bit of a walk, but it’s nice weather out. You should take Druk with you.”

Sokka looks from the card, to his husband, and then back to the card. “The Split Bean? Isn’t that the old coffeeshop your uncle is forbidden to know you visit?”

“Yes,” Zuko says, very seriously. “That’s why I’m sending you. I need someone I can trust not to tell him. If he knows I’m visiting a coffeeshop when he’s not around, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Sokka snorts. “Okay. But why is the Firelord having a package delivered to a coffeeshop?”

“That’s official Firelord business, only for the Firelord to know,” Zuko says loftily, and Sokka rolls his eyes. “Will you go?”

“Yeah, but what about—”

“Great! Come on, Druk. Take care of your papa for me, alright? I’ll see you both tonight.” Zuko hugs his dragon close, nuzzling Druk’s face. Druk purrs noisily as him. 

“Tonight?” Sokka asks, his brow furrowing as Zuko thrusts Druk into his arms and ushers him to the door. “It’s not that long of a walk. I’ll be back in time for, um, lunch? A really late lunch?”

“Lunch.” Zuko smacks his forehead. “Spirits, I forgot about lunch.”

“You did.”

“You’re probably hungry, I’m sorry. Grab something to eat on your way out, okay? Or, here—” Zuko rummages through his pockets, then shoves a handful of coins into Sokka’s hands. “Get yourself something nice.”

“Want me to bring you anything back?”

“Well, yes, the package.”

“No, I got that, I just—” Sokka sighs, then reaches out and squishes his husband’s face in his hands. “Don’t forget to eat something. I know you’re busy, but you’ve still gotta take care of yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? If you haven’t eaten by then I’m forcibly dragging you out of here, secret business be damned, and I’d like to see your guardsmen try to stop me.”

Zuko laughs, bringing his hands up to rest over Sokka’s. “Okay, okay, worrywart. I’ll go to lunch as soon as this paperwork is done. I’d invite you to stay until then, but I’m afraid On Ji is very busy today and won’t be able to wait around for you.”

“That’s alright,” Sokka says, even though it’s starting to feel like it isn’t. He just wanted lunch with his husband, for spirits’ sake. In spite of his disappointment, he leans forward and drops a kiss onto Zuko’s nose. “Love you.”

Zuko smiles, reaching out to cup Sokka’s face. He rubs the pad of his thumb across Sokka’s jaw, his eyes softening. “I love you too. And thank you for this, really. I appreciate all the help.”

Druk takes off as Sokka leaves the palace, and Sokka is content to let him glide overhead as they stroll through the city. He knows enough to stay nearby, and few people would be gutsy enough to mess with the Firelord’s very own dragon, anyway. There had been those exotic animal traders who tried to steal his egg, but Zuko had dealt with them months ago and Sokka hasn’t heard anything of them since. 

The Split Bean is almost an hour away, but Zuko was right—it is beautiful walking weather. Clouds gather overhead, shielding him from the worst of the sun, and a warm breeze tugs at his tunic. He breathes deeply, inhaling of the rich spice-and-stone scent the city carries. It’s good to be out of the palace, although he knows he would enjoy it more if Zuko were here with him. The two of them sneak out of the palace often to walk hand-in-hand with each other while the weather is nice like this. 

He misses Zuko, he realizes, and how foolish is that? He just saw him! 

(It’s not the same. He wants to spend time with Zuko. He wants to hold his hand and kiss his face and share silly jokes with him. He wants to feed the turtleducks at the pond together, or play with Druk in the palace gardens, or see how long they can evade Zuko’s guards while they tour the city. He wants to celebrate their damn anniversary.)

Sokka exhales sharply, shaking the thoughts from his head. He’s not going to be grumpy about this. He’s hungry, that’s all—he’ll feel better once he eats. He whistles, holding his arm in front of him, and Druk dives to perch on it. Together, they duck into a small restaurant, and Sokka orders yakitori for the both of them. They eat as they walk. Druk does his damned best to down the entire skewer in one go, chomping wood and picken meat with equal glee. 

When they arrive at the Split Bean, the dark, rich smell of hot coffee greets Sokka. It’s not the first time he’s been here—Zuko drags him along whenever he thinks they both need a caffeine fix—and a wave of nostalgia rolls over him as he takes in the scenery. It’s been a while since they’ve gone on a coffee date together, huh? They should do that again. The coffee here is incredible (better than tea, although he’ll never let Uncle Iroh know that) and the atmosphere is calm and content. 

“Hello, sir,” an eldery woman greets him from behind the bar. Upon seeing Druk wound around his shoulders, she bows deeply and amends, “Forgive me, for I did not recognize you. Hello, Prince Sokka.”

Sokka bows back, then offers her his most disarming smile. Sometimes he thinks the Fire Nation’s citizens will never be over their engrained fear of authority, but it can’t hurt to at least try and convince them he’s not cutthroat. “Just Sokka’s fine, really.”

“Sokka,” the woman says, a small smile crossing her face in return. It’s a start. “Very well. Can I get you anything, Sokka?”

“No, thank you. I’m looking for a man called On Ji.”

“Oh, On Ji. He’s the owner here. I’ll go and fetch him for you.”

A few minutes later, a man steps out of one of the back rooms with a messenger hawk under one arm and a box under the other. “Prince Sokka, welcome! You’re just in time.”

Sokka bows formally to him, hands sliding easily into the shape of a now-familiar flame. “I’m here to collect a package for Firelord Zuko.”

“Here you are.” On Ji sets the box on the bar, sliding it across to him. The hawk under his other arm peers up at Sokka, cocking its head. “This little lady just came from the Firelord himself.”

Sokka arches an eyebrow. “Did she?”

“She bears a message for you,” On Ji explains, handing over a small scroll of parchment. 

The parchment is smooth and warm under the pads of Sokka’s fingers, and he slips his nail beneath the Firelord’s seal to crack it open. Zuko’s writing scrawls, familiar and jagged, on the page. Sokka can’t stop the smile from flickering across his lips. The two of them trade letters all the time when Sokka is away on business, and this brings back fond memories of lounging beside a fireplace and reading about Zuko’s newest endeavours and adventures.

Unfortunately, that smile begins to fade as Sokka starts to read.

Sokka,

I hope you made it to the shop well, and in good time (although not in too good of a time, or you’ll miss this messenger hawk)! You’ll be glad to know that I finished my paperwork and even had time for lunch, so you don’t need to worry about me. I know I’ve already asked much of you today, but I’d like to ask you for one more thing since you’re already in the city. Could you pick up some akutaq from Salt & Sunder? I just learned that the kitchens are almost out, and as hard as he tries Chef Bolin has never quite managed to do it justice. Thank you! 

Love,

Zuko

...he really has forgotten their anniversary, huh?

The thought shouldn’t make Sokka’s throat feel as tight as it does. It wasn’t like Zuko forgot on purpose. He’s not doing this as a slight. He’s just busy and stressed and forgetful. Still, Sokka had been clinging to the hope that he’d be able to relax with his husband—even just a little!—before his business tonight. It’s seeming less and less likely as the day wears on. 

“You know,” Sokka says to Druk, sighing, “I’m beginning to feel a little like an errand boy.”

Outside, the gathering clouds have begun to darken, and what was once a warm breeze has grown stiff. There’s a storm coming. Sokka can smell rain on the wind, and he pauses uncertainly in the doorway of the coffeeshop. His knee has started to ache as the pressure in the air shifts, and he’s not looking forward to the long walk home. Druk loops anxiously around his arm, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. 

Option A —> Head back to the palace. Zuko doesn’t even like akutaq. He won’t miss it if they’re out for a single day. Sokka can come back tomorrow to pick some up, if he has to, or they can send one of the staff. Right now, he really just wants to go home, remind Zuko what day it is, and see if there’s some way they can work around Zuko’s schedule to eat dinner together. He’s not letting this anniversary go to waste, damn it.

Option B —> Hurry and go get the akutaq. Salt & Sunder isn’t too far away, and Sokka’s not afraid of a little rain. If worst comes to worst, he can wait out the storm at the restaurant and take a shortcut back home. It’s not like Zuko is actually expecting to spend time with him today, anyway, so who cares if he’s a little late getting back? Zuko asked him for something, and Sokka’s not going to disappoint him.

Chapter Text

“Okay, Drukky,” Sokka says, sighing. “Let’s go get your dad some akutaq.”

He steps out of the coffeeshop, and the wind immediately snags at his hair and clothes. Druk squawks in alarm and scrambles into Sokka’s shirt, flattening himself against his chest. His scales are sharp, and his claws are even sharper, but Sokka’s not about to wrestle him back out in this weather. Instead, he grimaces, hunches his shoulders, and makes his way down the street. It’s emptier, now. Everyone smart enough to retreat inside has already done so. 

Rain begins to pour from the cloud-clotted sky a block away from Salt & Sunder. Warm, stinging droplets flatten Sokka’s hair to his head and soak his clothing to his skin. Druk wails in displeasure. Sokka curls his body over the little dragon, mumbling apologies and trying to shield him from as much of the downpour as possible, before breaking into a run. He skids to a stop inside of Salt & Sunder, breathing hard and favoring his left leg. 

“Prince Sokka?” The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they land on him. “Oh, let me fetch you a towel!”

Sokka takes the towel as soon as it’s offered, scrubbing his hair and skin off. Druk clambers his way back out of Sokka’s shirt, and Sokka dries him, too—he’s so small, and he chills so easily.  “Thank you,” Sokka says, smiling apologetically at the shopkeeper as he drips a puddle in her restaurant’s doorway. “I’m sorry about this. I was hoping to make it here before the rain came.”

“That’s quite alright, sir. Don’t fret about it,” the shopkeeper says, whisking the damp towel away. “What can I do for you that you’re willing to brave such nasty weather for?”

“Akutaq,” Sokka explains. “Please.”

The shopkeeper’s face falls. Oh, no.

“You’re out,” Sokka says bleakly, “aren’t you.”

“I’m so sorry. I have the fat and oil here, but I’ve been out of cloudberries since the beginning of the week. A shipment from the South Pole was supposed arrive yesterday, but it got held up by the storm system coming in. I was hoping it might be here today, but I haven’t been able to make my way to the docks to check.”

Well, Sokka’s already come this far, hasn’t he? There’s no point in backing out now.

“I can go check,” he offers. 

The shopkeeper’s eyes widen. “But the storm—”

“Eh. I’m already soaking wet.” He hefts Druk in his arms, looking hopefully at the shopkeeper. “Can I leave my dragon here, though? He doesn’t like storms.”

“I—I—well, I suppose, if it pleases His Highness to do so—”

“Great! Thanks a bunch, miss.” Sokka deposits Druk in one of the booths, pointing sternly at him. “Now you behave, or I’ll be having a long talk with your father when we get back home. I’m just going to be gone for a few minutes. Don’t freak out.”

Druk chirps at him with an expression of naive innocence Sokka absolutely does not believe for even a single second. He’s his father’s son, after all. 

“You said cloudberries?” Sokka asks, pausing in the doorway. “What’s the name of the ship?”

The ship is called the Lung Tien, and it’s in the harbor when Sokka arrives half an hour later, soaked—once again—to the bone and working his way up to a steady limp. He would have brought his cane if he’d known he was going to be tromping all over the city. As it is, he simply grimaces and pushes his way to the dock. Even business here has slowed in deference to the storm, which is turning itself into a monster of a thing.

Sokka pauses in front of the Lung Tien, and a bolt of forked lightning streaks out over the ocean. He cringes. He’s not scared of rain, but lightning is a whole different matter—it’s nearly murdered not one but two of the most important people in his life. He thinks he’s allowed to be a little sketched out around it. 

Zuko doesn’t do well with lightning, either, and Sokka chews his lower lip anxiously as he wonders what his husband is doing. Is he okay? Is he panicking? Is he somewhere safe? Spirits, Sokka should be there with him—even though he knows, logically, that Zuko will be okay on his own. He’s strong, and he’s learning how to deal with his shit, and he’s been alone in lightning storms before. He doesn’t need Sokka.

...he doesn’t need Sokka.

Sokka blows out a sharp breath before heading towards the Lung Tien. He finds the captain onboard and greets him with a short bow. “Captain. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a shipment of cloudberries for Salt & Sunder, by any chance?”

“And who,” the captain asks, quirking one bushy eyebrow, “are you?”

“Captain,” one of the shiphands says, clearing her throat, “that’s—”

“You understand this is an imperial transport ship. You can’t just climb aboard demanding things. The deliveries will be made when they’re made. Now, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but right now there’s a godawful storm brewing outside, and—”

The shiphand looks mortified. “Captain, please.”

“—I’m not about to send my crew out delivering in this weather. I’m sorry if that disrupts your business, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Suppose you could always carry your cloudberries back yourself, but they’re belowdecks somewhere and it’d take ages to dig ‘em out from under all the other crates. So you can just—”

“Captain!”

“What, Akari? Can’t you see I’m trying to have a conversation?” the captain snaps, whirling around to look at the shiphand. 

“This is His Highness Prince Sokka,” the shiphand whispers. “Prince Consort of the Fire Nation, Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe, and husband to His Majesty the Firelord.”

The captain blanches.

Normally, Sokka would poke fun at the man’s faux pas—but right now he’s soggy and sore and tired, and he really just wants some cloudberries. “My apologies for the intrusion,” he says, bobbing into another short bow, “but with your permission, I’d like to find and deliver the cloudberries myself. I won’t trouble your crew with the work.”

“I—sir, I didn’t recognize you, I—”

“It’s fine, really.” Sokka offers him a tight smile. “We’re all having a rough day. No hard feelings. I’d just really like those cloudberries, if it’s at all possible.”

The captain looks no less horrified, but he leads Sokka below the deck and shows him the cargo hold. Despite Sokka’s offer to search himself, the captain insists that the crew help, and Sokka—well, Sokka’s not going to turn them down, even though now he feels bad about it. Unfortunately, it still takes far longer to find the damn berries than he’d hoped it would, and by the time he escapes the Lung Tien he’s coated in sweat and his leg throbs beneath him. Druk is definitely freaking out by now. Sokka never leaves him alone for this long—not outside of the palace.

Around him, the storm continues to rage.

“Here, sir,” the ship’s cabin boy says once they’re back on the dock. “Let me carry the crate for you. Where did you say you were going? The Salt & Sunder?”

“Yes, but it’s really no problem.” Sokka pushes his hair out of his eyes. Several strands have come free of their wolftail and stick messily to his face. He hates it. “The captain didn’t want any of you traveling in this weather.”

“The captain realized his error! Really, sir, all the help you could possibly need is here. You only have to request it.” The boy reaches for the crate of cloudberries in Sokka’s arms, and Sokka feels the first flicker of irritation. That’s his box. 

“No, seriously, I’ve got it. It’s just one box.” Sokka steps back, and the boy steps forward. Sokka’s irritation grows, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. It’s just a kid, and this isn’t a fight. “It’s not even that heavy.”

“To make a prince of the Fire Nation carry his own things would be unthinkable! Please, if the Firelord finds out—”

The boy reaches for Sokka’s box again, and Sokka ducks out of the way. This wouldn’t ordinarily be a problem—but ordinarily the dock isn’t so dark, and wet, and slippery. The boy’s foot skids too close to the edge, and with a shout of alarm he trips over and plummets towards the black sea. He grabs for the nearest thing to catch himself on the way down: Sokka’s crate.

Sokka drops it, and bright yellow cloudberries spill all over the dock and crash into the ocean.

So does the boy.

Option A —> Go get rope! The boy’s a sailor, and he should know how to swim long enough for Sokka to get help. If Sokka jumps in, he risks drowning himself, and that’s not going to help anybody. 

Option B —> Jump in after him! Good swimmer or not, the waves here have been whipped into a frenzy by the storm. That boy’s going to get dragged out to sea if Sokka wastes time searching for rope.

Chapter Text

Sokka scrambles forward, lurching off of the dock and hitting the water seconds after the boy does. The waves are warm but wicked, crashing over his head and shoulders with bruising force. He fights his way towards the surface, heart hammering, and bursts into open air with a gasp. His eyes land on the boy, and he flails a hand out. 

“Kid!” he shouts. “Kid, c’mon, this way!”

The shore isn’t far off—if they can make it there, they’ll be okay. Unfortunately, it’s the making it there that’s the problem. Sokka’s a strong swimmer, and even he’s having trouble keeping his head above the writhing water. The boy is smaller, and it’s rapidly becoming clear that he won’t make it without help. Sokka paddles towards him, wrapping a hand around his arm. 

This is a bad idea.

As soon as the boy realizes he’s there, he turns and latches onto Sokka’s shoulders. His eyes are wild with fear, and he uses Sokka to push himself above the water long enough to snatch a full breath. Sokka lets him, even though the force drives his own head under the waves. He has to knock the boy away from him to surface again, his lungs burning.

The world around him them is dark, curtained by rain and backlit by horrible forks of lightning. Sokka can hear shouting, somewhere in the distance, but he can’t make out the words over the roaring of the waves and the rush of his own blood in his ears. They’ve already been pulled several feet farther out towards sea, and fear begins to catch in Sokka’s throat. 

Shit. Shit, this is a really bad idea.

The boy’s in a full-blown panic now, and as soon as Sokka nears him he lashes out again. This time, his fingers catch and yank in Sokka’s hair. Sokka hisses through his teeth, attempting to pry the boy’s hands off—if he can get behind him, he can avoid these grasping hands and drag him back towards shore. The boy releases his hair only to drag his nails down Sokka’s throat, and Sokka feels them catch on his necklace next. 

No! No no no no—

He wraps his own fingers around the boy’s hand, trying to keep them from tugging, and the boy uses his other hand to grasp Sokka’s shoulder and push himself up again. Sokka’s face vanishes beneath the waves, and saltwater crams into his nose and mouth. He needs to push the boy away again, he needs to claw for the surface, he needs to breathe, but he can’t do any of that as long as the boy is gripping his necklace.

Spirits, his lungs already ache. He squeezes his eyes shut and gulps against the pain. Let go, he begs the boy, attempting to untwist his scrawny fingers from the leather strap. Let go, please let go, please please please. 

The boy doesn’t let go, and Sokka has to breathe.

He wedges his own fingers desperately beneath his precious, precious betrothal necklace, and he yanks. The clasp snaps, and the waves tear it away. Sokka shoves the boy back, then fights his way to the surface and hauls in a lungful of air. He lets it out on an enraged shout—furious at the storm, the sea, the sullied naked skin around his throat—and turns around to slam his knuckles into the boy’s jaw. Sokka’s taken down fully-grown soldiers with a blow like that, and it does the trick here, too. The boy slumps back into the water, unconscious and finally, finally still. Sokka grabs him before he can sink, struggling to keep both of their heads above the waves. Maybe they have a chance now that the boy isn’t actively fighting him.

Then he looks back, and he can’t even see the shore through the rain anymore. Oh, spirits. He’s going to drown out here, isn’t he? He’s going to drown because he wanted some stupid cloudberries. That’s it, that’s the way he goes, that’s so stupid—

A heavy rope strikes the water a few feet ahead of him, and he has never been more grateful. He latches onto it, and the damp fibers cut into his palm as he’s yanked forward; he keeps his other arm looped securely around the boy as they’re hauled towards the shore. The crew of the Lung Tien comes into view as they drag him up onto the rough golden sand seconds before dropping the rope and rushing towards him.

“Riku!” the captain shouts, stumbling through the damp sand. “Prince Sokka!”

Sokka struggles to sit up, handing the boy off to the captain. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, lifting his hand before any of them can touch him. The last thing he wants is a swarm of people in his face. His voice is rough and warped, his throat sore from shouting and seawater both. “What about the kid?”

The captain cradles the cabin boy in his arms, pressing an ear to his chest. “He’s breathing,” the captain says, and Sokka sighs in relief. “We need to get you both to a healer right away.”

“No. I’m—” Sokka’s lungs hitch, suddenly, and he rolls onto hands and knees. He coughs once, twice, before he brings up the water in his lungs and then retches. Saltwater burns his throat and nose worse coming up than it did going down, and his eyes water furiously. 

“Prince Sokka!” 

A hand rests on his shoulder, and it fills him with irrational, absolute fury. He does not want to be touched right now. He shoves the hand away, staggering onto his feet and glowering. “I’m fine,” he snaps, and the shiphand who had touched him cringes away. “Get the boy to a healer. I’ll be alright.”

The captain hesitates, then nods. “Yes, sir, right away.”

As the crew scrambles—some in the direction of the boat, and others towards the city to fetch a healer—Sokka stumbles back onto the dock to gathers his stupid cloudberries, because he didn’t almost drown for nothing. Over half of the berries have vanished into the sea, and most of the ones spilled across the dock are smashed into a blister of yellow against the dark wood of the dock. He picks up the few that look salvageable, setting them back into the crate, before limping back towards the city.

This is, without a doubt, the worst anniversary ever.

The swim hasn’t done his leg any favors, either. It’s graduated from general achiness to genuine pain, and each step makes his breath catch. He wants his cane. He wants his cane, and a hot bath, and a soft bed, and Zuko. Spirits, he really wants Zuko. He brings his hand up to settle on his necklace, and touching the naked skin there feels like being gutted. 

Zuko had spent months working on the necklace. He’d traveled to the South Pole specifically to learn the art from Hakoda—who, Sokka knows, terrified Zuko then (if for no other reason than he was A Father). He told Sokka he’d gone through six different attempts before settling on one he was happy with, and he’d still apologized that it wasn’t perfect. Sokka hadn’t minded. Of course Sokka hadn’t minded.  It meant Zuko wanted him, cared for him, respected him enough to learn that part of his culture. It meant Zuko loved him.

Sokka had worn it every single day since, without fail: six years today.

Saving the boy’s life was worth the loss—a necklace can be replaced; a life cannot—but some selfish part of him still cries out in offense. He wants it back. He wants it back so goddamn much it makes him sick. Well, it’s that or the sea he swallowed making him sick, anyway. He pauses, finds a convenient alley, and retches up more foul water. 

How’s he going to tell Zuko? Hey, babe, I lost that super precious necklace you spent months of your life learning to make for me. Happy anniversary! Yeah, that’ll go over well. Zuko won’t be mad—it’s rare that he’s ever actually mad at Sokka anymore—but he’ll be disappointed. He’ll be hurt, and he should be. Sokka lost his necklace. They may as well have gotten a divorce!

Okay, so that’s probably a tad dramatic, but he almost drowned. He gets to be dramatic for a few minutes. As long as he calms down before he gets back to the palace, it’ll be fine. He doesn’t want to dump all of these gross emotions onto Zuko when he’s so busy. Besides, today is meant to be a fun day. They’re supposed to be celebrating. Sokka’s supposed to be happy.

...Sokka’s not happy at all.

Wiping rain out of his eyes, Sokka stumbles to a stop in the foyer of Salt & Sunder. The crowd has thinned significantly, and the shopkeeper tenses when she sees him. She looks...scared? 

“Hey,” he says, setting the cloudberries down by the door. “I, um, got your berries? Is everything alright here?”

“I’m so sorry, sir!”

Well. That’s not a great start to the conversation.

“Your dragon,” the shopkeeper continues, her voice trembling, “it was fine for the first few minutes, but when you didn’t return it got very upset. Then a guest came in and—and it escaped through the open doorway.”

Of course Druk did. Of fucking course he did. 

Sokka—narrowly resisting the urge to put his own head through a wall—turns around and stomps back into the rain. He is never going to feel dry again. He sticks his fingers into his mouth, then whistles as sharply as he can. The conversation in his head gets worse.

Hey, babe, I lost that super precious necklace you spent months of your life learning to make for me. I also lost our dragon son. You know, the one that’s supposed to help keep the entire dragon species from going extinct? The one Ran and Shaw will butcher me for losing? Yeah, happy anniversary!

“Druk!” Sokka shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Drukky, come here!”

He can’t lose Druk, too. He can’t. He really, really, really can’t. Sure, Druk’s one of the last of his species, and a vital mark of Ran and Shaw’s approval towards the new Firelord, and soon to be one of the world’s most powerful firebenders—but more importantly than all of that, he’s their baby. If Sokka loses him, he’s the worst dad in the world.

“Druk!” 

Option A—> Go to the left and search. The street in that direction is narrow, crowded by a small group of men, and heads back towards the palace. Druk must have been terribly frightened by the storm, and he would have wanted to get home—to get to Zuko. (Sokka can relate).

Option B—> Go to the right and search. The street in that direction is wide and empty, and it leads back towards the ocean. Druk might have seen Sokka leave in that direction and gone after him, although he can’t have gotten far in this weather—especially not on such an open street, where the wind would have grabbed and thrown him. 

Chapter Text

Sokka veers left, his heart slamming a frantic tempo in his chest. He rakes his eyes across the narrow street, squinting through the sheets of rain before him, and sees no sign of Druk. Several of the men blocking his path cast him bewildered looks as he skirts his way around them, mumbling apologies: “Sorry, ‘scuse me, I’m really sorry, I just gotta—”

Then a flash of bright scarlet catches his eye, and he freezes. There, cradled in one man’s arms, is Druk. His golden eyes are wide with fright, his little flanks heaving as he struggles—but the man’s grip is tight and unyielding, and Druk is so, so small. His muzzle has been bound shut with twine. In spite of that, black smoke plumes from his nostrils, and when he sees Sokka he wails. The sound is thin and muffled and terrified.

Sokka sees red. 

“Let go of him!” Sokka lurches towards the man holding Druk—holding his baby— with his hands balled into fists and his eyes blazing. The other men bristle, their voices raising in sudden alarm. Several of them move to flank him, and Sokka watches them warily out of the corner of his eye. He’s outnumbered, and exhausted, and unarmed—but he’ll be damned if anyone is going to take Druk from him without one hell of a fight. “I said let him go, now.”

“Woah, there, buddy.” The man’s grip on Druk tightens, and Druk writhes. “This is the Firelord’s dragon. I’m not just gonna hand him over to anybody.”

Sokka draws himself up, setting his jaw. Despite the rage curdling at the base of his throat, he speaks without shouting in the vague hope that maybe, just maybe, this can be solved without a fight. “You’re right. That is the Firelord’s dragon, and I’m the Firelord’s husband, so I’ll—”

Several of the men around him burst into laughter, while the others trade amused looks. Sokka glances back at them, baffled. Stealing the Firelord’s dragon is no laughable crime, so why are they—? 

“You?” the men’s leader demands, a crooked grin still on his face. “The Firelord’s husband? Oh, now that’s rich. You think you’re a comedian or somethin’, bud?”

“You must not be from around here,” Sokka says, scowling, “but I can assure you that I’m Prince Sokka.”

One of the other men snorts. “Yeah, and I’m the Avatar.”

Sokka whirls on him, baring his teeth, but the leader speaks up before Sokka can finally start shouting. “That’s real cute,” he says, “but I can assure you that we know good and well what Prince Sokka looks like—and it ain’t like you. I hate to break it to you, but you’re about as princely as a drowned rat.”

Sokka falters. He—he probably does look pretty bad, doesn’t he? His hair is an absolute mess, and he’s soaked through with rain and seawater both. His tunic is torn, and his palms are scraped, and he’s sure there are marks on his neck where the boy had clawed him. Whatever a prince looks like, it’s...not like him, right now.

“Besides,” another man pipes up, “everybody knows the Firelord don’t let his husband walk around without that funny marriage necklace.”

Their leader laughs. “Yeah, that’s right! Collared like a cur, that one.”

Sokka’s jaw tightens. That comment shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but he just lost that necklace—and spirits damn it all, the fact that he doesn’t even look like Zuko’s anymore isn’t something he particularly wants rubbed in his face right now. “Fuck off, would you?” Sokka snaps. “I lost the necklace and I’ve had a shitty day, alright? Look, I don’t want to fight. Just give Druk to me and—”

“Nuh-uh.” The leader shakes his head. “We’re gonna take this little fella right back to his daddy at the palace, and I betcha we’ll get a hefty reward for his safe return, too.”

The men begin to move towards the end of the street, and Sokka stiffens. His hands curl into fists. His teeth grind. This very bad no-good day is somehow, impossibly, getting even worse. Sokka’s not one for senseless violence, and his temper has cooled significantly since he was a teenager—but right now he’s really starting to itch for a fight.

“If you take another step with my dragon,” Sokka says, his voice icy, “I’ll make sure it’s the last one you ever take in this world.”

The leader grates to a stop. He turns, slowly, on heel. His face is dark, and Sokka begins to look for weaknesses. He’ll have to play this fight right if he wants to make it out with Druk and his ability to walk. He’s already at an enormous disadvantage, but if he can—

Druk thrashes, suddenly, and manages to twist one of his paws out of the leader’s grasp. He brings his talons up, rakes them through the twine around his muzzle, and spits a mouthful of crackling sparks at his captor’s face. As soon as he does, the man cries out in alarm and drops him. Druk flares his wings to catch himself midair, then whips around and dives for Sokka with a desperate shriek. 

“Druk, Druk, hey, I’ve got you.” Sokka catches Druk against his chest and bundles his baby close, hunching protectively around him and glowering at the men when their eyes return to him. Druk squirms, like he’s trying to crawl into the space between Sokka’s ribs, his talons pricking Sokka’s skin through the thin fabric of his tunic. “I’ve got you now, it’s okay, I’m— stay the hell away from us.”

As soon as Druk hears the change in Sokka’s tone, his mane begins to bristle and he whirls around to shriek furiously at the men. A blast of rippling fire follows the noise—it’s small, but it’s enough to drive their enemies several steps back. Hot smoke blasts from his nostrils as he peels his lips away from his array of small, milk-white teeth and growls hard enough to shiver his sides. 

That’s Zuko’s son, alright.

The men’s leader looks, in Sokka’s opinion, satisfactorily alarmed.  “Shit! It—man, it knows you?” 

“Of course he does,” Sokka spits. “I told you. I’m his dad.”

Genuine fear begins to creep across the leader’s face, and Sokka wants to feel vindicated by it—instead, his irritation only grows. Oh, they’re going to believe him now? After they’ve insulted him? After they’ve kept him out in the rain on his anniversary? After they’ve laid their filthy fucking hands on Druk? 

“Get the hell out of my way now,” Sokka says, grinding his teeth. As nice as it would be to punch them all one by one, he’s got Druk to think about. They need to get somewhere safe, and warm, and dry. They need to get home. “I’m not going to ask again.”

For a moment, the men hesitate, and Sokka thinks he’s going to have to fight his way out of here anyway—then the leader nods, and they part to let him down the street. He storms past them, keeping Druk bundled close. 

“Hey, mister—uh, I mean, sir, I—” The leader’s voice falters, and Sokka forces himself to stop walking. Fury simmers, low and hot, in his chest. “You’re—you’re not gonna tell the Firelord about this, are you? We really were gonna return the dragon to him, honest.”

Sokka believes them. He also believes that they wouldn’t have done it until Zuko paid them a handsome price for their services, the same way he believes that they grabbed Druk, and bound him, and trapped him, and scared him. Keeping his voice cold, he says, “If you have any intelligence whatsoever, you won’t be in this city come dawn.”

Zuko is a kind ruler—but his kindness has never been complacency, and he is still made of fire.

Without waiting for a response, Sokka stalks forward. As soon as he’s away from the men, he ducks under an awning and draws Druk away from him. The little dragon trembles violently—whether from cold or fear, Sokka couldn’t say—and whines as he’s pulled back, twisting to loop himself around Sokka’s hands. 

“Oh, baby boy,” Sokka whispers. His throat feels thick. This is his fault, all his fault, he’s so stupid— “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.”

Druk looks at him, tongue flicking, and then creeps up his arm to loop around his shoulders. He doesn’t move like he’s injured, to Sokka’s relief. He bumps his muzzle against Sokka’s cheek, and in turn Sokka reaches up to cup a hand protectively over his head. Only after several seconds does he pull Druk into his hands again. This time, he tucks him into his shirt—it may not do much to keep him dry, but at least Sokka’s body heat will help him warm up. Once Druk is settled and comfortable, Sokka trudges towards the palace in the distance.

By the time they arrive at the courtyard, Druk’s trembling has lessened significantly. When Sokka peeks down the collar of his shirt, he finds the dragon curled against his belly with eyes half-closed. Sokka himself, meanwhile, is shivering harder than ever. He’s not cold— not really, not in the warmth of the Fire Nation’s monsoon season—but he can’t seem to stop anyway. His leg aches viciously beneath his weight, and he wants nothing more than to drag himself to bed and sleep the rest of this horrible, awful, terrible—

“Prince Sokka!”

Sokka winces all over. He feels like a little kid about to be scolded: Zuko’s going to be pissed when he finds out what happened to Druk, and all because Sokka was stupid enough to leave him alone for hours. He turns, slowly, to face the palace guard—Mei, he recognizes—approaching him. Her eyes widen as they flick over his whole general disaster vibe, which he thinks is a pretty fair reaction.

“Are you...alright, sir?” Mei asks, her brow furrowing with concern. 

“I’m fine,” he says, although the weariness in his tone surprises even him—and certainly does nothing to convince her. “It’s just been a long day.”

“You’ve been gone much longer than we expected,” she agrees, falling into step with him as he heads up the palace stairs. If she notices how heavily he limps or how slowly he goes, she doesn’t mention it. “The Firelord was beginning to fret. He supposed you were sheltering somewhere from the rain, but even that thought hasn’t been enough to soothe him. He’ll be glad to see you safe.”

“See me? I thought he had business tonight.”

Mei immediately looks guilty. “Er, well, he does, of course—but he’ll want to see that you’re home safe first. Please, wait here and I’ll fetch him.”

“Mei, I really need to get Druk dried off. I can wait in our rooms.”

“No!” Mei’s eyes widen in alarm. “No, sir, please. Wouldn’t you rather dry him off in the physician’s room? She can check to be sure that he’s unharmed by the weather.”

That’s a good idea—a suspicious presentation, maybe, but a good idea. “Okay,” Sokka says slowly. “I’ll be there, then, if you want to send Zuko my way.”

As Mei goes to fetch Zuko, Sokka makes his way to the physician’s room. He finds Hana there, sorting her herbs into small, fragrant bundles and humming quietly to herself. Her eyes fly wide as soon as she sees him. He holds Druk out in offering. 

“First of all,” he says, shame-faced, “I’m so sorry.”

“Prince Sokka, what in the world happened?” she cries, springing to her feet. “You both look awful!”

“It’s a long story. I just—can you look at Druk for me? He’s been out in the rain, and you know easily he catches a chill.”

Hana scoops Druk into her arms, clucking her tongue. “Oh, you poor thing. I’ll see to him right away—and I’ll see to you in a few moments. Sit down, sir.”

“I’m soaking wet. I don’t want to—”

“I said sit down, sir.”

Sokka sits down. He watches as Hana bustles about the room, heating a bucket of water with her firebending before easing Druk into it. Druk warbles his content, resting his chin on the side of the bucket and sighing. Hana dries his face with a small handcloth, then examines his eyes and nostrils and mouth. 

“His gums are a little pale,” she says, “but nothing to be worried about. He’ll warm right up here in a few minutes. Now, what about you?”

“I’m really fine. I’ll be better once I dry off, but—”

The door to the room whooshes open, and Zuko strides in—he’s wide-eyed and worried, but the sight of him floods Sokka with relief anyway. He’s really back. He’s home. For some reason, the thought lodges a lump into his throat, and he gulps it back desperately. He’s not going to cry just because he had a shitty day. That would make Zuko feel guilty, and the last thing he wants is to make Zuko feel guilty on their spirits-damned anniversary. 

“Hey,” Sokka says, lifting his eyes to meet Zuko’s. He tries for a smile, and even if it feels just a little wobbly, it’s real—how can he not smile when he’s looking at Zuko, of all people? “Sorry I’m late.”

Zuko doesn’t look as thrilled to see him. Zuko looks, in fact, a little horrified as his eyes rake up and down Sokka’s form. Sokka can understand why—he looks like an actual gutter rat right now, he’s sure—but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. He hunches his shoulders, tearing his gaze away as his cheeks heat with shame.

Then there are arms tight around him, and Zuko’s face pressed to his hair, and a stricken voice saying, “Oh, Sokka.”

The lump is back in Sokka’s throat almost immediately, and he narrowly manages to stop himself from bawling—but he can’t stop himself from reaching up to clutch Zuko as his breath shakes. Zuko’s hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, fingers smoothing through his damp tangles. He’s so warm, and he smells like cinnamon and incense and home, and Sokka wants to cry which is stupid because he’s back and everything is fine now but—

But spirits damn it, he’s had a bad day.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Zuko asks, drawing back to cup Sokka’s face in his hands. His eyes seek Sokka’s, but Sokka can’t meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry. If I had known it was going to storm, I would have never sent you to get that package.”

The rest of Zuko’s words blur because, suddenly, there is one thought on loop in Sokka’s mind: oh shit the package. 

He’d been so caught up in getting Druk back he’d completely forgotten! He’d left the berries and the package with the shopkeeper, and now he has neither of the things Zuko sent him out for. This whole horrific adventure has been for nothing. Sokka can’t even accomplish the one damn thing Zuko asked of him today! Shit. Shit. 

Option A —> Sokka scrambles to his feet, his heart in his throat, and stolidly ignores the worried looks that follow him up. “The package!” he says, panicked. “Oh, spirits, Zuko, I’m so sorry—I forgot it at Salt & Sunder. I’ll—I can go back, I’ll go back right now, fuck, I’m sorry—”

Option B —> “I forgot it,” Sokka says numbly, his hands beginning to tremble. Zuko watches him with open concern, reaching down to lace their fingers together and squeeze. “I can go get it first thing tomorrow, but I just—I’m—spirits, the one thing you asked me to do and I forgot. Holy fuck, I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry.”

Chapter Text

Sokka scrambles to his feet, his heart in his throat, and stolidly ignores the worried looks that follow him up. “The package!” he says, panicked. “Oh, spirits, Zuko, I’m so sorry—I forgot it at Salt & Sunder. I’ll—I can go back, I’ll go back right now, fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey, no.” Zuko’s brow furrows in concern, and he reaches carefully for Sokka—like Sokka’s some sort of wild, injured thing that might strike as soon as he’s touched. To be fair, Sokka’s kind of starting to feel like it. “Forget about the package. I’ll send someone to get it tomorrow.”

“No! No, I can get it, I’ll just—it’ll just take me a couple of hours, but I can!” Sokka can’t seem to catch his breath. How could he just forget? It was the whole reason he left in the first place. “Please, I didn’t mean to leave it there. I don’t want to mess this up too, I can’t—Zuko, I can’t—I’ll take a carriage! I’ll take a carriage, I’ll be there and back, I’ll—”

“Sokka.” 

Zuko’s voice, sharp and clear, cuts through the panicked buzzing between Sokka’s ears. Sokka falters, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes finally meet Zuko’s. Zuko doesn’t look angry, or disappointed, or upset—he just looks worried. Somehow, that’s even worse. 

“You aren’t going anywhere in weather like this,” Zuko continues. “Besides, look at yourself. You can barely stand.”

“I’ll take a carriage,” Sokka repeats. Even that admission of weakness stings, but Zuko is right—he can barely stand. And how pathetic is that? A young warrior like himself downed by nothing more than a long walk and a thunderstorm! “It’s important. You asked me to get it, it’s important to you, it’s—”

“You are more important to me,” Zuko says, cupping Sokka’s face in one heated palm. His voice is stern but his touch is gentle and Sokka can’t breathe through the sudden lump that jumps into his throat. He swallows hard, trying to choke it back down, and blinks rapidly to quell the burn behind his eyes. 

“Zuko—” His voice cracks, and shit, shit, he can’t do this. He can’t break down like this, not here, not in public, not when Hana and Druk are both watching him with wide, worried eyes because he’s fucking up again. He stumbles a step back, and he staggers when his sore leg tries to buckle beneath him. Zuko’s at his side in an instant, one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders to hold him up—and to keep him from getting away. “Zuko please, I want to go. I can’t do this. I want to go.”

Zuko’s face crumples, and he looks every bit as distraught as Sokka feels. This is not comforting. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Just let me talk to Hana for a second and then we’ll go somewhere and talk. Can we do that?”

“You can stay with Druk, you don’t have to—”

“Do you want to be alone?”

Sokka squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He has so much to tell Zuko—so much to apologize for—before he can get rid of this ache in his chest, the one that’s making it so hard to breathe. 

“Then I’m coming with you. I just want to check on Druk first, okay? Will you be okay for a minute?”

Spirits, Sokka hasn’t been able to do anything else Zuko has asked of him today—at the very least, he can do this, so he grits his teeth and nods. Zuko moves away from him, letting him lean on the wall next to the door, while he goes to check on Druk. He and Hana talk in low, quiet voices for several seconds before Zuko returns to Sokka’s side. 

“‘s he still okay?” Sokka asks. 

“He’s just fine,” Zuko assures him, ducking underneath Sokka’s arm to support him. “Hana’s going to let him warm up a little more, so I’ll come get him later tonight.”

Sokka nods, taking a deep breath before pushing away from the wall and letting Zuko help him down the hallway. The guards look away, but their presence burns him with humiliation anyhow. He’s supposed to be a Water Tribe warrior, a leader of men, their prince, and—and here he is, hobbling along with a crippled leg and a day full of failure behind him. It’s a relief when they finally enter their rooms and Sokka can be pathetic in private. 

A relief, that is, until he notices the rose petals scattered everywhere.

“What’s…?”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says immediately. “I—I decorated earlier, for our anniversary. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Our anniversary?” Sokka slumps back against the door, bringing a hand up to cover his face as he tries to remember how to breathe. The emotions in his chest are too big and too violent and too unmanageable. They’re going to tear him apart. “Spirits. I—Zuko, I thought—”

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” Zuko reaches up, taking Sokka’s hands and folding them gently between his. Sokka can’t look at him, or at the room scattered with rose petals and candles in his favorite scent, so he settles for leaning forward and burying his face against Zuko’s hair instead. “What’s wrong, baby? What can I do?”

So, so much is wrong, but all Sokka can think to say at the moment is: “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.” Zuko releases his hands to hug him, instead, his arms snaking around Sokka’s waist and squeezing. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I wanted to surprise you.”

Sokka makes a low, broken noise and wraps himself around Zuko. His eyes feel damp and hot, and his breath comes in unsteady gulps. “I thought—I thought you forgot. I wanted to spend time together but I thought you forgot.”

“How could I forget one of the most important days of my life?” Zuko draws them backwards, across the room and towards the bed. “And I always want to spend time with you.”

“You sent me away.” Sokka doesn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, but damn if it doesn’t. Zuko only hums softly in response as he sits on their mattress, drawing Sokka into his lap. “You had business.”

“I may have lied about the business because I wanted to keep some things a surprise,” Zuko admits, and Sokka would be pissed if he weren’t so relieved. “I sent you away to distract you while we decorated.”

“We?”

“I decorated the bedroom on my own, but I had the staff help me prepare the turtleduck pond. I wish you could have seen it. We were going to have a picnic dinner there when you got back from town—I even had the chefs prepare all your favorites, but they were out of akutaq, and I know how much you like it…” Zuko trails off regretfully, smoothing a hand across Sokka’s hair and down his back. “I’m sorry.”

“The akutaq was for me?” Sokka asks shakily.

“Mm-hm. The package from the Split Bean was a gift, too. I remembered how you liked the dark roast they had there, and On Ji agreed to sell me some. So you don’t need to feel bad about not getting that stuff for me, okay? It’ll all be there tomorrow, and nobody’s gonna die without it.”

For him? Both things were for him? Sokka’s lower lip wobbles precariously. He really doesn’t deserve Zuko. He’s been such a prick today, sulking about how Zuko forgot their anniversary when he really just wanted it to be a surprise, and he’d been so ill-tempered on his errands when they’d all been to make him happy. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, clutching Zuko. “I’m so sorry, Zu.”

Zuko presses a kiss to his temple, and Sokka trembles against him. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Everything,” he says, his voice breaking. “I fucked up everything today.”

“You did not.” Zuko’s arms tighten fiercely around him. “Stop that. I was the one who sent you away with Druk, and it isn’t your fault you got caught in the storm.”

“But it is! I—”

“Oh, you can control the weather now, can you? Don’t be ridiculous.” Despite the acid bite to his words, Zuko is excruciatingly gentle as he peppers kisses across Sokka’s damp hair. “None of this was your fault. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

Sokka peels himself back and glares up at Zuko through the watery haze of tears standing in his eyes. “You haven’t even heard what I did.”

“Then tell me,” Zuko says, drawing him close again, “but I don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference.”

They’ll see about that.

“I went to the Split Bean like you asked, and I got the package,” Sokka explains, taking several deep breaths to settle himself as he speaks. It’s harder than it should be, and his voice continues to tremble in odd spots. “Then I went to Salt & Sunder, but they were out of akutaq and they needed cloudberries to make more. So I went the docks to pick up the berries, and I left Druk behind at the restaurant since it was raining and I didn’t think I’d be gone very long. I thought he’d be okay. I—I—”

“He looked okay when I saw him, and Hana says the same.”

“Yeah, but no thanks to me.” Sokka scrubs his eyes furiously. “He freaked out while I was gone and escaped the restaurant. Some stupid thugs found him.”

Zuko tenses, his fingers curling against Sokka’s back.

Hastily, Sokka continues, “I got back to him in time, though. They didn’t hurt him. They just scared him a little bit. They wanted to take him back to the palace, and the way they talked made it sound like they wanted a ransom for his return—so I told them to fuck off.”

“What did they look like?” Zuko asks, his voice low.

Sokka squirms, pressing his palm to Zuko’s chest. He can feel his husband’s heart hammering there, fast and angry. “I’ll give descriptions to the captain of the guard tomorrow.”

“They scared Druk—they scared you! I should go after them myself,” Zuko says, grinding his teeth so hard Sokka can hear it. “I can’t allow people like that to roam freely in this city.”

“And you won’t. The guard will catch them.”

“I want to catch them.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want you hunting down trouble,” Sokka says tersely. “I’ve had enough of those guys.”

Zuko takes a deep breath, like he’s going to argue, and then deflates on a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he mutters. “If it will ease your mind, I’ll let the guard attend to them. They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Sokka shakes his head.

“Then can I ask…” Zuko’s hands drift up, the pads of his fingers brushing softly over Sokka’s scratched throat. “What happened here?”

Sokka’s heart lurches painfully in his chest at the reminder. “I—when I was getting the cloudberries for Salt & Sunder from the dock, this kid fell into the water. I jumped in after him, but he was panicking and he got a hold of my necklace and he wouldn’t let go so I had to break it and—and now it’s somewhere out in the middle of the ocean and I’m so sorry.”

Zuko makes a tiny, pained sound and draws his hand back. “Sokka…”

“I swear I didn’t mean to,” Sokka says, balling his hands into Zuko’s robes just so he has something to cling to. “I mean I—I did, but it was that or drowning and—fuck, I’m really, really sorry. I was so stupid. I should have known the kid would grab me, I—”

“You’re not stupid,” Zuko says, anger lashing through his voice again. “You saved a child’s life! I hate that you had to lose the necklace doing it, but—spirits, it was worth it, and I’m so proud of you. That was so brave.”

Sokka shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes again. “No! No, stop it. I fucked up. I fucked everything up today. You’re not allowed to be nice to me.”

“You did not fuck everything up.” Zuko cups his jaw, firmly guiding his face up until their eyes meet. Sokka glares at him, sniffling. “And don’t you ever say I’m not allowed to be nice to you. You know better. You’re my husband, and I love you, and I’ll be nice to you if I want to be because you deserve it.”

Sokka whines, feeling childishly frustrated by the whole thing. If he wasn’t trapped in Zuko’s lap, and if his leg didn’t feel fit to fall off, he’d probably stomp. “But I didn’t do a single thing right! I forgot the package, and I didn’t get the akutaq, and I lost Druk, and I broke my necklace, and I missed our anniversary, and I was grouchy all day because I thought you forgot when you were just trying to do something nice for me.”

“You went to get a package for me without complaining, you agreed to walk down to the docks to get someone else’s cloudberries because you’re just that generous, you tried to keep Druk out of the storm, you saved someone’s life, and you were reasonably upset because your husband didn’t even wish you a happy anniversary this morning,” Zuko argues, ticking each item off on his fingers. “So stop being so hard on yourself. Your day has been horrific. You don’t need to put yourself down and make it even worse.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Zuko reaches up to cradle the side of Sokka’s head, easing the tie out of his hair. “Sweetheart, you are so good. You haven’t done anything wrong and I’m not mad at you, so you don’t need to be mad at you, either.”

“I am, though,” Sokka says, swiping angrily at his eyes when his tears finally start to spill. He can’t stand how kind Zuko is being. Why isn’t he angry? Why isn’t he disappointed? How can he be so calm when Sokka feels like the whole world is falling apart? “I’m so mad.”

Zuko runs his fingers through Sokka’s hair, humming sympathetically. “How come?”

“I told you. I messed up.”

“And I told you that you didn’t,” Zuko says firmly. “So what else is making you mad?”

“I don’t know! Fuck, maybe it’s because I’m cold and I’m hungry and I’m tired and my leg hurts and my clothes are soaking wet and and I can’t fucking—” He scrubs at his eyes again, his voice cracking. “I can’t stop crying. This is so stupid. I hate everything.”

Zuko reaches up, brushing Sokka’s hands away from his face and replacing them with his own. His thumbs swipe against the delicate skin beneath Sokka’s eyes, rubbing away tears. “Well, good news: we can fix a lot of that,” he says that. “But Sokka?”

Sokka looks miserably at him.

“You don’t need to feel bad about crying,” Zuko says. “Crying’s good, remember? Healthy?”

Sokka remembers. They’ve talked about it time and time again, but he’s got years of repression to unlearn—and bad days bring bad habits back with a vengeance. “I know,” he mumbles. “Still mad about it.”

Zuko chuckles, then nudges him onto his feet. “Okay, baby, you can be mad. Let’s go be mad in the bath, though, because you’re a mess.”

Sokka lets his husband help him into the bathroom, then leans against the wall while the bath fills. Warm steam fills the room, and the shivers that wrack his frame finally begin to soften. As he watches, Zuko drizzles in bath oils that froth and bubble and flood the room with the soothing scent of crushed lavender. He tests the temperature of the water against his wrist, then nods to himself before turning back to Sokka.

“Alrighty,” he says, reaching for Sokka’s tunic. “Stripping time.”

Sokka strips as un-sexily as he ever has, shucking his soggy tunic into the corner of the bathroom before wobbling precariously on his good leg while Zuko rolls his pants off. As soon as he’s undressed, Zuko ushers him into the tub, and Sokka can’t find it in himself to refuse the doting. He’s grouchy, but he’s also cold and sore and the fragrant warmth rising from the tub is so, so tempting. He groans as he lowers himself into the water, sinking in to his chin and wiping his eyes again. 

“Better?”

“Mm.”

“Good.” There’s a smile in Zuko’s voice, now, and he presses two soapy fingers against Sokka’s forehead to tip his head back. Sokka goes willingly, closing his eyes as Zuko cups hot water in his palms and runs it through his hair. The heat sinks into Sokka’s skin and relaxes his muscles, slowing the painful pulse that’s taken up residence in his bad leg. He lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m gonna wash your hair now, okay? Keep your eyes closed.”

Sokka hums his assent, and a few seconds later he feels warm shampoo drizzled across his head. Zuko’s fingers join it, threading through his hair and kneading circles across his scalp. It feels so nice, and Sokka reaches up to rub the stubborn tears from his eyes—but Zuko catches his hand before he can.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warns. “You’re all soapy.”

So Sokka lets it go, lets tears drop from the edges of his jaw as Zuko combs suds through his hair, and hopes the water on his face will make them less noticeable. Once the shampoo has been worked into a thick lather, Zuko tips Sokka’s chin back and rinses it all out. He replaces it with conditioner, massaging it into the ends of Sokka’s hair and using it to ease the way out for several tangles. 

As they let the conditioner soak in, Zuko reaches for a washcloth. He starts at Sokka’s face, first, gently wiping tears and grime and dried sea salt from his brow and his cheeks and the broad bridge of his nose. He moves down Sokka’s neck, studying the scratches there with a worried furrow in his brow, before cleaning his chest and shoulders with several broad sweeps of the cloth. Sokka’s stomach hitches beneath his hands, his breath ragged. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice small.

“Because I love you,” Zuko says, simply, and then tucks the cloth underneath the water to wash Sokka’s hips and thighs. He takes extra care with Sokka’s bad leg, his fingers deft and soft where they press into sore muscle. 

“Why?” 

The word is as miserable and broken as Sokka feels.

“Sokka.” Zuko sets the washcloth aside, reaching up to cradle his face. He leans forward—kisses Sokka’s brow, his nose, his mouth. “Sweetheart. It would take me years to list all the reasons I love you. I love you because you’re brave, and clever, and you know how to make me laugh. I love you because you always try to do what’s best for our people and our family. I love you because you brighten my days, because you keep me grounded, because your advice is invaluable and your kindness is even moreso.”

Sokka takes a deep, shuddering breath and wraps his fingers around Zuko’s wrists. His breath leaves him on something dangerously close to a sob.

“I love you,” Zuko continues, pressing lips to his hair, his jaw, his shoulder, “because you respect those around you, and because you learn from your mistakes, and because you’ll apologize when you’re wrong. I love you because of your passion for your projects, because of the happiness I see in your eyes when you create something.”

Sokka really does sob, this time, his fingers scrabbling for purchase in Zuko’s robes. Zuko leans over the edge of the tub, wrapping his arms around Sokka—heedless of the water and the soap and the ugly crying noises Sokka makes.

“I love you,” he says, tapping Sokka’s shoulder in time with the words, “because of your bedhead, and your weird taste in food, and your penchant for beating Uncle in Pai Sho. I love you because you get ridiculously excited about shopping, and because you’re not afraid to tell me I’m wrong, and because you’re the kind of person who would walk miles across the city just to pick up a package for your husband on your anniversary.”

Sokka presses his face into the crook of Zuko’s neck, trembling. Tears stream freely from his eyes now, and he hiccups around several more sobs. Zuko’s fingers stroke through his soapy hair, smearing conditioner across the back of his neck and shoulders while he weeps. It takes several minutes for him to calm himself again, and Zuko holds him the entire time even though Sokka’s sure it isn’t the world’s most comfortable position. 

It’s ridiculous, how much Zuko loves him. It’s ridiculous and Sokka is so, so grateful for it.

“You too,” he mumbles against Zuko’s shoulder, when he can think and talk and breathe again. The ache in his chest isn’t gone, but it is warmed and softened and easier to live around. “Love you too, so much.”

“I know.” Zuko reaches for the washcloth again, taking advantage of their position to wipe it across Sokka’s back. Sokka sniffles and burrows closer to him. “You never let me forget.”

“That’s good.”

Sokka knows he should move, probably, but he’s so tired and heavy and Zuko is so gentle. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just...let Zuko take care of things for a little while? Just a little while? He loves Sokka so much. He just said so. He wouldn’t be mad.

“There you go,” Zuko murmurs when Sokka relaxes against him. He kisses Sokka’s cheek, then guides him to lean back again. Once he’s finished wiping Sokka’s skin off, he pulls the plug from the tub drain and then runs clean water for him to rinse with. After that, he tousels Sokka’s hair dry with a towel before helping him out of the tub. Sokka stands on shaky legs as Zuko pats the rest of him dry, then helps him back into the bedroom. “How’s your leg feeling now?”

“Ow,” Sokka says plaintively.

“Right.” Zuko pats his hip, then pushes him to sit on the edge of the mattress. “I think we need to have Hana look at it.”

“No.”

“Sokka…”

“I don’t want Hana right now,” Sokka says, looking pleadingly at Zuko. He likes Hana well enough, but he’s feeling far, far too vulnerable to want anyone else near him—let alone anyone poking at some of his oldest wounds. “I don’t want anybody but you.”

Zuko’s eyes soften, and he relents quickly—just like Sokka knew he would. The polar puppy eyes really get to him. “Alright, but you’re going to have to see her tomorrow. We need to know if you hurt yourself, and you almost drowned. There could still be water in your lungs.”

“‘m okay,” Sokka insists, making grabby hands at him. “‘m fine.”

Zuko steps forward, allowing Sokka to wrap his arms around his waist, and traces aimless patterns across the backs of his shoulders. “Hana will have to make the final decision about how fine you are, I’m afraid,” he says. “Until then, how about I grab you a tonic and some food?”

Sokka’s stomach rumbles readily at the mention of food. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Zuko says with wry amusement, prying himself out of Sokka’s grip. Sokka whines but lets him go—he is pretty hungry. “Stay here and put some warm clothes on. I’ll be right back.”

After Zuko leaves the room, Sokka limps his way to their closet and tugs out his pajama pants. He pulls them on, reveling in the texture of silk against skin, before burrowing himself beneath the blankets. Exhaustion sinks itself into his bones as he waits for Zuko’s return, and he yawns widely enough to crack his jaw. He blinks blearily at the door, then shakes himself off. He still has so much to do—he has to eat, and make sure Druk’s okay, and do something nice for Zuko. Horrible day or not, it’s still their anniversary.

Zuko returns several minutes later with a wicker basket and a glass of Hana’s strongest pain-killing tonic. Sokka downs the tonic in a single swallow, wrinkling his nose at the pungent flavor, before latching onto Zuko’s waist again. Zuko frowns at him. What? He was within hugging distance. Sokka doesn’t know what he expected.

“As much as I’d love to cuddle you forever, I have to set out the food right now,” Zuko says solemnly, peeling Sokka’s arms off of him. “Look, I even have stewed sea prunes.”

Sokka brightens with every food item Zuko pulls out of the basket and sets on their bed. It’s a full spread of Sokka’s favorites: stewed sea prunes, sweet buns, arctic hen, sizzle-crisps, and kale cookies. Sokka thinks maybe he could cry again, if he weren’t so spirits-damned tired. 

“You had all of this made for me?” he asks, picking up a cookie. 

“I did,” Zuko says, grabbing a sizzle-crisp for himself. “I thought it would be a nice day for a picnic, but...well, needless to say, that plan got tossed. We barely got all of the decorations down before the storm hit.”

“Stupid storm,” Sokka mutters sullenly. 

“Stupid storm,” Zuko agrees. “Now eat. You must be starving.”

Sokka is definitely starving. He wolfs down most of the arctic hen, follows it up with a bowlful of sea prunes, and finishes it off with several sweet buns. He picks at his kale cookie more slowly, already full, then looks longingly at the sizzle-crisps. To waste any of this would be criminal, especially since the chefs made it special for him. 

“Don’t make yourself sick. I can have Bolin save the leftovers,” Zuko offers, “for lunch tomorrow.”

“Yes please.” Sokka manages to finish his cookie, then flops back onto the mattress with a satisfied groan. The plates shift, and he’s sure they’re going to have crumbs all over their blankets. He can’t bring himself to mind, and Zuko doesn’t so much as mention it. They’ve both slept in far more uncomfortable places. “Spirits, that was good.”

“I’m sure the chefs will be glad to know.” The dishes click gently as Zuko gathers them up, setting them in the basket again. Sokka scrambles to sit up and help, but his hands are gently batted away. “Stop it. Lay back down. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I feel bad,” Sokka protests. “You did all this for me, and I…”

“You brought me flowers, remember? Anyway, you didn’t have a chance to do anything else since I sent you out into a storm. You spent most of your day suffering because of me.”

“Hey.” Sokka’s brow furrows, and he reaches forward to touch Zuko’s shoulder. When Zuko still doesn’t look at him, he jostles him gently. “You don’t need to be mad at yourself, either. You didn’t know there was going to be a storm.”

Zuko’s eyes spark mutinously, but he seems to think better of starting an argument at this hour. “I suppose,” he says slowly, “that’s true.”

Sokka nods. “It is. So don’t blame yourself, okay?”

“I won’t blame me if you won’t blame you.” Zuko sticks his hand out. “Deal?”

Sokka thinks about it, chewing the inside of his cheek until Zuko pokes his jaw to get him to stop. “Deal,” he decides, finally, shaking Zuko’s hand. It’s worth setting his own self-loathing aside to get rid of Zuko’s, too (and much easier, now that he’s full and warm and dry). “And Zuko?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, for all of this. Really.” Sokka leans forward, kissing his husband’s forehead and savoring the way his blush spills pink across his cheeks. “I appreciate you.”

Zuko ducks his head, hair tumbling around his shoulders. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re the best.” Sokka rolls onto his back, squirming until he can place his head in Zuko’s lap and gaze up at him. “My sweetheart, my sunshine, my favorite.”

Zuko’s blush grows darker, and he claps a hand over Sokka’s mouth. Sokka licks him. “Ew, Sokka!”

“You taste like soap.”

“I wonder why.” Zuko huffs, then bends down and nuzzles their noses together. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Very aware.” Sokka slides a hand up, into Zuko’s hair, and carefully undoes his topknot. Strands of inky hair tickle his bare arm and shoulder, and a smile flickers across his face. “You’re pretty, did you know that?”

“I have someone who reminds me regularly,” Zuko says, which isn’t quite a yes but it’s an infinitely better response than he used to get, and he’ll take it gladly. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I looked like a drowned rat earlier.”

“You did,” Zuko confirms. “You look much happier now.”

“I feel much happier now.”

“Are you still mad?”

Sokka thinks about it. It’s still hard, untangling his own emotions and allowing himself to feel them, but he’s getting better at it. “No,” he decides. “I’m still tired, and sore, and kind of sad? But I’m also kind of happy, because you’re here and you’re not mad at me and, I mean, we did just have some really good food.”

Zuko shifts, moving out from under Sokka to straddle his hips, instead. He leans down and kisses Sokka, soft and slow and rewarding. “Thank you,” he says, “for telling me. That’s very good.”

Sokka hums happily, resting his hands on his husband’s waist. If  Zuko-kisses are his reward for talking about his feelings, then maybe he should talk about his feelings constantly, all the time, every day.

“Now, how about this?” Zuko says, drawing back slightly. “I’m going to give you a massage, and then you can go to sleep while I go get Druk from Hana. We’ll do something fun for our anniversary tomorrow.”

“I’m sad we didn’t get to do anything today.”

Zuko kisses him again, lips dry and warm where they move against Sokka’s, before he says, “I’m sad we didn’t get to, either—but it’s not the date that matters, right? It’s you, and me, and the promises we made to each other five years ago.”

Sokka reaches up, automatically, to touch his betrothal necklace. He cringes the second he remembers it’s gone—lost, alone somewhere at the bottom of the ocean or in some lucky fish’s stomach.

“It’s not about the necklace, either,” Zuko reminds him. He scatters kisses along Sokka’s throat, and Sokka lets out a breathy sigh and tips his chin up. Against his skin, Zuko mumbles, “Still gonna make you a new one, though.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. Purely selfish motivations over here.” Zuko’s hands shift to Sokka’s shoulders, kneading gently into the muscle there. “How are people going to know you’re taken otherwise? I’ll get jealous.”

“Baby, you’ve got nothing to be jealous of. The whole palace knows I’m yours.”

“I want the whole world to know it.” Zuko moves his hands down, along Sokka’s bicep, drawing the tension out with his fingers. 

“Okay, well, the whole world doesn’t see me on a day-to-day basis.”

“Their loss.” Zuko’s fingers slot between his, squeezing gently, before he presses a kiss to each of Sokka’s knuckles. He offers Sokka’s other hand the same treatment, then massages his way back down Sokka’s arm. Once done, he climbs out of Sokka’s lap and pats the space beside him. “Roll over.”

Sokka rolls over, stretching lazily before folding his arms beneath his head. Zuko starts at his feet, working his way up Sokka’s bad leg first. Sokka grimaces when he reaches the knee, twitching away, and Zuko’s fingers falter. “It’s fine,” Sokka says quickly. “Sorry, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Are you sure you don’t want to see Hana tonight?”

Sokka shakes his head adamantly. “The tonic’ll kick in soon. It’ll be okay.”

“If you say so.” Zuko doesn’t sound pleased, but he doesn’t push the matter, either. Instead, he rises and heads back towards their bathroom. “How do hot towels sound?”

Hot towels sound wonderful, thank you very much. Zuko returns several minutes later, wrapping one hot towel around Sokka’s knee and another around his thigh where the muscle aches the worst. Sokka sighs in bliss, and Zuko offers his leg a consoling pat before wisely leaving it alone. He works the knots out of Sokka’s other leg, instead, then perches on his lower back to knead the muscles of his shoulders and back. 

Sokka’s a pile of sleepy jelly by the time he’s done, his breathing slow and his eyes half lidded. Zuko draws the blankets up over him, tucking them in around his shoulders before kissing his forehead. Sokka flails a hand out, catching Zuko’s and squeezing. He seeks Zuko’s gaze, smiling sleepily at him.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. 

“Anything for you.” Zuko crouches beside the bed and tucks their joined hands under his chin, his eyes warm. “I’m going to go get Druk now, but I’ll try to keep him quiet. Hopefully he’s already asleep.”

“Okay. Tell him I love him.”

“Of course. You try to get some sleep. I’m taking the day off of work tomorrow, so we can sleep in and then figure out some stuff to do for round two of our anniversary. Sound good?”

“Sounds great. I’m gonna spoil you so bad.”

“Don’t you threaten me,” Zuko teases, then sets Sokka’s hand back down before rising. “And Sokka? I love you. Happy anniversary.”

Sokka makes a quiet, contented sound. His whole chest feels warm, and for a second it’s like this whole shitty day never happened—he has Zuko, and Druk, and a warm safe place to rest. What more does a man need? “Happy anniversary, Zuko. I love you too.”

Zuko leaves, then, and Sokka lets his eyes slide shut. This was, without a doubt, the worst anniversary Sokka has had—but it’s nothing he can’t bounce back from, and tomorrow, he’s sure, is going to be the best anniversary he’s ever had. And they’ll have tons more best-anniversary-evers, too, because Sokka plans to spend the rest of his life with this dork of a firebender. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, and every year he spends with Zuko is a gift.