Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kansas.  They’re sending him to Kansas.

“Technically, Kansas City is in Missouri.”

“Well, that’s awfully misleading.”

“I suppose.”

Sokka sighs in his seat, turning his head to focus outside of Piandao’s office window.  “What happened to me staying in Fort Worth?  With Aang and Toph?”

Piandao clacks away on his computer.  “Plans change.  One of our central region teams just lost two of its three members.”

Sokka’s heart drops.  “Oh god.”

“What?” Piandao asks, confused, blinking up from his screen.  A second later, he rushes up a hand to cover his face.  “No, Sokka, they’re on maternity leave.  Nobody’s dead.”

“Oh.  Right, sorry.”

“Anyways.  Central region has a team that, right now, consists of just a single member.  You know how the saying goes.”

“'There’s no I in team'?” Sokka unenthusiastically offers.  

Piandao clicks his tongue in agreeance and turns his eyes back onto his computer.

Sokka frowns.  “Okay, but why am I being moved?  I’ve been working in the southern region since leaving the academy.  Why not move someone who hasn’t been here as long?” 

“We’ve already sent out most of our teams for the season,” Piandao replies, fixing a look at Sokka.  “Your team is the last one to be deployed, and therefore the easiest one to shift around assignments with.”

“And you couldn’t send Aang instead?  Or Toph?”

Piandao laughs.  “You try telling your sister that you’re moving Aang to a different region right now.”  Sokka cringes at the thought.  Ever since Bumi was born five months ago, Katara has seldom let Aang out of her sight.  “Besides that, central’s team is not in need of a driver.  They need someone to run data collection.”

“Fine then.  Why not Toph?  She could collect data from Missouri.”

“Their vehicle doesn’t have any accommodations for Toph,” Piandao says plainly.  “And I’m not about to send weeks filling out paperwork for a vehicle swap when I can just send you over to them instead.”

Fuck.  Sokka had forgotten about Toph’s specialized equipment. 

“June Zhang runs operations in the central region.  She’ll be expecting you Monday at 9AM sharp,” Piandao says, punctuating the last point with a heavy clang of a key on his keyboard.  Sokka goes back to looking out the window.  A few cardinals lounge off a telephone wire, occasionally flitting around in whimsy.  Their ubiquitous freedom floods Sokka’s head with envy.  “You’ll have a day to get acquainted with your new partner and your new vehicle, and then you’ll be hitting the road on Tuesday.”

Sokka relaxes his neck and lets his head hang back, recognizing the gentle finality in Piandao’s voice.  There’s nothing he can do to avoid this.  “Fine.  I’ll spend the next few months helplessly missing you and the rest of the southern region.  I hope that you’re happy.”

Piandao chuckles, and Sokka begins to stand up, sensing the end of the conversation.  “It’s just a few months, Sokka.  And I’m sure Mai and Ty Lee will be grateful for the time spent with their daughter.”

Sokka freezes, midway up from his seat.  “Wait.  I’m covering for Mai and Ty Lee?”

He knows those women.  He went through academy four years ago with Mai, who was an occasional sullen member of his study group.  He and Aang traveled up to her wedding last year; Aang officiated.  Sokka gave Ty Lee one joyous and drunk dance at their reception; a lucidly done waltz to the tune of “Cotton Eye Joe”; and when returning her to her new wife afterwards, Sokka heard Mai laugh for the very first time.  Just last month, Sokka had sent the couple a package filled with baby clothes for their newborn daughter.

Piandao’s voice breaks his focus from his memories.  “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, that’s not a problem,” Sokka replies, absent-mindedly.  “But hey, Piandao, do you… do you know who my partner for this season will be?”

Piandao frowns.  “Zuko Sugita.  He’s their usual partner.  I thought you knew this?”

He did.  

Fuck.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

“I’m doomed.  Four months working in a small van with only Sugita for company.  I’m not going to make it,”  Sokka bemoans, sinking further into his spot on Aang and Katara’s couch.  He knocks back the last of his beer, sets the empty bottle onto the side table, and watches Aang play with Bumi on the carpet.  (Aang’s rolling a ball towards him.  Bumi’s doing nothing but drooling.)

“You know, Sokka, I think you may be exaggerating,” Aang suggests.

“No, I don’t think he is,” Katara cuts in, flopping down next to Sokka on the sofa.  “Zuko’s the worst.”

“Do you really still have it out for him just because of that one text?” Aang groans. There’s a puerile frustration in his voice, and Sokka instantly knows this is an argument that has been argued before.  “Listen, he called Bumi ‘neat’!  That’s not an insult!”

“It’s not an insult,” Katara concedes, “but it’s not something you say to your friend when they send you a picture of their newborn.  He didn’t even try to dote on baby Bumi.  He didn’t even fake affection for your newborn child.”

“Katara, I have no context for this event, but I agree wholeheartedly,” Sokka says.  

“Sokka,” Aang grunts.  “If you just got to know him better, I’m sure you’d get along.  He’s a nice guy.”

“Sugita treats me like I’m the plague,” Sokka grumbles, turning his head to rest on Katara’s shoulder.  “Ever since I met him four years ago.  I doubt a season will change that.”

“Sometimes he’s a little shy,” Aang says, flopping onto his back and lifting Bumi above him playfully.  “Be the better person, Sokka.  It takes Zuko a while to come around to people.  Maybe he just hasn’t been around you long enough.”

Sokka thinks back through his memories with Zuko; there aren’t many, but enough.  Zuko had sat in the front row of most of their lectures in academy, and was one of Piandao’s favorite students.  Zuko barely spoke to anyone in their class, save for Mai, whom he had known before even signing on to work for the National Weather Service.  Sokka’s main interactions with the man all stemmed from the same group project they were put in together; a one week assignment, learning first aid skills to use on the field.  The two of them got along well, albeit a little awkwardly; especially when they had to wrap around each other to practice Heimlich maneuvers; but it all soured on the last day, when they were tasked with demonstrating CPR.  Sokka went in a little too fast to demonstrate mouth-to-mouth, and Zuko had punched him in the face.

(They both retook the course a week later with different partners.)

“He’s been around me plenty,” Sokka decides.  “Where’s Toph to agree with me when I need her?  

“You know she’s still out of town visiting her parents,” Aang reminds him.  “And you can make it four months.”

“Whatever.”  Sokka blows a stray strand of hair out of his face.  “I’m doomed.  Please tell me that you and Toph have a shrine planned in my honor for Appa.”

Appa is the name of their weather van.  Aang named him after a childhood pet.  Toph had protested the name when she first came to work with them, but her suggestions (“Vanny Devito,” “Free Candy,” and “The Van-tichrist”) were quickly vetoed by a scandalized Aang.

“I’ll ask her to draw a picture of you to put in your empty seat, how about that?” Aang suggests, laughing.  

Sokka rolls his eyes but also laughs at the concept.  “Representing my presence with a masterpiece of scribbles?  If I really have to leave, then I suppose that I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

The doorbell rings, and Sokka stretches up from the couch as Katara moves to answer it.  She comes back in a few moments with their food delivery, and Sokka follows her into the dining room and begins to set the table.

“You’re going to miss me, at least, right?” Sokka asks her playfully, mind wondering whether or not it’s the fork or the knife that goes to the right of each plate-- it’s definitely the fork-- but maybe the knife--

“I’m going to miss everyone,” Katara sighs, setting out the fried rice and lo mein.  “Aang’s going to be close, but still far enough out in the field to not be here to help with the day-to-day with Bumi. You’re going to be too far to even come over for an occasional dinner.  Both of you will be chasing storms that could hurt you with only a moment’s notice.  I just…” 

Sokka waits for his sister to continue, but she remains statuesque, clutching a bundle of plastic silverware in her hands.  A quick glance out the door shows that Aang is still playing with Bumi on their living room carpet, just out of earshot.

Sokka moves towards Katara gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.  “Katara?”

Her face is scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed together, eyes closed tightly.  Her body is hunched into itself, as if she’s trying to make herself smaller, more containable.  The only indication of movement from her body is the rapid up-and-down motion of her chest from her breathing, and a sliver of a tear trailing its way down one of her cheeks.  Sokka reaches up a hand to brush it off.

“Aang’s nervous,” Katara says under her breath.  Her voice cracks midway through, and she laughs a little light laugh that doesn’t spread mirth anywhere on her face.  “Sokka, Aang’s nervous.  He’s not going to be around Bumi, Bumi will just be with me, and I have clinicals to work at, and I just don’t know,” she pauses, taking a deep breath and rubbing at her eyes, “I just don’t know if I can do it by myself.”

“Hey, hey,” Sokka says softly but surely, moving his other hand up so that he’s secured onto Katara’s shoulders, trying his best to meet her eyes.  “Katara.  You are the strongest person I know.  And that’s including Toph.”  His voice lifts at the admission, and to his delight, Katara lets out a warbled chuckle.  “Nothing about these next few months will be easy, but they’ll be doable.  You can do this.  I’m sure Aang’s just nervous because he’ll be missing you and Bumi so much, not because he doesn’t believe in your ability to juggle everything.  Katara, he loves you so much.  It’ll work out, I promise.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” Katara chokes out, quietly but desperately.

Sokka pushes forward and gathers his sister into a tight hug.  He squeezes and rocks her back and forth. 

“Katara,” he says into her hair, “it will work out.  There’s no use going down that train of thought.  You won’t need it.”

She sniffles into his shoulder.  “I know I’m being stupid, but I just can’t help but think about how it could go wrong.  What if Bumi gets sick and I can’t take off work?  What if I can’t manage my workload with a baby to take care of?  What if Bumi notices Aang missing for so long and feels abandoned?”

“Okay, firstly, you’re not stupid, you’re just human, let’s just clear that up right now,” Sokka replies.  He hears motion from the living room, most likely Aang gathering up Bumi and making his way into the dining room.  “And your brain doesn’t need to focus on the ‘what-ifs’.  Focus on the fact that I love you, Toph loves you, Aang super loves you, and Bumi would literally die in like, two seconds without you.  That big baby boy loves you soooo much.  I know his little baby brain is so excited to hang out with his mama all summer.”

Katara shudders out a laugh into Sokka’s shoulder, and he squeezes her tight one more time before letting her go, helping her brush the remaining tears off her face as she reorients herself.  

“Katara, you’re doing some really amazing things right now,” Sokka says, lowering his voice as he hears Aang’s footsteps.  “I know things are stressful for you, between Aang leaving, and taking care of Bumi, and still going into work.  But if you need anything, dad isn't far, and I’m only a call away. Not even stuffy Sugita could keep me away if you asked for help.”

Katara rolls her eyes, smiling, pushing him away.  “I’ll hold you to that,” she says, voice regaining strength.

Sokka smiles back, backing off just as Aang enters the dining room.  “You better.  Now come on, let’s eat.”

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Eight shirts, most plain blue, some white, and one black.  Two plaid flannels.  Two jeans, two khaki pants, a pair of basketball shorts and sweatpants.  Two pairs of pajama pants, one tank top.  A handful of socks, enough underwear to last him at least two weeks.  Toiletries and a few books.  A spare pair of sneakers, and one pair of dress shoes, just in case.

Another summer to spend living out of his suitcase.

Sokka moves his suitcase towards the front door in his apartment, and lays a blanket and pillow over top. (There was this one incident, during his first field year, when Aang had accidentally driven into a ditch and gotten their crew stuck with no hotel for the night.  They had slept on the grass, and Sokka woke up with indents on his back from all the small rocks on the ground.  Every year since, Sokka made sure to bring along spare sleeping supplies.)  His backpack, holding his laptop and charging cords, is resting against the front door as well.

Sokka walks through the apartment, double-checking that he’s thrown out all the trash, emptied out the fridge, and locked all the doors.  Satisfied that he’s crossed everything off his Last-Night-At-Home checklist, he heads to bed.

He curls himself into a tight corner of the bed, bundling himself with layers of blankets.  Sokka pays special attention to the feel of his cotton sheets, his body’s impression in the mattress that’s seven years in the making. Everything about this room is comforting and tailored to him.  Working remotely for a quarter of the year has taught him how to cope with missing people in his life (thank goodness for video chats and telephones), but when he misses places… well, it’s all he can do to attempt to memorize his bedroom now.

He shoves aside all his intrusive thoughts, his worries over Katara and Aang and how they’re going to navigate parenting apart, his FOMO over a season with Aang and Toph lost, his anxiety over having to make nice with Zuko… and instead focuses on the faint jasmine smell that lingers on his pillows from their latest wash, the hum of his television static, and the perfect fit of his own body on his bed.

He falls asleep bathed in the blue static of his empty television screen, an alarm patiently waiting for the dawn to break.

Chapter Text

Zuko Sugita doesn’t seem to have changed much in the past four years.

Silky long black hair, tied back into a bun, secured by a red ribbon.  Eyes straight from a fairytale; his right, a striking kobicha, and his left, a cloudy copper, surrounded by an angry burn, seemingly incapable of healing.  Loose black clothes, making his skinny arms and pale skin stand out drastically.  And his voice...

“You’re late.” 

Still rough at the edges.

Zuko’s frowning, sourly looking Sokka up and down as he gets out of his taxi.  “You said you’d be here at nine.”

“Ah, well, you know.  My taxi got caught in traffic on the way here.”  Zuko didn’t need to know the details of why (which was a detour, caused by a crippling caffeine addiction and one rather intense conversation with his taxi driver on the supposed local Big Foot sightings).   “It is so nice to see you, too, Sugita.”

Zuko scowls, but holds open the front door to the National Weather Service’s central region headquarters as Sokka approaches.  “Leave earlier next time.”

“Your wish is my command,” Sokka grumbles, patting him on the shoulder as he enters the building.  

Central region’s headquarters is regal and massive, with an ornate circular lobby filled with little seating spots.  Along one wall is a simple breakfast set-up, a lone barista tending the stand.  Sokka eyes it with envy.

“Hello, boys,” a voice calls from the main reception desk.  Sokka whips his head around to look at a tall woman holding a file in her hand.  “I’m so happy to see that you’ve finally made it here.”

“You must be June,” Sokka says.  He recognizes her from a photograph Piandao briefly showed him: she’s in her late 30’s, with long dark hair, intense eyeliner, and a swirly tattoo on her bicep.  

“And you must be late,” she replies.  Sokka cringes for a split second before realizing that, unlike Zuko, she seems to be humoring him; there’s a saccharine smirk on her face.  Sokka offers her a shaky smile and she laughs.  “Just kidding, Mr. Qanik.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Sokka replies smoothly.  “And please, call me Sokka.”

“Sokka, then.  Welcome to the central region.  If you two will follow me, I’ll show you the vehicle you’ll be using, starting tomorrow.”  She brings Sokka and Zuko through the entrance foyer into a side room near the front of the building, where a few mechanics are ambling about.

“This vehicle is slightly different than the one we’ve given you in the past, Mr. Sugita,” she says, waving off the mechanics and bringing Sokka and Zuko close to the vehicle.  It’s a large van, an eggshell white color, with a radar poking out from the roof.  There’s a truck-like add-on in the back, where more monitoring equipment sits.  “Since Ty Lee and Mai are gone for the season, we’ve exchanged the three-person van you used to drive for this.  It’s built for a two-person team; one principal driver, and one principal scientist to run our equipment.”

Sokka nudges Zuko, who’s stoic and unfazed beside him.  “Hey, that’s pretty cool, right, Sugita?  New season, new car.”

“Oh, Sokka, this isn’t a new car,” June intercedes bemusedly.  “She’s been with us for about ten years now.  But she’s got a fresh oil change and updated equipment, so she’ll last the season.”

Sokka pointedly avoids looking over at Zuko again.  He’s scared of meeting his infamous glare.

“There’s ample room in the front for the both of you to sit,” June continues.  “The equipment is designed around the back of the van, so that it’s possible for you, Sokka, to monitor it all from the passenger seat.  If you’d like to get in and get a feel for your surroundings, please take a moment to do so now.”

Sokka mutters a quick thanks before opening the back door to check out the monitoring equipment.  It’s standard, matching almost exactly with the equipment he used in the southern region.  It’s missing the speakers that would recite the readings for Toph to monitor, and there’s a distinct lack of Braille on the front of all the devices, but besides that, everything seems similar enough.

What’s different, Sokka notes, is that Zuko is climbing into the front seat, and the only place for Sokka to go is right next to him.  The passenger seat in the car is built on a swivel, so Sokka reaches out and twists it so that he can move into the front without exiting the car.  Zuko clears his throat, and out of the corner of his sight, Sokka sees him looking him over.

“Qanik.”  Zuko’s voice is firm.  Sokka fidgets in his seat.

“What’s up, Sugita?”  Sokka turns his head to look over at him, and plasters on his brightest smile.

Zuko blinks a few times before turning his own head back to look at the steering wheel.  “When I work with Mai and Ty Lee, I get to have control over the dashboard and glove compartment.  Even though the vehicle has changed, and I’m only temporarily working with you, I’d like that to remain the same.”

Sokka squints at him, but tries to hide it.  He rolls over the words in his head.  On paper, they seem… oddly territorial?  But Sokka didn’t hear any aggression in Zuko’s voice, and the request could just be a simple one.

“Sure,” Sokka concedes after a few moments.  “As long as you don’t get to always have control over the music.”

Zuko makes a final adjustment to the rearview mirror, and clears his throat before sparing a quick glance at Sokka.  “No music when I’m driving,” he states.  

Zuko’s already back outside the car before Sokka can form a proper response.

As much as Sokka’s itching to argue that they can’t just ride around in silence for months, June is there with them, and Sokka can’t imagine a worse first day in the region than one spent getting in trouble over a stupid argument.  Sokka tucks his fight away and vows to save it for the road.  There will be no authority figures with them once they’re on the road.

“Any concerns with the vehicle?” June asks politely, looking the two of them over when Sokka finally exits the vehicle.

They both shake their heads.  June smiles.

“We’re going to run some communication drills for the rest of the day, and after you boys finish, there are hotel rooms with your names on them,” June says, leading them down a fluorescent hallway.  “Tonight you each will get your own room, but you’ll have to share once you hit the road, all right?”

It’s what Sokka expected.  He’s familiar with summers sometimes sharing a bed with Aang, when the southern region would occasionally put his team up in a room with two beds and no pull-out couch.  (Sharing the bed with Toph was always a nightmare .  Her feet know no bounds.  Sokka and Aang quickly learned to always team up for a bed if they didn’t have enough private sleeping spaces for all three of them.)  But sharing a room with Sugita feels a lot less like a fun sleepover, and a lot more like an unpleasant invasion of privacy.  But that’s a problem for Sokka to deal with tomorrow night.

They reach the end of the hallway.  June reaches for a door that opens up into a large meeting room, filled with several women flitting around the space.  

Sokka can’t help the grin that takes over his face as he recognizes the woman sitting closest to him.

“Suki!” he beams, running over with his arms spread, wrapping her up as soon as he’s close enough.  Suki’s laughter tickles against his neck, and she gives his back a few whops before shouldering her way out of Sokka’s grasp.

“Sokka!” she greets happily.  “It’s so good to see you!”

“Same!” he reciprocates enthusiastically.  “I didn’t know you worked in the central region?”

“Yeah, I’ve been up here for the past year or so!  I’ve been finishing up my driving courses to hopefully join a team on the road next season, and central’s got the best driving program.  Anyways, it’s been too long, Sokka!  How is everyone?  Aang?  Toph?  Your sister?”

Sokka opens his mouth to respond, words poised on the tip of his tongue, when June clears her throat commandingly.  Sokka sheepishly looks over to her, and to Zuko, who’s focusing on the floor, and then Sokka turns back to Suki.  

“Catch up some other time?” he asks quietly, and Suki nods with a smile, pushing him back towards June.

“This is the communication hub for our region,” June says, as soon as Sokka stumbles his way back to Zuko’s side.  “Your vehicle is equipped with storm tracking software, but only within a certain range.  If a storm registers out of that range, but your team is close enough to drive over to it, someone from this hub will notify you of the change of position.  Every morning, Zuko, you are to contact the hub for your driving schedule.  Sokka, you’re welcome to consult in these calls if you have a preference on where to be stationed for a particular day.”

Sokka nods, familiar with the methods.

“Both of you have met Suki,” June drawls, gesturing over to the brunette, who gives both him and Zuko a friendly wave, “and she is assigned to work with your team, alongside Jin.”  Another gesture from June, this time towards a short woman with a languid smile on her face, who winks at Zuko (which, of itself, has Sokka’s brain spinning).  Sokka looks over at Zuko.  Both of his hands are curled in a tight grip.

“If you have any questions while on the field, don’t bother asking me, just get in contact with either of these ladies,” June sighs.  “Nine times out of ten, they’ll know more than me.” 

With that, June moves towards an empty table to the side of the room.  Sokka follows her, Zuko on his heels, and he feels his heart drop as he gets a look at what’s on the table.

It’s all drills.  Stacks of papers, and what’s on the papers is… drills.

“For the next few hours,” June continues, “you’ll be running fake scenarios and refamiliarizing yourselves with the numerical codes we will be using to communicate with you on the field.”

Sokka absolutely hates the numerical codes.  There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason behind them, and besides, they’re usually only pertinent to the driver.

But Zuko sits down with no complaints, and Sokka forces himself into the empty chair by his side.  Sokka slides on one of the headphone pairs at the table, grabs a list of codes, and takes a deep breath before the simulations start.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

The drills take seven hours to complete.  By the end of them, Sokka wants to lay his head upon the table and pass out right then and there.  But June hands him and Zuko their respective hotel keys, and it’s a much more appealing idea to sleep on a hotel bed.  Zuko seems to have the same idea, because before Sokka processes their matching movements, they’re walking together towards the hotel.

Sokka can only take thirty seconds of silence before he needs to fill it.

“Dang, Sugita, those drills are always so tedious,” Sokka says casually, hoping that’s a good topic to start rambling about.  “Every year I tell myself they can’t possibly be as slow as I remember, but somehow, they always end up longer than I think possible.”

Zuko sniffs.  “The drills are important.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I wasn’t saying they aren’t necessary,” Sokka backtracks.  “Just that they’re, you know, wearisome.”

Zuko doesn’t even acknowledge Sokka’s words.

Sokka bites his lip, clawing his brain for safe conversational topics.  He wants to ease the tension between the two of them; his biggest fear is being cramped in a van while still feeling uncomfortable around Zuko.  Sokka’s mind is unfortunately blank, though, but he’s momentarily saved when they finally reach the hotel.  Zuko unexpectedly holds the front door open for him.  They bypass the lobby and head straight into the elevator, pressing their respective floor buttons.

“So, Sugita,” Sokka tries.  Zuko doesn’t move his eyes from their focus on the floor.  The elevator slowly climbs its way upwards.  “Last night before hitting the road!  Do you have any big plans for tonight?”

“No,” he replies curtly.

“Would you maybe want to get dinner with me?  June said we can charge the room if we go to the restaurant on the hotel’s main floor.”  Sokka tries to make his voice compelling and inviting, instead of hopeless and lonely.  It ends up coming out bored.

“No, thanks,” Zuko says.

“Oh,” Sokka says, biting down on his lip and flicking his eyes upwards in exasperation.  “Well, we could order room service, or something?  Usually, Aang and Toph and I hang out the last night before the season officially starts, sort of like a bonding moment before work takes over.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for bonding when we’re in the same car the next few months,” Zuko says, somewhat under his breath.  “Can it wait until tomorrow?  I’m busy tonight.”

“I thought you said that you didn’t have any plans?” Sokka asks incredulously.  A flicker of annoyance passes through Zuko’s face, and Sokka can practically taste the fight brewing, so Sokka takes a deep breath, remembers Aang’s advice: be the better person: and drops it.  “Fine.  I’ll see you in the lobby at seven tomorrow morning.”

The elevator dings, settling onto the fourth floor, where Zuko has been placed.  Zuko whips out of the elevator without a goodbye, and as the elevator doors close again, Sokka lets out a sigh and slouches against the wall.

Ten seconds and two stories go by, and Sokka leaves the elevator, hoping to reset his mood with a nice shower before bed.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Sokka’s phone starts ringing as soon as he finishes drying up in the bathroom.  He sees Toph on the caller ID and smiles as he picks up the phone, sitting down on his hotel bed with a towel slung lazily over his hips.

“Hey girl, what’s good?”

“Snoozles, you’ve got to save me.”

Sokka laughs at the boredom evident in Toph’s voice.  “What’s going on now, Toph?”

“Aang’s hacking into a baby monitor to extend its range, so that he can keep it in the front seat of our car when we’re out on the field.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Bumi, and I love hearing Katara go apeshit whenever he spits up on her.  But I can’t take this.  All Aang talks about is Bumi anyways, I’ll lose my shit if all my background noise is consumed by that child, too.  I only have four senses to begin with, and Aang is dooming me to rely on only three!”

Sokka laughs despite himself, and somehow finds the situation funnier when Toph begins to yell.

“Don’t you be laughing over there, Snoozles!  God, with the way things are going, I’d gladly switch places with you to ride with Zuko again.  Although I suppose it wouldn’t be that strategic of a partnership, what, with only having one eye between the two of us.”

“Wait,” Sokka pauses, frowning, “what do you mean, again?  You’ve ridden with Sugita?”

“When I first left the academy,” Toph replies.  Her voice is grainy against Sokka’s ears.  “I rode with him and Mai; they were nice enough.  Mai used to play five finger filet with me, and Zuko would always be freaking out about it in the driver’s seat.  Such a square.  Anyways, I never got super attached to the area, so when a transfer opportunity came up to move down south, I ended up doing that.  I felt it was time to get some change into my life.  Ty Lee took my spot up there.  Sucks for me, though, because I didn’t quite know at the time that the change in my life would end up being you two bozos.”

“Watch who you call a bozo, bozo,” Sokka retorts, processing the information.  Did Mai really indulge Toph?? In a game of five finger filet??? While Zuko was driving???

“Whatever.  Anyways, the point I’m trying to make is that if I ever have a baby, please hit me over the head if I get this attached.  I’m getting the impression that if we actually read a storm signal, Aang might drive home instead of to the storm’s location just to make sure Bumi and Katara are locked down.  It’s going to be a rough season.”

“Tell me about it,” Sokka sighs, agreeing.  He flattens himself on the hotel bed, fiddling with the edge of his towel as he stares up at the ceiling.  

“For what it’s worth,” Toph says, her voice softening, “one season with Zuko shouldn’t be too bad.  I know the two of you have some rivalry thing going on, or something--”

“--it’s not a rivalry, he literally punched me in the face once, and he won’t engage in any optional conversation with me at all--”

“-- but anyways, he means well.  He’s been nothing but nice to me, and I’m not always the easiest to be around.  He’s a softie and a total dork; the two of you should get along great, once you get used to being around each other.”

Sokka lets the words wash over him, but doesn’t agree with them.  He decides not to argue with Toph, though, and continues to listen to her talk.

“But forget about you.  Forget about me.  I’m a little worried about Aang.  I feel like his separation anxiety might be a lot for him to deal with on the road.  I mean, we signed up for this job knowing that it involves us literally heading into deadly storms-- but now that he has a kid waiting at home for him, the stakes feel too high.  If I could collect readings by myself for this season, I would.  I feel guilty that he still has to do field work now.”

“Aang’s strong,” Sokka says, resolute.  “And brave, and capable.  And he has you.  And Katara’s only ever a call away.  And he’s installing a long-range baby monitor.”

Toph hums lowly in acknowledgement.  “No matter how everything goes, at least we’re getting a late start to the season.  It’s only four months this time around.”

“Only four months,” Sokka echoes, planting his free hand on his forehead.  “We can do it, Toph.”

Before she has the chance to reply, a heavy knock sounds outside his door.  He isn’t expecting anyone, so it’s probably just an echo from his neighbor’s room, but he sits up anyways.  After a few moments, during which Toph starts talking about something else, another knock rings out; this time, Sokka is confident that someone is on the other side of his door.  He groans and gets up, holding on tight to the towel around his waist.

“Toph, I gotta go, someone’s at the door,” Sokka cuts in, feeling slightly guilty over not paying complete attention to her.  “Talk later?”

“You got it, Snoozles.  Remember to be nice to Zuko tomorrow!”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sokka teases, before saying his goodbyes and hanging up the phone.  “One second!” he hollers at his mystery guest, throwing his phone back onto his bed.

There’s no peephole on the door, so Sokka opens the door blindly, with enthusiastic curiosity.

Zuko’s shocked face greets him.

“Sugita, hey,” Sokka manages to get out, suddenly very aware of his semi-naked state.  It’s not like he can hide it from the man; Zuko’s eyes flicker down Sokka’s chest, paying close attention to a collection of condensation on his upper left ribcage.  Sokka makes a motion to wipe it quickly with his towel, before realizing that if he moves the towel, more than just his chest would be revealed to the man in front of him.

Sokka accepts the situation as it is, moves through the mental embarrassment quickly, and looks back up to Zuko.  Zuko, who’s... still looking at his chest.  Sokka clears his throat.  Zuko’s eyes snap back up to his own.

“Can I help you?” Sokka asks, his voice a bit rickety.  

“Oh, um,” Zuko starts, blinking rapidly.  He clears his throat and stands up straighter.  Sokka has a few inches on him, and it fills his head with a weird sense of pride.  “It’s no big deal, actually, so, uh... don’t worry.  I can see that you’re busy.  I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Zuko turns away quickly, but Sokka reaches out and grasps his wrist before he manages to leave his vicinity.  

“I’m not particularly busy, actually,” Sokka admits, a smirk growing on his face.  “Just a tad naked.  That’s not the point.  The point is that you’re not bothering me right now.  What’s up, Sugita?”

“Just…” Zuko’s voice trails off, and his eyes wander rapidly in the periphery of Sokka’s chest.  

After a silence-filled pause, Sokka quirks a concerned eyebrow.  Zuko blinks quickly in succession and then clears his throat.

“I just…. um, just wanted to make sure you had an alarm set for the morning.  I don’t want a repeat of you being late.  Anyways.  You look naked-- I mean, you are naked.  I mean… You look busy.  Your hair is down.  I’m gonna go.  See you tomorrow at seven.”

The words fall from Zuko’s mouth at an impressive speed, and when he tugs his wrist out of Sokka’s hand, Sokka lets him leave.  

“Wait,” Sokka calls, scrunching his eyebrows. Toph told him to be nice to Zuko… starting tomorrow.  “Did you seriously just come to my room to chew me out again for being late this morning?”

Zuko doesn’t even grace him with a look back as he opens the door to the staircase.  “Seven AM!” his voice calls, echoing down the hallway.

Sokka doesn’t process the words fast enough to reply before Zuko’s out of sight, and Sokka can’t help but let out a huff of laughter before turning back into his hotel room, shutting the door behind him.

Only four months left before he’s back in Texas.  Four months.  He can make it through four months with Zuko Sugita.  He can.

Hopefully.

Chapter Text

“First afternoon on the field,” Sokka says excitedly, holding up two newly-bought star keychains from the gas station.  The charms have got an ‘S’ and a ‘Z’ label, respectively.  “I think this calls for a souvenir, don’t you agree?”

Zuko grumbles from where he fills up a plastic cup with coffee.  

“I hope you like pink,” Sokka says.  “It was between that or yellow for the Z’s, so I took a gamble for you.”  He pushes the ‘Z’ keychain out towards Zuko, who glares at it momentarily before ignoring it completely.

“Do you need food?” Zuko asks brusquely.

Sokka rolls with the shift in conversation.  “I’m always a slut for Doritos.”

Zuko sighs but walks towards the chip aisle, tossing Sokka the van keys as he goes.  “Fill up the gas tank, will you?  I’ll meet you outside with snacks.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Sokka walks back to the car and, before pumping gas, slides both keychains onto the van keys.  Five minutes later and Zuko is walking out of the shop, a bag of snacks in tow, just as Sokka closes up the gas cap.  

“Perfect timing!” Sokka says, walking around the car and climbing into the passenger seat.  “You get the goods?”

Zuko clambors into the car as well and pulls on his seatbelt before digging through the plastic bag on his lap.  “Doritos.”  He pulls out a blue and red bag of the chips, opening the red for himself and passing the blue over to Sokka.

Sokka stares at him, slowly reaching over to grab the blue bag out of Zuko’s hand.  He’s always figured red to be the basic Dorito flavor, so the blue bag takes him slightly by surprise.  They’re Sokka’s favorite flavor.  He doesn’t think he’s told Zuko this before.  After a bit too much time has passed and Sokka is still dumbly holding his bag, Zuko sighs and rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t say what color you wanted,” Zuko explains plainly, “so I ‘took a gamble for you’.”

Sokka feels a grin break out on his face, and for just a second, just a moment , sees a ghost of it reflected on Zuko’s features before he goes back to eating his own chips.  Sokka bites his lip, opens his own bag, and tries his best to stifle his grin.

Maybe... the next four months might not be horrid.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Or they might be downright miserable.

It’s been days on the field and no storms have registered.  Sokka’s gathered data from the atmosphere anyways, to have control variables to align their storm readings with, but the mundanity of his actions are nails scraping along his chalkboard brain.  And Sugita.  Is.  Not.  Helping.

“Something blue,” Sokka begs, flashing the man his best puppy dog eyes from where he sits in the passenger seat.  

Zuko doesn’t even take his eyes off the road.  “No.”

“Something blue!  Come on, Sugita, humor me.”

“The sky.”

Sokka looks out the window and squints at the sky.  It’s overcast, a cloudy gray.  

His mouth twists angrily.  

“Sokka, for the last time, I’m driving,” Zuko huffs, hands relaxed in perfect 10-2 formation.  “Don’t distract me.”

Sokka sinks into his seat and leans his head against the window.  Zuko, apparently, can’t be bothered to participate in a game as trivial as I Spy.  Just like he wouldn’t partake in the license plate game (“It’s not like there are many cars on the highway around here, anyways, Sokka.”).  And he wouldn’t give Sokka access to the radio so that he could make Zuko guess what song he was playing.  

Maybe a different type of game would work.

Sokka pulls out his phone, swiping through Buzzfeed quizzes until he finds one that catches his eye.  “Oh, Sugita, this is good.  We’re going to find out what type of fruit you are, fruity boy.”

A choking sound comes from the driver’s seat, and Sokka moves his eyes over to find a completely red-cheeked Zuko.  “How-- you know, that’s very… Have you maybe considered not--” he splutters, shaking his head subtly every other millisecond, as if to remove his thoughts from his own head.

Sokka looks on, flabbergasted, before glancing back down at the Buzzfeed quiz to see if it’s somehow offensive.  He doesn’t find anything particularly vulgar.  Maybe Zuko’s more into vegetables.

“Listen, I just thought it’d be a fun activity!” Sokka justifies, suddenly defensive.

“It’s just-- that’s a little personal, or um, uncomfortable, don’t you think?” Zuko huffs.  Luckily, he’s relaxed a bit, eyes softening but remaining focused on the road ahead of them.

Sokka is so confused-- how on earth is a Buzzfeed quiz uncomfortably personal-- but he tries to ignore the weird tension in the air.  “Indulge me?” he asks, phone limp in his hand as he stares at Zuko.

Zuko doesn’t respond for a few seconds, gnawing on his lower lip.  Finally, he slowly nods.

“Great!” Sokka says, taking the confirmation in stride before Zuko can change his mind.  It’s the first activity idea he’s brought up that Zuko has actually agreed to participate in.  “Okay, first question.”

Zuko tenses.

“What kind of weather do you like?” Sokka reads off.  “Here are the choices: ‘perfectly blue skies and very hot’, ‘I love the rain’, ‘cool but sunny’, or ‘wintry weather’.”

Sokka keeps his eyes and fingers on his phone, anticipating Zuko’s answer, which… ends up taking quite a few seconds. 

Zuko clears his throat.  “Is that… is that the first question?”

“Yeah,” Sokka breathes.  “Did you get all the answer options, or do you need me to repeat them?”

“How does the weather… wasn’t this a quiz on… erm... frutiness?”

“Yeah,” Sokka repeats, losing his patience. This might be worse than a silent car.  “So, what’s your answer, Sugita?”

Zuko clears his throat again.  “Oh.  Um.  Okay, I guess the rain option?  I’m a stormchaser, so… that’s the right answer, right?”

Sokka almost clicks the rain option, but then frowns.  “No, Sugita, you’re supposed to choose what weather you actually like.  Not just like, what your job is about.”

“Uh, okay,” he says softly.  He hums a bit under his breath, and Sokka almost wants to whip open his camera app to get this on video: Zuko, infamous for being an independent stuck-up socially awkward menace… is humming, taking time to truly consider his favorite weather, so serious for a silly Buzzfeed quiz about what fruit he would be.  Katara would kill for a video of this.

Zuko answers before Sokka can decide whether or not to actually catch the moment on film.  “‘Blue skies and very hot’, I think.  I grew up in southern California, so… that’s what I grew up in.  And I like being outside in the summers here, and how perfect weather like that is more of a special treat.”

Sokka clicks on the answer.  “You’re from California, and you voluntarily moved to the midwest?” he asks, before he can gauge whether or not the question sounds judgmental.

Luckily, Zuko easily brushes past it.  “The job here is good, and I have people out here, so...”

Sokka nods, setting the information onto the dustiest shelf in his brain, and then drags his finger on his phone screen to settle onto the next question in this very important quiz.  “Okay, next.  Where in the fruit bowl would you be?  At ‘the very top’, ‘to the side’, ‘in the center’, or ‘at the bottom’?”

Sokka happens to glance over to Zuko as he asks this, and is confused when a blush takes over his right cheek again.

“‘To the side’,” he stammers out quickly.  Sokka quirks up an eyebrow, which Zuko somehow catches in his periphery.  “Listen, that question is a bit… well.  Just.  I don’t want to answer that.”

Sokka looks incredulously at the man.  “Wait, what’s your answer?  You don’t want to answer, or ‘to the side’?”

“‘To the side’,” he growls, fingers agitated on the wheel.  “Next question.”

They roll through the rest of the quiz in the span of a few minutes, and Sokka giggles when he sees the result.  “Sugita, it’s official, you are… a raspberry.”

Zuko takes a few seconds, processing, head cocked, right eye squinting.  “I’m… what?”

“‘Delicious… but so dang delicate,’” Sokka reads from the description.  “Aw, Sugita.  That’s so cute.”

“I’m confused,” Zuko says, shaking his head slightly.  “I thought this was… a fruity quiz.”

“And… it was?” Sokka confirms, confused.  “What, do you not know what a fruit is?”

“No,” Zuko grumbles.  His face is completely flushed.  “I thought you meant, like.  Me being… fruity.  Like… fruity stereotypes, maybe.  Not actual fruit.”

It takes Sokka a second.  It really does.  But then he gets it.  And he feels so stupid.  But he starts laughing.  Once he starts, he can’t stop.  He can’t help it.  He bellows.  He loses his shit.

“Oh my god, Sugita, that’s not-- no, okay, first off, who do you hang around that makes you first associate fruit with like, fruity, instead of like, actual fruit--”

“--Listen, you were the one that called me a fruity boy, okay, and I literally usually ride with Mai and Ty Lee, a known lesbian couple, you know this about me--”

“--oh god, is that why you got so weird when we got to the top or bottom fruit question--”

“--it threw me off, yes, okay, because that’s not just something you casually ask someone--”

“--you know what?  Okay, we need to stop,” Sokka gets out, clenching his fists against his pants, trying to contain his giggles.  But it’s just so damn funny.  The issue, though, is that Zuko and him have not spent nearly enough time together, so Sokka needs to calm the fuck down so Zuko doesn’t take his laughter the wrong way.  “Okay.  Sugita.  No.  I wasn’t asking if you were into guys.  And if it matters, I really don’t care if you are or not.  I’m a little into them myself.  But I was just trying to do a fun quiz with you to pass the time.  Honest.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”  Now that his giggles have subsided, Sokka wants to die.  Zuko’s cheeks are still rouge, and his eyes, focused on the road, seem more purposeful and locked in than ever.  They’ll have to break the tension somehow, sometime, right?  They can’t be in the same van for the next four months with this awkward air, right?   Sokka scrambles for something to say but comes up blank.  He doesn’t want to make Zuko feel uncomfortable, which means he probably shouldn’t go the teasing route.  He can’t think of a different game to play that Zuko would actually agree to, and now he’s wary of choosing more Buzzfeed quizzes to play.  There’s nothing interesting happening outside their windows that Sokka can comment on.  It’s hopeless and there’s nothing to diffuse the awkwardness and--

“What fruit are you?” Zuko asks.

Sokka recognizes the question as a miracle.

“Great question!  Give me a second, hold on….” 

Sokka draws out the quiz for as long as he can, putting pretend effort into considering his options, as if he hadn’t known his own answers five seconds after reading the options out loud to Zuko.  

His quiz result makes him smile.  “I, good sir, am a mango.”

Zuko hums.  “What’s the mango description?”

“I am the life of the party,” Sokka exaggerates.  “It says here that ‘no one has ever been sad or disappointed to see me’.”

Zuko scoffs, lips curling upwards in a small smile.

“What’s so funny?” Sokka asks, putting his phone away.

“I think you should retake that quiz,” he suggests.  His light smile warps his words into such a soothing sound.  “You should’ve seen June when she found out that Mai and Ty Lee were getting temporarily replaced with the most chaotic and grumpy field agent from the south.”

Sokka splutters, voice warped as he protests the insult.  Zuko is biting down what looks to be a smile as Sokka reaches over to smack him lightly on the shoulder, and the rare visual plants itself into Sokka’s head.  

It’s oddly charming.  A fun field season no longer feels like a pipe dream; instead, as the sun catches upon Zuko’s neatly pulled back hair, Sokka feels a reckless sense of tedious optimism.

Tedious being a key word.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

It takes only three hours on the road before a beep resonates from the back of the van.  Sokka’s attention skirts to his equipment.

“Has Suki called anything in?” Sokka asks distractedly, shifting his seat around to get a better view of the wind readings.  He’s fairly certain she hasn’t made contact, but Sokka has had his moments of zoning out over the past hour, so there’s a possibility he missed the alert to be aware of potential new storm formations soon.

“She hasn’t made contact today, except for telling us our assigned destination this morning,” Zuko says, the low timber of his voice falling gently on Sokka’s ears.  Sokka hums in acknowledgement, leaning in closer to the various screens lining the back of the van.

“There’s wind shear ten miles south of here,” Sokka says, turning off the alert from the main computer.  There’s been a tornado watch in effect for an hour in the area, but so far the storm has seemed mild.  He zooms in on their map to analyze the other conditions.  “Atmospheric pressure rates seem to indicate a storm of light strength.  These conditions can easily spawn something; probably not something big, with the wind speeds we’re getting, but we should check out the centerpoint.”

“Okay,” Zuko says, changing lanes and putting on his turn signal.  “I’ll call it into Suki.”  

As Zuko makes the call, Sokka brings his attention back to his models on his computer, scoping out his maps for the perfect place to settle in for the next hour or so.  He finds a grocery store parking lot in the middle of the storm formation, and gives Zuko the directions.  

Zuko gets off the phone and merges onto the highway.  As Zuko presses harder on the gas pedal, Sokka whips out his own phone and connects it to the van’s aux cord.  He skims through his Spotify playlists, eventually landing on one that Toph had made for their field work last year, and presses play without thought.  He’s only just nudged up the volume on his phone when Zuko clears his throat and interrupts him.

“Can you turn down this music?” Zuko grumbles, reaching for the volume knob.

“Music will amp us up.  You can’t have a storm chase without good storm chase music,” Sokka insists, knocking Zuko’s hand out of the way.  Out of spite, Sokka turns the music up louder.  The sound drowns out the rest of Zuko’s complaints, but only momentarily.

“Aren’t you supposed to be focusing on our readings?” Zuko asks loudly.  “You know, which are coming from our equipment?  Which you’re not even looking at?”

“They’re programmed to beep in case stronger winds register,” Sokka reminds him.  “We’ll be fine.”

Zuko slams a hand on the radio and the music shuts off.  An odd sense of fury rustles deep inside of Sokka, but he holds in every protest, not wanting to catch flak from Zuko over being a ‘distraction’.  Sokka turns his seat around entirely so that his sight is forced solely upon the van’s computer monitors.  Nevermind that they haven’t registered any major changes since he last checked the wind patterns.  He won’t give Zuko the satisfaction of seeing how mad he’s made him.

Sokka channels all of his energy into focusing on the monotonous readings, noting the exact wind measurements in his work notebook.  The jottings aren’t necessary, per se, as the computer keeps all the recorded data, but the notes are occasionally useful for field reflection.  Or for giving Sokka a reason to ignore his terrible companion.

Ten minutes later and they’re parked, still not talking to each other.  The van isn’t silent; they have beeping equipment to thank for that; but the tension in the air feels heavier than the storm brewing outside.

“Can you hand me my notebook?” Zuko breaks, shifting to briefly face Sokka.  As soon as Sokka acknowledges the question with a nod, Zuko goes back to typing something out to the central region’s communication hub.

Sokka locates Zuko’s notebook quickly, tucked next to one of their computer monitors, and picks it up with slippery fingers.  It falls open and spills to a random page, one littered with marginal doodles and flowing cursive.  

The temptation to make sense of the combinations of letters is there, and Sokka tries to hold himself back from it, but if he tilts his head it is just too easy to catch a few words here and there--

“The Jasmine Dragon-- (816) 555 - 1429”

“Yasuno’s birthday is February 27th-- do not forget it otherwise Ty Lee and Mai will have my throat.”

“Mai says she left a nail file in my work bag by accident??  And that she needs it mailed to her immediately.  I don’t know why it’s so important to her but here’s a reminder to mail it anyways.”

“Katara and Aang’s baby is named Bumi.  Don’t screw this up, Sokka is his uncle.  Bumi.  B-U-M-I.  Rhymes with loomy.  Is loomy a word????  Maybe doomy.  ROOMY .  Rhymes with roomy.”

“Sokka likes blue doritos, bang energy drinks (the blue razz flavor is his favorite), and gas station hot dogs (relish & mustard).  If he gets sick, remind June that it is not your fault.”

“New music rec from Ty Lee-- Gwen Stefani???”

“Kuzon Elementary-- visit scheduled (ask Suki for more details later)”

“Accidentally came out, kinda, to Sokka.  It was entirely his fault.  It went well though, maybe--”

“--are you reading my journal?” Zuko exclaims, reaching back and grabbing it from Sokka’s greedy hands.  Sokka’s attention snaps back.  Oh, right.  We’re still in the van.  A storm may be brewing.

“Right, uh, sorry--”

“Sorry?  What the hell, Sokka, leave my stuff alone!”

“You’re the one who asked me to grab it!”  Sokka defends.  His eyes finally meet Zuko’s face, and he wishes immediately to be anywhere else.  “Okay, I’m sorry!  I apologize.  I didn’t read much.”

Zuko’s expression is still murderous, but at least the ringtone reserved for central’s communication hub rings out, and Zuko’s forced to answer the call.

As Zuko converses with Suki (or Jin), Sokka drags his attention back towards the van’s equipment.  The readings have calmed down; now, as Sokka takes in the latest wind speeds and directions, any tornado formation possibility seems unlikely.  He sighs; although it’s fairly common to get breaks in the season when the weather doesn’t do anything interesting, he had been hoping for work to break the tension between him and Zuko.  Mother nature clearly doesn’t listen to his desires.

Zuko gets off the phone with central and confirms what Sokka’s been speculating.  “They’re calling us off from waiting around here.  Nothing’s likely to spawn, so we’ll just patrol closer to where our original estimate of a potential storm was, and grab some readings from there.”

“Right,” Sokka sighs, turning his seat back towards the front of the car.  He lays his head against the glass window.  “Okay.”

Outside, a patter of rain is making a bad attempt to fall from the sky.  The clouds are playing coy.  

Sokka has never craved activity more.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

The first serious storm alarm finally comes in after two weeks.

“There’s storm wind formations due west of here,” Sokka says, examining the data rolling into the car’s monitoring system.  “Give or take eight miles.”

Zuko shifts into the other lane of the lonely highway.  “Roger that, heading west now.  Any updates from Suki?”

Sokka swivels to check the communications device in the car.  Suki’s sent a few recent messages through to them, and Sokka skims them quickly.  “A handful of people have called in reports of a funnel cloud.  No ground contact yet, but something’s definitely forming.  A tornado warning is in effect for the area.  A watch has been in effect there for the past hour and a half.”

Zuko grunts in acknowledgement before speeding up the car.  Sokka examines the readings closer.  A small smile forms on his face; finally, they get to see some action.  

The roads have emptied almost completely, so they arrive at their temporary workspace in only a few minutes.  He doesn’t need to look towards the equipment screens to know where the storm will spawn hellfire; a swirl of clouds wraps beautifully around itself only a distance away.

“There she is,” Sokka says, grinning wider.  “Finally.”

The sky bursts open, a portal of circulating air breaking though the clouds, reaching for the ground.  Sokka codes the equipment to turn towards the column, feeling a sense of triumph as data starts pouring into their system.  Distantly, he hears Zuko make contact with Suki and the control center, but he finds himself too enraptured by the storm to pay his work partner much attention.  

Gusts of winds hit the van and create the vortex of atmosphere that Sokka reveres greatly.  Here, protected by layers of metal, he can indulge a sense of peace among the faintest howls of mother nature’s riot.  The sky is leaking a violent color, a pretty palate complimenting the occasional burst of tan dirt and wood sent flying.  The nearby fields of corn stalks look as if they’re glistening green waves, shuttering gently to every whimsical tug of the wind.

Sokka closes his eyes.  Inside the darkness of his mind and body, the storm isn’t demanding attention.  Somewhere, millions of miles above them all, the sun’s surface is bubbling brightly as usual, indifferent to the clouds wrecking their own havoc on this speck of Earth.  

He basks in this powerful, gentle disregard.

“You okay?”  Zuko’s voice, unnaturally gentle, asks.

Sokka opens his eyes slowly.  Zuko’s face is soft in the heather light, eyebrows crinkled slightly in concern.

“Yeah,” Sokka rasps.  “Why?”

“It’s just, you’ve got a little tear in the corner of your eye,” Zuko says, gesturing towards Sokka’s left ear.

Sokka huffs happily, and brushes both corners of his eyes, just to be safe.  “Sorry.  It’s just from the wind.”

“We’re in a government-grade secure van.”

“Yeah.  Just the wind.”

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Data collection lasts for three hours, although the worst of the storm finishes in mere minutes.  They follow the storm until it’s declassified as a supercell, and then they find themselves in Bumfuck, Missouri.  Zuko calls into central, and Suki routes them towards the nearest hotel so that they can rest for the night.  

It’s a thirty minute drive.  Small talk doesn’t seem as daunting as usual, now that they’ve got a storm together under their belt.

“The sky needs to keep this up,” Sokka drawls, smiling out the window as Zuko carefully drives (which, in itself, is pointless, as there are still no other cars on the road).  “Beautiful formations, never hitting us too close, and far away from humanity.  I can’t think of anything more perfect.”

“A world without any storms at all, maybe,” Zuko mutters.  Sokka catches the slightest lilt to his voice, though, and smiles at it.

“Touché, Sugita.  Although, I’m obligated to point out that we would be unemployed in that universe.”

“Good.  I’d rather be a hermit.”

Not even Zuko’s curt answers can dull Sokka’s glistening excitement from the day’s activities.  The rest of the drive Sokka rambles about the data they collected, and Zuko occasionally hums in reply.  As soon as they park at the hotel, Sokka uses his energy to rip off his seatbelt and jostle his way outside immediately.

Zuko’s much slower than him, but that’s all right.  Sokka breathes in, admiring the fresh and moist air around him.  It’s almost as if he can feel the most tender of caresses from the miniscule water molecules in the air, brushing against his temporarily closed eyelids.  It’s a simple comfort.  He indulges in it.

As they enter the building, some classical music playing from the hotel bar catches Sokka’s attention.  The thought of settling down into a bar stool with a cold beer, instead of bickering about who gets first shower with Zuko back in their hotel room, is indecently tempting.  Truly, the apple of Eden.  Zuko’s hit the elevator button for their room and Sokka makes up his mind.

“Hey, Sugita, it’s been a long day, I’m going to go unwind with a drink at the bar.”

“Oh.”  Zuko blinks, his face wiped clean of previous exhaustion.  “Oh, okay.  Can we run up to the room to drop my stuff off first?”

Sokka’s mind clears.  He hadn’t-- part of the allure of the bar was that Zuko wouldn’t be there with-- He just wants a beer-- “Uh, yeah.  Okay.”

It takes a minute to make it back downstairs.  The entire time, Sokka is silent.  It’s like he’s been hit with whiplash; finally, there’s an opportunity to get some alone time and completely relax, but somehow Zuko has wormed his way into his plans carelessly, yet seamlessly.  It would be impressive, if Sokka wasn’t in shock.

They reach the bar again, and over the soft classical music is the din of a busy space.  The tables are crowded, and the majority of patrons seem to be watching a baseball game on one of the many television screens scattered across the room.  That leaves Sokka with only one desirable option.

“Want to sit at the bar?” Sokka offers. 

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees easily, stumbling closer to Sokka as two people move past him.  Sokka instinctively grabs onto Zuko’s arm, pulling him closer and leading him forwards.  They grab two open seats next to each other, and Sokka’s quietly relieved that at least he won’t have to be looking Zuko straight in the face.

The bartender is quick to get their drafts of beer before them, and when Sokka finally feels the beer foam hit his mouth and the bitter liquid spill down his throat, he feels much more relaxed.  He doesn’t drink often, but it’s a nice occasional vice for him.  

Zuko sips his beer slowly beside him.  Sokka doesn’t feel obligated to engage him in conversation as they drink, so instead, he focuses on the baseball game.

After some time has passed by, and they’ve been served another round, Sokka notices Zuko tapping his fingers incessantly on the wood bar.  Sokka abandons the baseball game to look at him.

“You good?”  Sokka asks, in between sips of his beer.

“Hm?”  Zuko hums, eyes focused somewhere behind Sokka.

Sokka usually wouldn’t look, out of courtesy for the person looking, but he reserves no such niceties for Zuko.  He spins around in his seat, and finds himself facing a small group of men, boisterously enjoying their night.

“Who are you looking at, exactly?”  Sokka asks.

Zuko slaps him on the shoulder, lightly.  “Stop that.  Stop looking at them.”

“Not until you tell me who you’re looking at,”  Sokka whispers conspiratorially, keeping his eyes trained on the group.

“You’re acting like a child,” Zuko mutters.  Nothing happens for a few seconds, and then Zuko leans closer into Sokka’s space, so that he can talk lowly by his ear.  “Okay, fine.  The cowboy.”

“The cowboy?” Sokka asks absent-mindedly, before spotting the man that Zuko must be talking about.  He’s a tall guy with a great tan, which is absolutely ruined by the cowboy hat atop his sandy hair.  

“See something you like?”  Sokka slowly questions, teasingly.  Zuko pulls away from him, and Sokka looks over at him, quirking an eyebrow up.  

Zuko’s fingers twitch and a blush takes over his right cheek.  “Shut up.”

“So,” Sokka says, voice light, “didn’t know you’re into cowboys.  Giddy up, huh?”

Zuko groans and covers his face in his hands.  “Stop, I’m not.”

“Sure,” Sokka’s mouth twists, “you’re just making sweet eyes at that fella over there, probably taking fashion notes down.  Totally not ogling him.  So, I gotta be honest with you, Zuko, I don't think you have what it takes to pull off a cowboy hat.”

Zuko kicks him in the shin.  Sokka accidentally slams his head on the bar wood when he instinctively hunches into himself.

“I’m just trying to read his shirt,” Zuko grumbles, reaching out for his drink.  “It’s mostly covered up by his flannel, so it’s been taking me awhile.”

Sokka glances over at the man, who, beneath his cowboy hat, is also wearing a bolo tie, a dark brown flannel, bootcut jeans, and,of course, tacky brown cowboy boots.  If he squints, Sokka can make out part of a graphic t-shirt that the man’s got on under his flannel.  He can’t read what it says, either, much to Zuko’s benefit.

“Fine,” Sokka huffs.  “Bet you ten dollars it says something stupid.”

“I don’t have a spare ten dollars to lose so easily,” Zuko sighs.  

“Is that your type, then?  If not cowboys, then guys who wear lame graphic t-shirts?” Sokka asks, finishing off his beer, signaling to the bartender for another.

“Sure.  A guy appears in front of me with a graphic tee and khaki shorts, and my heart just skips all its beats.  Instant boner,” Zuko grumbles sarcastically, before turning aggressive.  “What’s it to you, anyways?”

“Hey, now!”  Sokka protests, flinging up his arms innocently.  “I’m not kinkshaming, I’m just trying to get to know my lovely new work partner a bit better.”

Sokka feels Zuko’s scrutinizing eyes on him for a few seconds, and sighs in relief when they finally drag back to face the bar.  

Zuko never replies to Sokka’s implied question of what he’s actually into.  Sokka isn’t enough of an idiot to push the question, so instead he flips the topic over.

“What do you think are my chances with this crowd?”  Sokka asks airily.  His scans of the other patrons have so far been fruitless, not that he’s really been looking.

Zuko turns his head, and a strand of hair falls out of his bun and partially shields his face from Sokka.  “You’re tall and loud and confident for no reason.  Maybe someone desperate will waste their time with you.”

Sokka mimics glee, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.  “Aw, Sugita, I never thought you’d feel that way about me.  Next thing I know, you’ll be calling me pretty.”

“Yeah,” he mutters under his breath.  “Pretty fucking annoying.”

Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh that was at your expense--

Sokka laughs.  

“All right, I’m going to the bathroom,” Sokka says, going with the first excuse that comes to mind that would let him recollect himself somewhere, well, not around Zuko.  It’s been a solid three minutes of conversation with the man.  Now he needs a break.  “Don’t get too lonely without me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Zuko replies, just when Sokka’s almost out of earshot.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to locate the restroom.  After he’s done, he washes his hands and catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror.  The pleasure of a day well spent is embodied in his parted lips and bright eyes.  He clears his throat, shoots his reflection a wink, and reaches for the door to leave.

He’s made it halfway back to the bar when he sees that Zuko’s somehow found himself company.  The cowboy they were joking about has made his way over to lean against Sokka’s empty seat, and he now looms over Zuko, who’s sat down compactly.  An uneasy feeling spreads itself through Sokka’s gut.  He rushes over.

“--was the saying? ‘Left is right, right is wrong,’ or am I mistaken?  You look like you’d know something about that, pretty boy.”  The cowboy’s voice is annoying.  He’s leaning far too close into Zuko’s personal space.  His hands are far too bony, and far too close to Zuko’s body. One reaches towards Zuko’s left ear, where a silver stud rests among burned skin.  Zuko flinches.  Sokka shoves his way through a few more patrons.

“Uh, I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The gay ear.  Your piercing… are you a little f--”

Sokka is finally close enough to get a hand onto Zuko’s shoulder.  “Sugita!  I missed you, buddy.”  He shuffles closer to Zuko’s left side and takes his time letting his eyes wander over to the cowboy, who’s cleared his throat.  “Oh,” Sokka fake-starts, before letting out a giggle, “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

The cowboy’s eyes narrow, but a reluctant fake smile dresses his face.  

“‘Fraid we haven’t had that pleasure,” he rasps.  “Don’t mind me, I just wanted to check in with your friend, here--”

“All righty, so you’re done here?  Great!”  Sokka boasts, tightening his grip onto Zuko.

Zuko’s face scrunches up, and he pushes Sokka’s hand off of him.  “Sokka, it’s fine.  We were just having a conversation.  Cory was just leaving, weren’t you, Cory?”

His voice is tinged with steel resolve.  Sokka looks at him with wide eyes.  Something massive churns in the pit of his stomach.  He can’t pinpoint the emotion of the sensation.  He glances away from Zuko in whip-lashing confusion.

“Right,” Cory’s voice tumbles.  He begins to walk away, but before going, he leans into Sokka and mutters into his ear, “I’d watch out about your friend, if I were you.  You never know when boys like that get a little too comfortable with ya.”

Sokka wants to lunge at him, but somehow one of Zuko’s hands gets a solid grip around his arm, and Sokka is stuck in place with a scowl on his face as Cowboy Cory saunters away.

“It’s not worth it, you know,” Zuko breaks, releasing Sokka.  “His graphic t-shirt said ‘F.B.I.: Female Body Inspector’.  Quite the letdown.”

Any aggression left festering in his mind abates instantly.  “That,” Sokka laughs out, “is the stupidest t-shirt I could ever imagine.”

Zuko has a small smile on his face.  “The font was in American flag colors.”

Sokka laughs harder.

“I think, at that point, the only thing that could make it worse would be if it had a scantily-clad pinup girl graphic below the text,” Zuko continues.

Damn.  Maybe Zuko’s funny.  

The rest of the time at the bar is spent enjoying the broken tension.  They take turns poking gentle fun at the other patrons, creating false backstories for some of the more interesting figures.  

After two hours and three drinks have gone by, they stumble their way back to their hotel room.  Sokka’s worse off than Zuko, so he’s grateful for Zuko’s solid body helping to hold him up as they meander through the hotel hallways.  When they arrive, Sokka immediately throws himself belly-first onto the bed closest to the window and resolves to not move until morning.  

“Hey, Sugita,” he mumbles, halfway to sleep.  “You have an ear piercing.  Do you know?  If your piercing is in the gay ear?”

He hears Zuko huff, hopefully out of laughter rather than annoyance.  “Sokka, come on.  I’m gay.  Both of my ears are the gay ears.”

Sokka greets unconsciousness with a small smile still stuck on his face.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks pass by in gusts of lazy winds and sips of shitty gas station coffee.  Sokka begins keeping tally of the number of Cracker Barrel billboards that they pass (so far, they’re up to fifteen, and Zuko refuses to detour to Cracker Barrel every time Sokka audibly adds a tally).

Their hotel for the night looks identical to every one that they’ve been set up in so far, and Sokka is quick to claim the bed closest to the window.  Zuko gets dibs on the first shower, and as Sokka begins rifling through his suitcase, picking out his pajamas with clumsy hands, the water starts running.  

Toph calls him as he’s slipping on a flannel.

“Toph!  What’s gucci, girl?”

“Snozzles, regrettably, I wish you were here right now,” Toph sighs into the phone.  Her exasperation puts a fond smile on Sokka’s face.  “Aang’s been narrating what’s happening outside our hotel window for the past ten minutes. He’s telling me too much about the birds on the telephone pole, I can’t keep up.  I was interested at first, because he kept saying something about a ‘murder’” --“it’s a group of crows, I already explained this to you, Toph!” Aang’s muffled voice says in the background-- “but that turned out to be boring, too, and I really need you here right now so that you can confirm or deny my suspicion that our hotel is right next to a poppin’ strip club.”

Sokka smiles broadly as Aang makes more muffled protests in the background.  “Toph, don’t you go tempting my sister’s husband into a strip club with you.”

“Snoozles, I’m not going to make him go, I’m simply asking him to confirm its presence. And then maybe, like, I don’t know, asking him to tell me exactly how far away it is, and in what direction.”

Sokka chuckles, a full-bodied happiness overtaking him. “Sure, Toph. Whatever you say.”

“Anyways,” she says, “how are things with you?  Got any strip clubs next to your hotel?”

“I’m not that lucky,” Sokka exaggerates. “But, that aside, things are going well.”

“How’s Sparky doing?”

“Sparky?”

“Zuko.  Zuko Sugita.  Sparky.  How is he?  Still alive, I hope?”

Sokka reflexively looks over his shoulder, but Zuko’s still in the shower.  “He’s all right, I guess. He still won’t let me control the music in the van,” he sulks, a little more quietly than usual, just in case the walls are thin.

Toph laughs.  “What’s he making you listen to, then? Queen?  Michael Jackson?  Madonna?  There was a lot of Madonna when we rode together.  Ty Lee got both Mai and Zuko really into her, even before the three of them started riding together.”

“We’re not listening to anything,” Sokka grumbles. “He’s really hit or miss on the games I try to draw him into, also.  He’s really focused on driving.  It’s so weird.”

“Oh, yeah.  It’s so weird that he’s, you know, focusing on his job, while he’s on the clock.  Couldn’t be us.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, even though he knows Toph can’t see him.  “Whatever.  Anyways, yeah, there’s no music.  And there’s limited conversation, but I guess it’s not the worst.  Most of the noise in the car comes from the equipment, but there have barely been any storms to track.  It’s just… different from the usual.  It’s a slow season up here, which definitely isn’t helping.”

“It’s slow down here, too,” Toph sighs.  Sokka can mentally picture her, spread-eagle on a hotel bed, picking at her feet as she talks to him.  “I miss the action so much.  Aang misses it too, but don’t tell your sister that, because she’s overjoyed about the clear weather.  Something about ‘Aang avoiding danger’.  But honestly, we’re not in that much danger!  It’d take a real badass storm to even shake Appa.”

Sokka bites down his smile at the mention of his sister.  “You know Katara’s just extra worried this season.  She and Aang have Bumi to worry about now.”

“Stop making me feel sympathy,” Toph groans.  “I just want to let off some steam.”

Sokka laughs.  “Okay, fine.  Let’s change the subject.  What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s go back to you and Sparky,” Toph says, somewhat conspiratorially.  “He’s really not playing Michael Jackson?”

“No.  Sugita hasn’t played any music with me in the car.  Are you jerking my chain?”

“Only in your wildest fantasies, Snoozles.”

“Eugh, gross,” Sokka groans, turning to smother his face in the hotel pillows.  

“But for real.  He hasn’t played anything?  He and Mai always had music playing when I rode with them.”

“No!  Are you seriously telling me that he listens to music?  For fun.  Zuko Sugita.”

“Yeah!  Damn, Sokka, what’d you do to him that he doesn’t even play music around you?”

“Nothing!  I swear!”  Sokka groans. He cringes as he remembers the Buzzfeed quiz confusion.  Maybe that was why?  Or maybe he was still pissed over the journal-reading incident?  But Zuko hadn’t been playing music before those things had happened, so… “There are moments when I think that maybe, just maybe, we’re getting somewhere, that we’re bonding, you know?  Most of the time, I want to like him.  Things would be easier if I liked him.  But he’ll randomly shut off my music or cut me off when I’m talking to him, and he gets on my nerves that way.  I don’t know what his deal is.”

“He can manage to shut you up?”  Toph laughs.  “Man, Aang and I should try to enlist him to drive with all of us next year! Imagine the glorious moments of silence we could get.  He could probably help us set a world record for the Longest Time Sokka’s Been Quiet.  I’ve gotta tell Katara about this, she’ll probably start liking him all the more.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Sokka grumbles.  She’s not taking the situation seriously at all.  He hears the shower turn off in the bathroom and sighs.  “Toph, I have to go.  Someone’s coming out.”

“Hate to remind you, Snoozles, but the both of you have already come out,” she giggles.

“Ha ha,” Sokka deadpans, glancing over at the bathroom door; still closed.  “By the way,” he says lowly, although he’s not actually angry, “you could’ve told me he’s into guys.  It would have made me look less like an idiot when I stumbled my way into finding out.”

“Hard to look less like an idiot when, deep down, you are an idiot,” Toph says.  Sokka can hear the smile on her face, and though his mind wants to protest the insult, he doesn’t have the energy.  “At least now he knows that you’re genuinely a fool.  Anyways, sleep tight, Sokka.  Talk to you later?”

“Sounds good,” Sokka says, before bidding her a good night and hanging up the phone.  He throws the phone to the foot of his bed, closes his eyes, and starts counting sheep in his head.  He’s approaching eighty when Zuko busts out of the bathroom, breaking his concentration.

Zuko goes to put away his clothes, clad in only his bedtime boxers and a baggy tee shirt, and Sokka has to force his eyes away to get the focus to grab his toothbrush. When Sokka comes back from brushing his teeth, Zuko has lost his shirt; Sokka averts his eyes after Zuko’s bare chest manages to burn itself onto his retinas.

“Want me to turn off the light?” Sokka croaks, before clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Zuko replies absent-mindedly, folding himself under his blankets.

Zuko’s bare chest ends up re-covered before Sokka submerges them into darkness.  Not that he’s paying attention to that.  At all.

That night, Sokka dreams of being chased.  He doesn’t turn back to face his attacker; instead, the mere sound of heavy footprints are enough to send him sprinting, down a familiarly enigmatic straight country road.  There are no buildings to take cover by.  Sokka’s shoelaces are untied.  He’s going to lose this chase. There’s no safe place in sight.  There’s no point in evasive maneuvering.

He keeps running forward, anyways.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Sokka wakes up before Zuko.

It’s the first time since working the field that he hasn’t awoken because of Zuko rustling around in his luggage.  Sokka basks in the relaxed hum of the air conditioning unit, slowly massaging his mind into awareness.  There is no presence chasing him here.  There is only Zuko, in the next bed over. 

He turns his focus to the window and is greeted by a sky still too tired to change into a belly of periwinkle.  There’s a dash of clouds littering the dawn, a patch of birds crouched on a lone telephone pole, and, if he looks inside to the right and squints, Sokka can make out a small growth of black (mold? eugh) on the corner of their ceiling.

He rubs his eyes and sits up slowly, silently, to look over at Zuko.  The other man is curled up on his side, knees drawn up to his chest.  Slivers of waning moonlight cross against his face, illuminating him in an ethereal way.  Sokka rubs at his eyes again, just to make sure he’s not lucidly imagining the scene in front of him.  Zuko’s long black hair is resting against his pillow, unbound by the messy bun he usually throws it in.  Little noises of sleep come from his nose; not loud enough to be snores, but substantial enough to demand acknowledgement.

This image of Zuko, serene and compact, rattles its way into Sokka’s mind.  It’s difficult to liken this version of the man to the one he’s grown familiar with in the car; he’s softer, here, and more entrancing.  Neither versions of these Zukos align with the endearing figure his friends claim to love. (“He’s a nice guy,” a memory of Aang repeats.  “He’s a softie and a total dork,” memory-Toph insists.)  Sokka bites down on his lip; somehow, in his gut, Zuko’s just out of touch, and all the more intriguing.  Sokka can’t help his thoughts from tumbling down the possibilities of which fragments of Zuko’s personality he hasn’t quite unearthed yet.

(How old was he when he got his piercing?  When did he decide to grow out his hair?  All of his bathroom products smell of jasmine, is that on purpose?  How did he choose to chase storms for a living?  What’s his favorite color?  His zodiac sign?  Coke or Pepsi?)

Eventually, a rustling comes from Zuko’s bed, and Sokka watches him stretch into a sitting position, eyes blinking into consciousness slowly.

Zuko looks over to Sokka, taking in his much more awake state.  “Hey,” Zuko croaks, rubbing at his eyes.  His rogue voice makes something tight get lodged in Sokka’s throat.

Sokka looks away and grabs a change of clothes.  “You snore in your sleep,” he quips quickly, forcing a flicker of aggression into his voice, before standing up and escaping to the bathroom.  He grips the bathroom countertop, nails pressed into fake granite.  He avoids looking at his reflection as he brushes his teeth.  It’s pointless, in a way, because the uneasiness he knows he’d see in his own eyes has already settled at the bottom of his stomach.

He doesn’t look up, anyways.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Suki’s voice sounds oddly sticky in their morning check-in call.  Sokka’s not sure if there’s something wrong with Zuko’s phone, something wrong with Suki’s health, or if the warped effect is really just because her words are making no sense at all.

“Haha, okay, you think you’re so funny, but come on, Suki,” Sokka nervously laughs into the cellphone against his ear.  “Where are we actually going today?”

“Kuzon Elementary.  In Omashu.”  Suki’s voice is deadpan as she repeats herself.  Sokka feels his hesitant smile drip off his face.

“What’s happening?” Zuko asks from the driver’s seat, looking concerned.  His body is twisted completely to face Sokka.  His seatbelt isn’t even on.  Sokka finds himself focusing on Zuko’s chest.  It’s covered by a plain black tight t-shirt, and Sokka wonders that if he was to press a hand against it, would it feel soft or solid...

“...arranged with the principal for an assembly around 11AM, so you two need to leave for the school within the hour, okay?”

Sokka is hearing what Suki is saying.  He really is.  He just doesn't understand.

“There are conditions fitting a potential storm twenty miles southwest of here,” Sokka reminds her, glancing back at his tracking equipment.  “I don’t understand.”

Zuko reaches over and tugs on the edge of Sokka’s flannel shirt.  “What’s going on?”

“We’re sending a different team over to monitor that situation,” Suki explains.  “Listen, you and Zuko have been working the field non-stop lately.  Enjoy the little break.  Teach some rowdy kids about how to be safe in scary storms.”

“What’s she saying?” Zuko asks, tugging again, now on Sokka’s sleeve.

Sokka slides the phone off his face.  “We’re doing an elementary school assembly presentation today, apparently,” he mutters, before bringing the phone back to his ear.  Zuko lets go of his wrist and leans back in his seat.  “You’re being serious, right, Suki?  We’re not going to have June calling us later, firing us for playing hooky?”

Suki laughs, tinny through the phone.  “Come on, Sokka, do you really think I’d do something so deceitful?”

Sokka considers this.  Zuko sighs and rubs at his eyes.

“Sokka, sorry, I forgot to tell you,” Zuko admits sheepishly, and Sokka instantly stops thinking of all Suki’s pranks throughout the years (if she used to give out his number to the crummy guys that hit on her at bars, then who’s to say that she wouldn’t mess around with him at work?).  Zuko, to his credit, looks a little shy, a little guilty.  “June got me into contact with their principal about a month ago, and we coordinated our schedule for today.  I don’t know if you do these visits often in the Southern region, but my team usually does a handful each season.  I meant to bring it up earlier, but I guess the event got buried in my mental calendar.”

“An assembly,” Sokka echoes.

“Yeah,” Zuko says softly.  “Sorry, I really meant to tell you earlier.”

“Besides, Sokka,” Suki’s voice rumbles from the phone, “you’re an uncle, right?  Bumi loves you.  You’re good with kids!”

“Bumi’s not even a year old,” Sokka manages airily.  

“Okay, well, this is an elementary school, so, what’s a few years' difference?” Suki asks innocently.

Little beady eyes.  Little beady eyes attached to little bony bodies with little big mouths that can yell and boo and cry.  Little arms that can push him off the auditorium stage.  Little fists that can throw punches at Zuko from his blind spot.  Little fingers that can yank down his pants as a prank and indecently expose him in front of so many little beady eyes, and what then?  Prison?  Prison for indecent exposure, just from a simple work presentation.  Prison?  Is this job worth potential prison time?

“Sokka, snap out of it,” Zuko interrupts his train of thought, snapping his fingers in front of Sokka’s face.  “It’s just for an hour.”

“What Zuko said,” Suki agrees through the phone.  “You guys have got this in the bag.  On an unrelated note, can you hand the phone over to Zuko real quick?”

Sokka follows her request wordlessly.

Zuko makes a lot of listening noises beside him, but ends up hanging up with Suki pretty quickly, as Sokka distracts himself with a string on the hem of his pants.  

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Sokka croaks.

Zuko levels him a stare.  “The assembly starts at 11AM.  It’ll be over within an hour, I promise.  I’ll stop first for some coffee and gas, but then I’m going to start driving over there.”

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

It’s as terrible as he expects.  They stand off to the side of the auditorium stage as the principal introduces them, and Sokka feels his anxiety begin to pour out of his body, until he’s left with shaky hands.  He reaches out and tugs on Zuko’s sleeve.

“Sugita,” he murmurs.  “I have to tell you something.”

To his credit, Zuko gives him all of his attention.  “What is it?”

Sokka’s eyes flit between Zuko and center stage.  “I’m, uh.  Well.  Not the best public speaker.”

Zuko is silent, focused on Sokka, but he doesn’t have anything else to say.  Zuko clears his throat after a long pause.  “Well, Qanik, the good news is that our audience is entirely second graders.”

Sokka bites down on his lip.  “Yeah, Sugita, I don’t know how much that’ll improve things.  Arguably, it could be worse.  They’ll have those little beady child eyes, you know?  And I can’t even do the ‘imagine them in their underwear’ trick, because they’re kids!  And I’m not a pervert!”

Zuko’s eyebrow draws in, and his cheeks puff as if he wants to say something, but he seems to shake it off.  “All right.  Sokka, it’s time for me to tell you something, too.”

“Oh god,” Sokka mutters, heart dropping, eyes shutting.  “Don’t tell me you also have stage fright.”

“I don’t have stage fright,” Zuko says plainly.  “But I do have a powerpoint to go off of.  And notes.  That we’ll be using for the presentation.  That I regularly do multiple times during field season.  So, just… don’t worry about it so much.  I’ll do most of the talking.  You can just stand there and look pretty.”

The anxiety catching in his throat loosens its grip as Zuko talks.  He forces himself to take a few deep breaths, in and out.  If he really concentrates, he can tune out the pittering of children’s noises coming from beyond the curtain, the only virtue shielding them from view.

Zuko’s hand brushes against Sokka’s shoulder, and his concentration flows to just that simple pressure.  Sokka moves his eyes to Zuko’s.

“It’s only an hour,” Zuko says softly, as the principal begins to quiet down the kids.  “Afterwards, let’s go get burgers or something, okay?”

Sokka exhales.  “Milkshakes, too?”

“Sure,” Zuko huffs.  “Milkshakes, too.”

How far can this go.  “You’ll pay?”

Zuko bites down on his lower lip.  “Fine.  Burgers and milkshakes after this.  Now come on, the principal just introduced us, we have to get on stage.”

With that, Zuko shoves Sokka forwards, and he finds himself stumbling in front of the stage curtain.  A projector is set up in the front of the stage, displaying something behind them.  The principal (Sokka’s already forgotten his name) smiles and beckons them forward.  Sokka gulps before moving to stand at the side of the podium.  Zuko clears his throat and settles in right behind it.

Sokka folds his hands behind his back and grips his shaking fingers tightly.

Zuko opens his mouth.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Zuko ends up covering the basic facts.

One: the two of them are storm chasers.  They spend their summers on the road, tracking wind patterns and gathering data from storms classified as “supercells”. These supercell storms have around a 20% chance of spawning tornadoes, also called twisters, which…

Two: are extremely dangerous.  An average thunderstorm runs a 5% chance of causing damage, but tornadoes are much more disastrous.  They have a distinct appearance (cue Zuko showing pictures of various tornadoes, which makes the kids ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’, and leads to the principal interrupting to clarify that storms are “actually very bad, even if they look pretty”).  Each tornado is ranked on a scale of F1-F5, with F5’s being the most dangerous.  The ranks are based on how fast the wind speeds are.  (“Uh, actually, no that’s a great question don’t worry, but no, even if you Naruto run, you won’t be able to go as fast as a tornado.”)

Three:  if you see a tornado forming, tell an adult right away, and get to a safe spot.  Safe spots can differ depending on where you are, but since most midwest houses have basements, go into a basement if you can, and cover your body in a blanket to help protect you from debris. (“Debris?  Oh, that’s like, uh, flying trash.  Great question.  What?  No, no, it’s not really to protect you from smelling bad, just to protect you from things falling onto you and maybe getting stuck-- well, I mean, it’s to help you not get hurt.  But if something smelly falls on you, then, uh, wait out the storm and take a bath after.”)

The presentation runs its course in thirty minutes, and then the principal steps back onto the stage when Zuko’s finished up with their powerpoint.

“Let’s take the next 15 minutes to split into our classes to ask Mr. Sugita and Mr. Qanik some questions, okay?” he announces.

Sokka looks over to Zuko, panicked.  They’re about to be separated. They’re about to be separated.  Someone’s going to ask Sokka (!) to talk.

Zuko opens his mouth to say something, but the principal acts too quickly, turning to face Sokka.  

“You can go with Ms. Abram’s class, and Mr. Sugita, I’ll take you with Mr. Myer’s class,” the principal says.  Sokka’s eye flutters impulsively as he tries to subdue his panic.

“Oh, uh,” Zuko starts, before relaxing his hunched shoulders.  “All right.  Sokka?  We’ll meet back up again pretty soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Sokka croaks, plastering a smile when the principal turns his way once more.  With that, Zuko (the traitor) leaves, and Sokka takes a deep breath before turning around to face… oh god, twenty little faces.

“Hi,” several of them say at once. 

Sokka chuckles nervously.  “Hello, kids.  How do you do?”

How do you do?????

One of them, intimidatingly assertive despite her butterfly-clipped hair, scrunches her nose and tugs on his sleeve.  “You should stay here forever.”

What a sickening omen.  “Haha, what do you mean?” he asks nervously, crouching down to her level.  “Why should I stay here?”

“Mr. Sugaga said that you watch the storms, but if you’re not in your car, then you can’t watch the storms, so there are no storms.  Just stay inside.”  Her logical conclusion is completed with an unfiltered sneeze that tickles Sokka’s exposed neck.  His eye twitches.

Sokka rubs a hand over the spit and puts on the most convincing smile he can muster.  “That’s a nice thought, but actually, all of humanity is just at the beck and call of an unknowable Mother Nature.”

The tiny girl just blinks.  “My mom’s name is Candace.”

The majority of his conversations with the second graders continue on in this fashion.  Once the kids have calmed down from asking their most pertinent questions (“If tornadoes are so cool then why are they bad?” and “What if the tornado comes into the basement?”), Sokka catches a glimpse of a middle-aged woman walking up to the pseudo-circle they’ve all settled down in.  She quickly introduces herself as Ms. Abram, and immediately begins to beckon the kids back to their classroom.  Sokka wants to propose marriage.

Before he can get up, though, one of the girls who had sat quiet near the back approaches him.  Sokka tightens his stomach muscles and plasters on one more smile.  “Hey there, miss.  What can I do for you?”

“I have a secret,” she whispers, looking down at her black mary janes.  

“Oh, yeah?” Sokka prompts.  What’s the protocol for this?  Do I have to tell her teacher the secret, too?  Is she about to confess something awful?  Why did she choose to share whatever this is with me, of all people?  What--

She leans in close.  Sokka stiffens.

“I have a twister in my house,” she confesses, a huff of breath tickling Sokka’s ear.  “Should I get rid of it?”

“You have a twister in your house?” Sokka echoes in a quiet voice, trying to run through the possibilities of meanings behind her words.  “Like a picture of one?”

The little girl shakes her head rapidly before learning back to his ear.  “When Carla comes over my mom lets me play a twister with her.  Is it gonna blow up my house?”

“Oh,” Sokka exclaims, relieved in his newfound understanding of juvenile interpretations.  “You mean the twister game, with all the colored circles, right?”

The little girl nods seriously.

“Don’t worry, your house is safe,” Sokka declares.  “The only twisters that do damage come from the sky, so the twister that your mom lets you play at your house is definitely good.  It won’t blow up your house, I promise.”

The girl lets out a breath, finally appeased.  “Thanks, mister.  I don’t wanna be homeless.”

She leaves before Sokka gets a chance to reply, which is fortunate, because he doesn’t have any words to reply with.  He raises his eyes, following her footsteps, and finds Zuko, leaning against the main entrance door with the principal.  Zuko offers him a shaky smile.  Sokka raises his hand in greeting.

He pushes himself up and dusts off his knees just as they approach.  The principal goes through the motions of thanking them, and finally, they bid their goodbyes, leaving the school and heading back to the van.

Sokka feels lighter as soon as they cross the threshold of the front door.  

“Glad that’s over,” he breathes, raising his head to look at the blue sky.

“Yeah, that must have been so tough for you, standing next to me while I presented,” Zuko snidely remarks.  Sokka interprets it as a rough attempt at a joke.

“It’s hard work being the eye candy,” Sokka teases, leaning in to nudge Zuko softly.  He laughs.  Sokka smiles before attempting something more genuine.  “You know, Sugita, you did-- I mean, you were like-- uh.”  The words aren’t coming.

He just wants to say that Zuko did a good job with the presentation, but now his tongue is twisting over itself.  Zuko stands still in front of him, face confused, but Sokka can’t produce a single sound.  He ends up reaching up and giving Zuko a pat on the back, hitting him twice before whipping around and rushing towards the van.  He’s finally able to let out a choking sound once he’s out of Zuko’s earshot, his forehead slammed against the van window.  He rests like this for a few moments. Zuko clicks the car unlocked, and he finally settles himself into his seat.

“You know.  Good job,” Sokka eloquently conveys as Zuko opens his own door.  Zuko nods in acknowledgement, clears his throat, and puts the keys into the van.  Sokka desperately looks outside for distractions, and finds none.

“Oh.  Thanks, I guess,” Zuko replies, turning on the ignition and reaching out to the GPS.  “Do you have a preference for where we get burgers?”

“Ah, no.  Anywhere close is good with me,” Sokka says.  He brings his eyes back to Zuko and redirects the conversation topic.  “Anyways.  How did your conversations with the future generation go?”

Zuko’s mouth opens, but he starts laughing before any words come out.  His glee is contagious, and Sokka finds himself smiling and reaching over to lightly slap his arm, internally begging for some of his happy attention.

“Most of them were too focused on my long hair to even ask about storms,” Zuko confesses, reaching up to let his hair fall out of his bun.  It cascades beautifully on his shoulders, and Sokka smiles at it before meeting Zuko’s eyes again.  “Although, one boy kept on asking me if I’d been thrown by a tornado before.  When I kept telling him no, he said that my job didn’t seem ‘fun’ anymore.”

“Dang, yeah, you set yourself up for that one.  Complete safety in a wild environment is what these kids consider to be ‘boring’ content.   Reevaluate your life, Sugita.”

“Oh, trust me,” he quips.  “Riding around with you this past month has given me plenty of time to reevaluate my life.”

“Ouch,” Sokka exclaims, feigning hurt.  “Not enough time to decide to forgo the burgers, though, I hope.”

Zuko laughs, but remains quiet.  The answer presents itself in ten minutes, when he parks next to a homey-looking diner.

“You know, Sugita,” Sokka finds himself saying, after demolishing a quarter of his burger in his very first bite, “you’re not so bad, actually.”

Zuko freezes, french fry-clad fingers hovering over their shared ketchup.  “You think?”

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly.  “I think--” he pauses, wiping grease from the corner of his mouth “--that actually, I might even like being around you.”

Chapter Text

In early July, somewhere between McPherson and Wichita, Sokka hears an impossible sound: music coming out of their radio.

His eyes are still closed from the nap he’s waking up from.  His neck hurts from the angle he fell asleep in.  He remains still for a few moments, savoring the journey of welcoming back consciousness.  Until, that is, he realizes not only is Zuko playing music, but, more specifically...

Sugita’s playing 80’s pop.

Zuko is spilling the lyrics to “Tainted Love” under his breath, with the Soft Cell hit playing gently over the stereo.  Sokka peeks an eye open and watches him for a moment.

“Once I ran to you,” Zuko sings, impossibly, “now, I’ll run from you.  This tainted love you’ve given, I give you all a boy could give you, take my tears and that’s not nearly--”

“All! Tainted love, ” Sokka joins in, stretching up and grinning at Zuko.

Zuko nearly jumps out of his skin at the interruption. He swiftly reaches out and turns down the radio, almost all the way to silence.  Sokka opens his mouth to protest but is quickly beaten by Zuko’s voice.

“How long have you been up?”

Sokka takes his time replying, reveling in the rarity of Zuko’s frazzled state.  “Long enough,” he says, cryptically.  

Zuko freezes at this; it takes all of Sokka’s concentration to not immediately let up the gag.  “So… listen.  There’s nothing… Sometimes, it can just be really nice-- you know, you really shouldn’t judge someone for listening to Madonna still.  It’s just, she makes really good music.”

Sokka is delighted by Zuko’s rambling.  “You know, Sugita, I haven’t actually been awake long enough to enjoy Madonna with you, but I would absolutely love to hear exactly all of your reasons why she makes really good music.”

“Oh-- well,” Zuko stammers, and he bites his lip, as if he’s putting in some thought, and all of a sudden it occurs to Sokka that Zuko didn’t catch his sarcasm, but at that point it’s already too late, and Zuko is opening his mouth again.  “To some extent, Madonna started contemporary pop music.  It all links back to her.  She’s called the Queen of Pop for a reason, you know.  She’s had a successful career since the 1980’s; it’s been, what, 40 years?  And she’s still going.”

Sokka lets these Madonna opinions wash over him.  Zuko glances over at him, and Sokka gives him a slow nod, which leads to a small smile growing on Zuko’s face.

“Yeah,” Zuko continues, gaining confidence in his voice.  “Madonna is… she’s more than just a musician, even, you know?  She’s a cultural icon.  She was the first female in the modern American music industry that had complete control over her music and her image, and she was so successful.  And brave, honestly.  She’s never been shy about approaching taboo subjects, you know, like, sexual liberation.  And I don’t think I’ve ever met someone in the United States who didn’t know who she is.”

“Sugita, if you’re this passionate about Madonna, then why are we still listening to Soft Cell?” Sokka has to ask, as “Tainted Love” continues to roll out of their radio.

Zuko’s eyes widen, and he lifts one hand off of his steering wheel to motion towards the glove compartment of the van.  Sokka wants to tease him for not having both hands on the wheel, but the desire to continue a somewhat pleasant conversation with the guy is stronger, so Sokka bites his tongue and opens the compartment.  There’s a CD holder, and Sokka takes it out to flip through the discs.

“There’s a lot in there, sorry, but I think there are at least three or four Madonna CDs,” Zuko says.  “My favorite is ‘Like A Prayer’, but the other albums are good, too.  I think Ty Lee had them near the front of the holder.”

Sokka finds the album in question quickly, sandwiched with a Prince album.  He slips it from its lining gently, trying to limit his fingertips to just the very edges of the CD.  He ejects the Soft Cell CD in their radio and nudges Madonna in, nestling Soft Cell into the newly vacant spot.

“Like A Prayer” starts playing softly, and Zuko gets a funny little happy look on his face, which makes Sokka smile.  

“I had no idea that a job with the National Weather Service would end up making me into a DJ,” Sokka jokes as he reaches over to turn up the music.  Zuko laughs, and Sokka smiles and basks in the pop tune for awhile, enjoying it as his gaze focuses on the endless plains outside his window.  

As “Express Yourself” begins playing, Sokka opens the CD holder back up and flips through a few pages, curious.  There’s an occasional handmade CD, its contents written over it endearingly in black sharpie, and Sokka delights internally as he reads over the playlists.  (Surely, there isn’t a CD in existence that contains Cyndi Lauper, My Chemical Romance, and Nicki Minaj… except for there is, and its name is ‘Zuko’s Mix April 2015’, and Sokka….  Sokka is in Heaven.)

Eventually, Sokka’s hand skims over a polaroid picture, tucked next to an ABBA CD.  Sokka glances quickly over at Zuko, but he’s focusing, as usual, on the road. 

The photograph has two people in it; one of them is obviously a younger Zuko, and the other person is a woman that Sokka doesn’t recognize.  She’s beautiful, wearing a red plaid skirt and a black halter top, a bulky jacket completing the properly punk look.  She teeters over Zuko by just a few centimeters and smiles wickedly at the camera.  Zuko’s arm is slung around her shoulders, and he looks wildly happy. The top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and his tie is loose around his neck.  Their cheeks are both flushed red by alcohol, if the open handle of rum in the woman’s hand is any indication.  Sokka flips it over quickly, sees something scrawled in Japanese on the back (Sokka recognizes absolutely nothing), and then flips it back around, this time focusing on Zuko’s face.

Sokka takes a mental picture of this smile.  It’s nice; simple, but an embodiment of a blatant joy that’s rare in the expressions he’s come to learn on Zuko’s face.

“Who’s the lucky lady here?” Sokka teases, putting down the CD holder and grasping the photograph completely in his hand.  

 “Sokka, I’m driving.  I really shouldn’t look over to explain some photograph to you.”

“Okay, then pull over.”

“I can’t.  We have to get to Carbondale by sundown.”

“And we will!  Pull over.”

Zuko sighs, but his eyes flicker up to the rearview window, checking to see if the road’s empty, and Sokka’s body thrums with satisfaction.

Thirty seconds later, they’re stopped on the side of the highway, and Sokka is shoving the picture right under Zuko’s face.

“Oh,” Zuko says, letting out a breath and smiling as he takes the photo from Sokka.  “That’s my sister.”

“You have a sister?” Sokka asks.  He can’t believe he’s been driving with Zuko for a month and never found out this information before now.

Zuko hums before responding.  “Yeah.  Her name’s Azula. She lives out here, actually; that’s actually why I originally signed up to work in the central region.”

It’s the most information Zuko has voluntarily given about himself this entire time.

“Where exactly is ‘out here’?” Sokka asks.  Maybe if she’s close enough, they could go for a visit.

“Topeka,” Zuko says.  Sokka lights up; Topeka’s only twenty, thirty minutes away from Carbondale.  Zuko’s eyes flick over to Sokka and catch his excitement; “Sokka, no, we’re not going for a visit.”

“Just a little detour?” Sokka suggests.  “There’s no storm coming.  Nothing registering on the equipment today indicates that we’ll get a storm until at least tomorrow evening.”

Zuko groans.  “We told Suki that we’d get to Carbondale by tonight.”

“No, we told Suki that we’d be ready for any storms near Carbondale tonight.  We can still monitor everything from Topeka.  If something really big happens, I’ll get a notification on my phone.  And we shouldn’t be the only team in the area right now.  Can we please go visit?”

Zuko frowns but Sokka flashes him the best puppy dog eyes he can muster.  Just as Sokka is about to give up, the pout on his lips fading back into normal, Zuko groans. 

“Fine.  If you’ll stop asking me questions, I can give her a call.”

Sokka hides his satisfactory grin, turning his head to look triumphantly back out the window as Zuko pulls out his cell phone.  A two minute conversation later, and Zuko adjusts the GPS to take them to a residential address, not too far from their original destination.  Zuko gets them back on the road, and Sokka can’t control the lingering smile on his face.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

They park in front of a dilapidated house.  Most of the front gutter is hanging off the edge of the roof, reaching below the third and highest floor to rest entirely too much weight onto a second floor window.  A staircase wraps around the side of the building, with different entrance doors and metal mailboxes on each floor.  A few apple trees unenthusiastically decorate the front yard, displaying groups of small fruit amongst their skinny branches.

Sokka reaches to take off his seatbelt, but Zuko grabs his hand.  Sokka looks over with wide eyes.

“So, uh,”  Zuko starts, clearing his throat.  “You have a little sister.”

Sokka bites down on his lip.  “Yes?”

Zuko nods.  “Okay, so, uh.  You know what they’re like.  So, apologies in advance, and all that.”

Sokka laughs.  “Sugita, it’s okay.  I’m excited to meet her.  I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Zuko doesn’t look so sure.  Sokka fully believes in ripping off the bandaid, though, so he pushes Zuko’s hand away to undo his seatbelt, and gets out of the car.

He hears a heavy sigh from Zuko but he follows soon after anyways, leading Sokka to the side stairs.

“She’s upstairs,” Zuko explains.  “And do you happen to be allergic to cats, by any chance?”

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Zuko’s sister is blisteringly attractive.  All sharp lines, clean edges, potent colors.  Sokka’s in awe.  As well as fear.

“Brother,” she purrs as she opens her front door (she’s nestled on the third floor of the house; Sokka was vaguely impressed that neither him nor Zuko had fallen through the rotted wood stairs).  “So nice of you to drop in.”

“Azula,” Zuko greets, stepping forward to wrap her in her arms.  She smiles as she rests her chin on his shoulder, moving her eyes to take in Sokka.

“And who’s this?” she asks.

Zuko takes a step back, looking quickly between Sokka and Azula.  “Oh, uh, this is Sokka,” he says, reaching a hand to scratch at the back of his neck.  Azula looks at him curiously, but he averts his eyes to the ground, the lightest tinge of red dusting his good cheek.  Huh.  “My coworker.  You know, because Ty Lee and Mai are busy with Yasuno.  Sokka is their replacement for the season.”

A beat of silence.  Then, Sokka surges forward a tad, holding a hand out to Azula. 

“I’m also his friend and personal DJ,” Sokka jokes as Azula places her hand in his, an easy smile on his face.  “Pleasure to meet you, Azula.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she replies sweetly, lips curled up in a sharp grin.  “Come on in, gentlemen.  Zuzu, do you mind locking the door behind you?”

“Zuzu?”  Sokka guffaws as he walks inside her apartment.  Zuko punches his shoulder lightly at the sound.  Sokka hides his smile to the best of his ability, but it’s still peeking out as he echoes, “Zuzu?”

Azula’s already walked into her kitchen, slightly offset from the entrance, so Zuko acknowledges Sokka’s comment with a scoff.  “It’s a childhood nickname.”

Azula’s apartment is tidy, seeped in royal reds and blacks, a fire flickering in the fireplace in the corner of her living room.  A collection of pictures rests on the mantle, and Sokka catches peeks of Zuko’s lopsided smile, Mai’s passive eyebrow raise, Ty Lee’s bright eyes.  There’s a small Polaroid of a baby in the very front of the display, obviously new to the arrangement due to the lack of dust on its top, and Sokka feels comfortable assuming the child is Mai and Ty Lee’s newborn daughter, Yasuno.  He steps closer to the tiny picture and is absolutely floored by how cute the baby looks, a little red ribbon tied into what little hair is already on her head.

Sokka instantly entertains himself by looking closer at the other photos: an incredibly forced formal picture of Azula standing next to a guy, which Sokka has to assume is from a school dance of some sort; a shot of Azula with Mai and Ty Lee, beer bottles in hand and dramatic makeup painted on their faces; and then, the most ornately framed, a small black cat curled around Azula’s neck as they both look up towards the camera.  

By the time he finishes looking at the photos, Zuko has left for the kitchen, where Azula sets out three small cups.  Sokka goes towards the siblings, and sees a bottle of chilled sake in Azula’s hand, which she is pouring patiently into the three glasses.  A small black cat is curled up, asleep, resting on top of a stove burner.

“--already with the alcohol?” Sokka catches Zuko asking.

“Quit worrying,” Azula says with a roll of her eyes, capping the sake bottle.  “Tonight is a celebration.  It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you, and we have a guest.”

Sokka clears his throat, and is immediately faced with two pairs of startling luminescent eyes.  Azula grins, a wicked expression that unsettles him immensely.

“Sokka,” she greets.  “Please, have a drink.”

Trepidation begins to settle in the lowest layer of Sokka’s stomach.  He looks towards Zuko for reassurance, only for Zuko to completely avoid eye contact completely.  “Uh,” he manages, “yeah.  Okay.”

Azula’s piercing smirk is still visible over the rim of his glass as Sokka finishes the sake as quickly as possible.  As soon as he lays it back down on the kitchen counter, Azula reaches out and refills it.  Sokka walks over to the cat, who merely opens a singular eye when he reaches out to pat its tiny head.

“Cute cat,” he murmurs, scratching his fingers along its ears.  The cat slinks out, paws reaching towards Sokka’s belly.  Sokka smiles, continuing to pet it.

“His name is Coal,” Zuko offers, inching closer to pet him, too.  “Azula got him from our Uncle Iroh as a Christmas present a few years ago.”

Sokka stifles a laugh, looking back at Azula.  “You got Coal for Christmas?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Azula sighs, obviously familiar with the reaction.  “Funny.  Whatever.  Everyone loves a naughty girl, though.”

“I guess,” Sokka replies, turning his attention back to Coal.  The cat lazily puts a paw on top of Sokka’s hand, and Sokka coos at it in excitement.

“All right, let’s bring this party into the dining room,” Azula commands, eventually.  “I hope you both like singapore noodles and salt baked shrimp.  Keep it to yourselves if you don’t, I put a lot of effort into placing the order for pickup today.”

Sokka laughs a bit at that, taking his hand of Coal, and turns back with Zuko to face Azula.  Azula clicks her tongue.

“I’m being serious,” she says.  “Now, come on.  Grab your drinks, I don’t have all day.”

“There’s no day left to have,” Zuko retorts, gesturing to a window, which reveals a dark outside.  “And I would bet my entire life that you didn’t have big plans for the night.”

“I have a face mask and bath salts that beg to differ, Zuzu,” Azula retorts.  “Now, let’s sit.  Don’t make me say it again.”

Her voice is the type that leaves little room for argument, so Sokka follows her lead into a small dining room.  He’s almost disappointed that Coal doesn’t attempt to slink after them.

They settle at the table and Sokka is relieved when Zuko chooses to sit next to him, on the opposite side of Azula.  Azula says a quick prayer and opens up the tupperware, and within a minute, they’re settled in with full plates and chopsticks.

“So,” Azula starts.  Ah yes, Sokka thinks.  The small talk.

“How did the two of you meet?” she asks, gesturing her chopsticks between Sokka and Zuko.  “At the beginning of this field season?”

“We met at academy, actually,” Sokka replies easily, shoveling a shrimp into his mouth.

Azula cocks her head.  “Really?  No offense, Zuzu, but the only friend I remember you having in academy with you is Mai.”

“Oh, we weren’t friends back then,” Sokka laughs.  “Pretty sure he hated my guts, actually.”

Azula’s sharp eyes turn to her brother.  “Oh, really?  Why did you think that?”

A seat over from Sokka, Zuko downs the rest of his sake and pours himself another cup. 

“We got paired up for an assignment,” Sokka explains, “and Sugita gave me a shiner while we were completing it.  Still don’t know why I deserved it, but, alas, here we are.”

Zuko’s eyes pinch shut.  “You didn’t deserve it, not really, you just…”

Zuko doesn’t finish the thought.  

“Just what?” Sokka prompts, fingers stilled.  Azula’s mouth turns slightly, biting down hard on her bottom lip.

“Just surprised me, that’s all,” Zuko mumbles, resuming his eating.  “You just really… popped up out of nowhere.  I wasn’t expecting you.  Sorry.”

Sokka squints.  “We were mid-CPR presentation.  What do you mean, you weren’t expecting me?”

Zuko’s eyes are widened in a sense of ingenuine innocence.  “Uh, you know.  Just wasn’t expecting it.  Sorry.  Again.”

Sokka leans forward a bit.  “What--”

“Have you talked to Uncle lately?” Azula interrupts, shoveling noodles into her mouth while watching her brother.  Zuko shakes his head and Sokka settles back in his seat.

“Maybe a week ago,” Zuko says.  “Why?”

“He finally asked out that psychic who works next door to the tea shop,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.  “The lady who keeps asking me what I want to do with my life, as if I’m not already in the midst of living it.”

Zuko laughs. “You’ve got to be nicer to that poor woman.”

Sokka giggles involuntarily. “You really think you should be lecturing someone else about niceties?”

This comment sets Azula off snickering, which brings a sense of happiness to Sokka even as Zuko scowls. 

The rest of dinner goes well.  Azula encourages them to keep drinking sake, and by the end of their meal, two empty bottles decorate the table.  Azula gives Sokka ammo in terms of embarrassing stories, and something warms the bottom of Sokka’s gut as Zuko goes through the motions of half-heartedly protesting the retelling of his most historical embarrassing moments. 

By the time Azula wraps up a story on how Zuko joined a hentai-appreciation club in college (“The flier said it was an anime appreciation club!  And that the adult culture of Japan would also be discussed!  Excuse me for wanting to indulge in my heritage, I wasn’t expecting pornography, and I never went to a second meeting!”), Sokka has gone through all the laughter in his body, and can only react with a hazy wheeze. 

“If you think that’s bad,” Azula whispers conspiratorially, “wait until I tell you about the first guy Zuko brought back home with him, who introduced himself by--”

“Azula!”

“What, Zuzu?”

“Finish that sentence and I swear to god that I will never speak to you again.”

“That’ll do it?  Oh, thank god,” Azula drawls dramatically, and Sokka’s ribs begin to hurt from exertion. 

“You know what?  I think we’re done for the night,” Zuko snaps, finishing off his final cup of alcohol. “Yeah. That’s enough for tonight.”

Azula makes a face of protest, but as she opens her mouth to say something, her own yawn cuts her off. “Fine, then. You’re no fun, Zuzu. Sokka, remind me to give you my number in the morning so that we can continue trading stories of this mess of a man.”

“Azula, that is the greatest idea in the whole wide world,” Sokka beams, feeling fuzzy, laughing when Zuko groans and headbutts his shoulder. 

“All right, good night.  I don’t have a guest room, but the couch pulls out somehow, so have fun figuring that one out, boys,” Azula says, standing up and sauntering over to her bedroom door and smirking before she leaves their sight.  Sokka catches a glimpse of Coal jumping down from the stove, slinking in Azula’s shadow to follow her inside the bedroom.  “I’ve only got the one couch blanket, so good luck staying warm.”

Sokka shifts his muddled focus to Azula’s two-seater couch.  “So, uh.  How is this happening.”

Zuko guffaws, a guttural laugh that sets Sokka off as well.  

“We have to,” Zuko splutters, in between gasps of breath, and Sokka laughs even harder at the suspended joy, “look, I don’t know.  Pull out.”

“Ah, yes,” Sokka croaks.  “The patented ‘pull out’ method.  Very effective.”

“Shut up, Sokka!” Zuko exclaims, reaching out to push Sokka’s chest with the gentlest of shoves.  Sokka topples over anyways.  “It’s just a couch.  How hard can it be?”

“As hard as your mom,” Sokka manages to get out, before Zuko’s focus lasers onto Sokka and he finds his hands suddenly full of 150 pounds of pure drunk playful anger.

“Don’t talk about my mother like that!” Zuko protests.  Sokka’s still giggling, grasping for Zuko’s hands to stop the physical attacks, and eventually Zuko lets up, his mother’s honor supposedly defended.  Zuko ends up sitting back on his knees with his weight still on an arm by Sokka’s head.  Sokka nudges it out of the way to sit up, and finds himself inches away from Zuko’s bright face.

“Oh,” Sokka says, suddenly breathless.  Zuko is… Zuko is the only solid thing in his wobbly surroundings.  

“Hey,” Zuko slurs with a smile.

“Hey,” Sokka repeats dumbly, looking at the man in awe.  His skin is brilliant in the moonlight, how is that possible?

Zuko’s hand stretches out, tucking a flyaway hair behind Sokka’s ear.  

“Silky,” Zuko audibly observes, whispered like a confessional.

Zuko’s entirely too close-- or, maybe it’s Sokka that’s too close, warmed by the proximity of Zuko’s skin.  Sokka holds his breath, closes his eyes slowly, focuses on the gentle tug on his hair.

The moment is broken by something falling in Azula’s room.  Sokka slowly peels open his eyes to see Zuko gawking at the closed door, before turning back to Sokka and laughing unabashedly.  Sokka feels a flush hit his face, getting hotter and hotter as Zuko tilts farther and farther backwards from the exertion of his happiness.

Eventually, Zuko hits the living room carpet, and, blissed out, declares his intent to fall asleep, right then and there.  Sokka doesn’t suppress the joy he is feeling as he plops himself beside Zuko, pulls the spare wool blanket overtop the both of them, and inches closer.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Sokka wakes up alone on the floor, the wool blanket wrapped tightly against every side of his body.  As he stretches awake, he catches a glance at the Sugita siblings, chatting quietly in the kitchen.  Zuko catches his movement, turns away from Azula, and waves at Sokka, a little smile on his face, a cup of coffee in his hand.

Sokka’s throat constricts.

He smiles back.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Azula, for all her complaining about the ‘inconvenience’ of the visit, sees them off later that day.  As Zuko pulls out of her driveway, she waves from her front door, and Sokka keeps his eyes trained on her in the rearview mirror until she’s merely a speck.

“Thanks for letting us go visit her,” Sokka comments, settling comfortably into his seat.

“I should be thanking you,” Zuko replies, adjusting the radio knob.  “It’s been awhile since I saw her.  It was nice.”

“What were you guys talking about this morning?” Sokka asks, before thinking the question completely through.  Whatever.  If Zuko’s offended and doesn’t want to answer, then he’ll just say that.  

Zuko sniffs, putting his hands back on the steering wheel in perfect formation.  “Ah, you know.  Sibling stuff.”

“Sibling stuff?”

“She had this whole spiel about how I don’t have to hang out around the area for her anymore.  Somehow she doesn’t think I have any reason besides her to be in the midwest, now that Iroh’s dating someone.  I had to remind her that I have a good job here.”

Sokka laughs.  “At least she’s got good intentions.  Missouri isn’t exactly the hippest place to live out of.  It sounds too much like ‘misery’, anyways.”

Zuko scoffs, but he’s got a smile on his face.  “You think you’re so funny.”

“I’m not the only one who thinks that,” Sokka prods, reaching over to poke Zuko in the cheek.

They ride in a comfortable quiet for most of the rest of the morning, checking in with Suki occasionally.  They stop for gas, and when Sokka buys two lighters shaped as swords as souvenirs at the station, Zuko’s serene facade is broken by a loud snort.

“Do you even smoke?” Zuko asks, laying down their snacks at the checkout.

“No, but I do dabble in lighting candles, occasionally,” Sokka responds.  

Zuko shakes his head fondly.  “Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“Oh now, Sugita, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Sokka drawls, leaning an elbow up against the counter and winking at Zuko.  The alluring effect of it all is broken when he places just a tad too much weight onto his arm, and ends up slipping down and banging his chin on the counter.

“Good thing we’ve still got a month or so together to unravel your mystery,” Zuko says, but his mouth is turned up and the words feel teasing rather than genuine.  

“Yeah,” Sokka huffs, rubbing his chin and giving the cashier his credit card.  “Good thing.”

The rest of their day goes smoothly.  Sokka enjoys the newest privilege of listening to Zuko’s music with him, the best part of which is Zuko’s timid but passionate explanations as to why certain songs are superior.  Sokka learns so much about ABBA and the concept of Eurovision.

Their next few days unwind in similar ways, debating 1980’s discography in between storm chases.  They get a rare day off, and as Zuko pulls up to a motel and Sokka knows that he doesn’t have to wake up early the next morning, he can’t help but immediately jump into bed and fall asleep, despite the fact that it’s only 6PM.

Sokka stirs later, when it’s completely dark outside.  A quick scan of the motel room reveals that it’s nearing midnight, and, more oddly, that he’s completely alone in the room.  He goes through his bag and pulls on a flannel, before stepping outside.

The motel is surrounded by rolling hills, and there’s some illumination of their surroundings thanks to highway and building lights.  It only takes a few minutes before Sokka locates Zuko, sitting on a blanket of his at the very top of a hill.  Sokka gets mud on his sneakers as he makes his way up towards him, but he doesn’t find himself minding.

“Zuko, it’s late.  What are you doing out here?” he murmurs.  He tentatively sits next to Zuko on the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees to condense his body heat, a perfect mirror of Zuko’s pose.

Zuko tilts his head to focus on Sokka, eyes wide.  Sokka notices a beer can clutched in his hands, and watches as a small smile takes over Zuko’s face.

“So I’m Zuko now, huh?” he teases.

Sokka scoffs, feeling his face heat up beneath his cheeks.  “Yeah, I guess.  But if you’d like, I can follow Azula’s lead and call you Zuzu.”

Zuko’s nose crinkles at the suggestion, and Sokka laughs.  

“No, thanks.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Why’d you come out here?”

“You weren’t in the room.  I wanted to find you.”

A comfortable silence settles in between the two of them, cushioned by the soft grass under their bodies.  Sokka’s eyes lock into the distance, where a faraway thunderstorm peacefully brews.  

Eventually, Zuko softly breaks the silence.  “What do you see?” 

Sokka has to strain his ears to hear Zuko’s question, which was only faintly whispered over the rumblings of the sky.  “What do you mean?”

“Why’d you take this job?” Zuko asks, a bit louder.  Sokka frowns and looks down at his lap, pondering.

Eventually Sokka gazes back up at the sky.  He is hyper aware of their solitude in the plains, how they’re now authentically expending mental effort on seemingly irrelevant questions.  He feels faintly anonymous to his own self.

“There’s a lot of unknown with storms,” he starts, glancing over quickly at Zuko.  The man nods his head, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to encourage Sokka to continue.  “Sometimes, science feels like a trap.  Certain areas and topics feel confined, like we’ll never truly figure them entirely out.  Storms aren’t like that, I guess.  Right now, we have so little data from inside the range of the storm.  And storms can be so devastating, so every piece of information we can gather from them, to learn about their behavior, to prevent lives from being lost in the future… well, it seemed worthwhile.  Still seems worthwhile.  And I get to spend a substantial amount of time on the road, collecting my own primary data, which I then get to personally analyze for the rest of the year.  There’s never a dull day.  It entrances me, honestly.  And it gives me the feeling that I can actually help others.  Maybe not directly, but I never know who the data will impact in the long-run, and I think that’s pretty powerful.”

Zuko doesn’t react, but Sokka still feels his silent acknowledgement. 

Sokka lowers his hands and plays with the grass at his fingertips.  “What about you, Zuko?  Why did you decide to chase storms?”

Zuko keeps his eyes focused on the horizon and speaks softly.  “Storms are controlled chaos.  There’s a method to their madness, if we look hard enough.  If we gather enough data.  They’re quite simple in that way, right?”

The question seems rhetorical, but Sokka can’t help but answer.

“In theory, I suppose.  There have got to be rules that storms follow; everything in nature seems to operate in some grand ubiquitous scheme that we have yet to uncover; but there’s just… I mean, we have so little data from storms right now.”

“But fundamentally,” Zuko insists, eyes still caught on the horizon.  “Fundamentally, there is order.  We don’t understand it, but it is there.  Beneath the surface of all the readings you collect, there are factors that go into every storm that make it make sense.  Their violence isn’t a mystery.  There are understandable reasons behind everything, behind every gust of wind and every directional change.  All we have to do is figure out exactly what those reasons are, and we can predict every outburst.  Every change.  Every pattern of violence.  And once we do that… then it will all make sense.”

Zuko brings his beer can up to his lips and tips it backwards, finishing the last few sips.  Sokka begins to understand that maybe Zuko isn’t just talking about storms.

“There’s something cathartic about understanding where violence comes from,” Zuko says quietly, a few moments after placing the empty can at his feet.  “It just… makes me feel better.  Calmer.  I like when you explain the readings to me.  Mai and Ty Lee wouldn’t usually humor me with all the details when we were driving to a new storm surge.”

Sokka spends the next moment simply looking at Zuko.  At his closed eyes, peaceful against the harsh shadows on his face.  At the large red scar spanning across his left cheek, curling upwards along his temple.  At his lips, slightly parted.  At his chest, gently shuddering as he breathes in the humid air surrounding them.  At his pants, and how the dew has etched itself in momentary paintings on his cotton sweater.

Sokka mimics his pose, closes his eyes.  Feels this day, seemingly longer than the rest, fading gently from his mind.  

“I’m happy that my words can make you feel better,” Sokka mumbles.  “I’m sorry that you’ve had to experience unexplained violence, whenever or wherever you did.”

Sokka doesn’t expect a reply, but he gets one after a momentary pause.  “Thank you.  You have made me feel at ease, but the real turning point of my life was moving a thousand and a half miles east.”

Sokka digests the words, recalls how Zuko confessed to being originally from California.  “Look, Zuko, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say to me.  But…. I want to let you know that I’m here for you.  That I care about you.  That I’ll listen to you.”

Zuko swallows loudly from beside him.  Sokka keeps his eyes closed, succumbs to the gentle breeze and fresh-dew smell, and resigns himself to stillness until Zuko decides to speak again.  It takes a slow chunk of time, but Zuko eventually clears his throat and leans his head against Sokka’s shoulder.

“It was always midnight, somehow.  In California, where I couldn’t count the stars, because they were all coated with layers of artificial light.  The days always passed but I was only aware of them in the solitude of midnight.  I don’t miss it.  I still feel hyperaware of everything at night, but I’m also alert during the day, now.  The middle of America isn’t the ideal location, I know, but it isn’t California,” Zuko sighs.  Sokka opens his eyes slowly, but can’t meet Zuko’s, which are steady on the distance.  “Azula had to move out here when she was fourteen, and it was the easiest decision of my life, asking my Uncle Iroh if we could move out here with her.”

Zuko quiets again, and Sokka gathers a bit of courage before prompting him to continue.

“Why did Azula have to move out here?”

Zuko’s face turns slightly, nestling further into the heat of Sokka’s shoulder.  “She needed help.  Iroh, my uncle, had just gotten custody of the two of us, and… Azula hadn’t been in a good place, mentally, for years.  The best inpatient care that Iroh could find was out here, so…. I remember going to help her pack, her last night in California, and the only personal item she had packed was a picture of the two of us.  I couldn’t…. I mean, we had just lost contact with our father.  Which was good, don’t get me wrong, but….”

Zuko raises a hand to scratch at his face, and Sokka doesn’t dare turn to face him, vowing to give him the most bare privacy that he can give.  Once Zuko rests his hand against the grass again, Sokka tilts his head to slightly rest upon Zuko’s.

“We had just been abandoned by a parent.  Asking Iroh to move us out here, too, was my way of making…. something stable, you know?  Even if, at first, Azula and I only saw each other on weekends.  The move was good.  For the both of us.  We owe it to Uncle Iroh.  He paused his life so that Azula and I had a shot at finally pressing play on ours.  Together.  Somewhere that freedom wasn’t restricted to midnight hours.”

Sokka reaches over to grab onto Zuko’s hand, and gives it a soothing squeeze.

“When my father… when he was still around, I had a lot of wishes.  Never saw a star to wish upon until I moved out here.  Before, the wishes would keep me home, tuck me in every night.  But out here….”

Zuko sniffles, but doesn’t continue.

“What do you wish for?” Sokka gently pries.

“The basics,” Zuko chuckles.  “Family.  Loving relationships.  Fulfilment.  And I’ve gotten them. My uncle and sister. Mai and Ty Lee and their little baby Yasuno. This job, this unknown yet controllable chaos.  And then there’s you.”

Something tugs, hard, deep in Sokka’s chest.  Sokka’s veins thrum with intensity to the point where it takes effort to even swallow.  Eventually he manages a tight squeeze to Zuko’s hand.

“Is it okay if I try to say something meaningful?” Sokka asks. 

Zuko laughs. “Doubt you’ll be able to pull that off, but do your worst,” he replies playfully. 

Sokka smiles at the gentle ribbing.  “When I was younger, I used to just have one wish.  My mom passed away unexpectedly when I was 10, and I used to wish more than anything that she would come back.  I’d wish on every star, on every lost tooth.  I failed gym class in fifth grade because I would spent every hour outside looking for four leaf clovers.  Obviously, nothing worked.”

“As the years went by, though, I learned how to cook using the same recipe book that she would use.  My dad played her favorite records around the house again.  Katara grew up and became exactly my mom’s height.”

“I think I was 17 before I finally realized that my wish wasn’t as impossible as it should be.  Even after she died, my mom has still been around me, because I want her to be.  I still wish that my mom would come back, but it’s different now, because I’ve worked to understand the world in a way that makes it so she never really left in the first place.”

Sokka trails off at this point, and after a minute of silence, Zuko lifts his head from Sokka’s shoulder and peers up at him.  Sokka looks down and smiles, feeling the crinkles on the edges of his eyes form, just as he remembers from his mother’s smiles.

Zuko hesitantly returns the grin, before looking away to gaze back out into the distance.  “Wishes are best when they’re achievable, aren’t they?” he murmurs.

Sokka swallows, taking in the slightest fleck of gold light caught on the edge of Zuko’s iris.  “There’s no point in an unattainable wish,” Sokka hums, reaching over to brush a single tendril of hair out from Zuko’s face.  “There’s so much joy to be found within reach.”

Sokka’s hand lingers on Zuko’s unscarred cheek, and Zuko’s intense gaze finds itself back on Sokka’s eyes, and Sokka falters.  He retracts his hand, but smiles fondly at the other man for a few moments before making to stand up.

“Let’s go to bed,” Sokka proposes, stretching a hand out to Zuko.  “It’s late and cold outside.  Come on.”

Zuko latches onto Sokka’s hand, and as he pulls him up, something unshakeable makes itself known in Sokka’s mind.

He is comfortable enough around Zuko to be his authentic self.  He feels a deep level of understanding with him.  He cares about him.  He wants him to not feel sad and nostalgic, drinking alone at midnight on a random hill outside a motel.  There’s a connection.  He knows there’s a connection.  

He likes Zuko.

Oh.

Chapter Text

Their rare day off turns out to be a slight pain in the emotional ass.

Somehow, for the first time, the knowledge that Sokka has to spend the night sleeping a bed away from Zuko seems daunting. The lack of space between them seems stifling. There are no lonely moments in which Sokka has the chance to pull together his true thoughts. There’s just the faint smell of jasmine, a raspy voice that tickles his ears, and the slightest desire to make Zuko’s face burn redder. 

The day begins and Sokka is teetering off an emotional cliff.  Newfound realizations have him wanting to yell at Zuko to leave their shared hotel room, to protect himself from impulsive actions.  Anything to avoid a catastrophe of unwanted instincts.  

And boy, are there instincts.  Instincts only made stronger when Zuko suggests they take advantage of the day by eating lunch at a local barbeque place.  Glistening meats and Zuko’s rugged laughter is a combination deadly to Sokka’s patience.  A splatter of sauce lands on the edge of Zuko’s lips, and suddenly Sokka’s only desires boil down to kissing it off his skin. He’s only saved by Zuko raising his napkin.

“--ka?  You here with me?”

Oh. Zuko’s talking.  “Yeah?”

Zuko chuckles.  “I was just saying, we’re going to be splitting up tomorrow for work.  We’ve got a summer camp visit scheduled in the morning, but there’s also a local farm that wants us to visit and talk about storm protection.  I’m assuming you’ll want the farm?”

“Yes, please,” Sokka replies, relieved.  “What are the details I need to know?”

“It’s a meeting with the couple that own the land,” Zuko replies, ripping into a hunk of corn bread.  “They mentioned something about wanting help deciding where to place emergency bunkers, and some other things.  I blocked off an hour for the meeting.  You can drop me off at the summer camp and take the van over there, and come pick me up when you’re finished.”

“You’ll trust me with the van?” Sokka teases, ripping off a rib from the rack in front of him.

“Just this once.  I remember your driving tests from the academy days,” he says, vaguely narrowing his eyes at Sokka.

“Hey!” Sokka protests.  “I’ll have you know that I passed the driving test with flying colors.”

“Somehow I remember a few mangled mailboxes.”

Okay, so there was one mangled mailbox.  Only one.  “I don’t know, Zuko.  You might need to check your memory.  Those few months of age you have on me seem to be turning your brain to mush.”

“My memory is fine,” Zuko scoffs.  “Be nice to me, or we’re leaving before you can get banana pudding for dessert.”

“I take it back,” Sokka instantly placates.  “Zuko, your memory is so great.  Your brain is so sexy.  You’re the smartest guy I know.  I field--”

“--oh my god, okay, you can stop--”

“--I field so many calls for you from state fairs, begging to have you feature as their entertainment weekend special: The Man With The Biggest Brains Who Loves To Let His Friend Eat Banana Pudding For Dessert.”

“Really.  You field calls for me.”

“Yes.  Just yesterday I turned down a reporter from Ripley’s Believe It or Not, actually.”

“Hm,” Zuko hums.  “Not sure if I believe that.”

Sokka’s laughter bursts above the dissolved conversations in the restaurant.  

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Sokka calls Toph while Zuko showers later that night.  He takes careful measures to extract himself outside of their room, but is also sure to not wander too far away from the motel.  He’s gotten lost that way, once before.  It isn’t an experience worth repeating.  Toph didn’t let him live down the poison ivy for months.

The phone only rings twice before Toph picks up, chewing on something loudly.  “Yeah?” she says, forgoing a greeting.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice,” Sokka says, truthfully.

Toph laughs, a brassy echo that puts a smile on Sokka’s face.  “Oh, yeah?  How happy are you?  Should I start charging?”

 “Jesus, Toph,” Sokka groans, sliding a hand over his face.  “That’s not-- no.”

“Yeah, okay,” she croons.  “Anyways, what’s up?  How’s work going?”

“Pretty good.  We had an off day today, which was nice.  We’ve been working ever since we left Zuko’s sister’s place sometime last week.”

“Oh wow,” Toph sighs, taking a rare pause of surprise.  “You met Azula?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” Toph repeats.  “Well.  How’d that go?”

“Good,” Sokka says easily.  When Toph doesn’t reply, he feels tense.  “Why?  Should it have gone bad?”

“No!” she quickly covers.  “I’m just surprised she didn’t scare you off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s an immovable object and immovable force, all in one.  Do you know what I mean?”

Sokka frowns.  “I’m not following.”

“An uncontrollable firecracker.  A loose end.  A bit rough around the edges.”

“Oh,” Sokka says.  “Yeah.  I get what you’re saying.”  Azula wasn’t hostile, but she did seem tough.

“I’m impressed you made it out intact.”

“You know,” Sokka ponders, “I think Zuko had some of the same surprise as you.  He seemed really nervous to introduce us, but I actually think it went pretty well.  Azula’s pretty funny, actually.”

Toph bursts out laughing.  “Azula?  Funny?”

“Yeah, in a dry sort of way,” Sokka explains, smile on his face.  “I’m not sure if she was trying to be funny at all, but, I don’t know.  She reminded me of a cactus, actually.  Prickly on the outside, but with a hidden gushy center.  She gave me her number so that we could swap embarrassing Zuko stories.  Did you know he still doesn’t know how to swim?  This man used to live in coastal California.”

“Good Lord,” Toph sighs.  “Okay, Snoozles.  As soon as you mentioned Azula, I thought maybe you called in the first place so that you could badmouth her without Sparky hearing.  But that doesn’t seem to be happening, so what’s up?”

“Okay,” Sokka begins, steeling himself for the upcoming conversation.  “So, uh.  A few days after I met Azula, Zuko and I had this random deep conversation, and we ended up holding hands.  And, like, he had his head on my shoulder.”

Toph whistles.  “Big moves there, mister adult man.”

Sokka releases the tension in his neck and lets his head hang down.  “Hey, now.  I’m in crisis mode.”

Toph clears her throat.  “Okay, so what’s the issue?  You’re looking for tips on how to let down Sparky easily?”

Sokka shuts his eyes.  “Uh, well.  Not really.”

“Okay.  Then, what?  Need help booking a wedding venue?”

“T-Toph!” Sokka splutters.  “It’s not-- oh my god-- I just have a crush on the guy!”

“You?”  A pause.  “You have a crush.  On Sparky.”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“Tragically.”

“Well,” Toph hums, “I never did quite understand your taste in partners.  Have you considered--”

Static takes over Toph’s voice.

“Toph?” Sokka asks, taking the phone away from his ear to make sure it’s still working, the volume still up.  Everything seems fine.  He puts it back against his ear.  “You there?”

The static gibberish continues for a few more seconds before clarity resumes.  “--Land, so that’s maybe--”

“Toph!  Hey, I can hear you again.”

“Oh, good,” Toph sighs.  “Sorry.”

“No worries.   You okay?”

“Aang and I are going off the grid,” Toph explains.  “We’re assigned to No Man’s Land for a bit.”

“Uh oh,” Sokka replies.  No Man’s Land is their nickname for a western pocket of Texas, doomed by a complete lack of cell reception.  There’s a pager in Appa that they would use to contact Piandao, but besides that, the only communication was limited to anyone else in the van with them.  Toph and Aang are going to be completely isolated.

“So you’re going to need to behave for the next few days,” Toph continues.  “Text me if you want to, and I’ll reply when the messages finally come through, but until then, I can’t be here to listen to your boy problems.”

“They’re not problems,” Sokka whines, “they’re just, I don’t know.  Frustrations.”

“Right.”

“Of the romantic and sexual variety.”

“I’m hanging up on you now,” Toph says.

And, well.  She’s always been a woman of her word.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Everything goes well until it doesn’t.  Two days later, Sokka wakes up and makes a joke about how he and Zuko should shower together to save water.  Zuko doesn’t immediately laugh off the idea.  Sokka feels as if his brain has been left on a telephone wire, electrocuted and plucked out by the birds.  

He needs to talk to someone.  Someone who’s not Zuko, if he’s truly trying to keep his shit together until the field season ends.

Toph is out of commission, gallivanting No Man’s Land with Aang, so Sokka decides to turn to his last resort: his sister.

He finally gets the opportunity to make the call when their van’s oil engine light goes off.  They pull back up to their motel, and Zuko puts on a white tank top and ripped jeans and goes off to change the oil.  He looks very much like a mirage from Sokka’s wildest and wettest dreams.  Sokka excuses himself to their room as Zuko unlatches the hood, and he hopes Zuko doesn’t notice his jilted walk.

He gets to the room quickly and dials up Katara.  The phone rings three times.  The call finally connects, and the first sounds that greet him are incessant coughing and faded baby screams.  Sokka nudges his phone’s volume down.

“Sokka?” Katara’s shaky voice rings.  “Now’s not the best time, what’s up?”

“Uh,” Sokka flusters, “well, I am having a bit of a crisis right now.”

“What’s new,” Katara rhetorically retorts.  Before Sokka can take offense, she sighs.  “Me too, honestly.  What’s wrong with you?”

“Zuko,” Sokka huffs under his breath.  

“Sugita?  Is he being an annoying twit?  Do you want me to share some choice words with him?”

Sokka chuckles at her easy hostility on his behalf.  “Nah, but thanks for the offer, Katara.  Bit of a different problem with him, now, actually.”

“Hm?”  In the background, Bumi starts wailing louder.

“I think he’s hot,” Sokka rushes out.

“Oh, yeah,” Katara mumbles distractedly.  “Yeah, he seems like the hot-headed type.”

“No,” Sokka reluctantly corrects, scrunching his face together.  “Like, attractive.  I have thought about kissing him on the lips today multiple times per second.”

Katara’s quiet.  Then, Sokka hears a soft thud, and the distant sound of retching.

Sokka’s nose scrunches up, and he huffs.  “Katara!” he belts into the phone, hoping to be heard, even if Katara really has put down the phone for this bit of hers.  “Stop.  You’re not being funny.”

There’s more gagging sounds, and suddenly there’s the racket of Bumi deciding to screech in the background.  

“Katara, I know I’m supposed to be the mature one out of us, but come on,” he continues.  “I’m a grown boy now.  I can find someone attractive.  Even someone as unexpected as Zuko.  And I know you don’t like him very much, I didn’t either!  But something changed and now I feel weird.  In the romantic way.”

“What’s going on?” Katara’s voice warbles back in.  

“Oh.  Wait, were you even listening to me?”

“You know, Sokka,” she says, sniffling.  “I’m a bit under the weather right now.  Can we do this some other time?”

“You’re sick?”

“Been throwing up all morning,” she groans.  “All yesterday, and the day before that, too.  Haven’t been feeling too great lately.  But don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“Aang’s not there to help out, and Bumi is probably damaging his vocal chords with how loud he’s crying,” he worries, anyway.  It’s instinctual.

“Yeah,” Katara acknowledges, before laughing.  “You’re right.”

Sokka frowns.  “How are you feeling right now?”

“Like I’ll be leaned over the toilet again in another thirty minutes,” Katara sighs.  “It’s probably just food poisoning, or something.”

“I’ve never heard of food poisoning lasting for three days, Katara,” he gently chides. He surreptitiously checks his calendar; they’re on patrol duty for the next week.  If he sends a message to June, maybe he can manage getting a reserve field agent out to patrol with Zuko, and he can somehow make it down to Fort Worth to help her out.

“I’m a trendsetter,” Katara jokes, before sniffling.  

“You’re something,” he acknowledges, pulling up June’s contact information.  “Where’s dad?”

“Ugh.  They’re off visiting Bato’s family this week.”

“So you’re alone in Fort Worth.”

“Not alone.  Bumi is here.”

“Bumi is barely a year old,” Sokka points out.

There’s a pause. 

“Fine,” Katara concedes.

“Okay, I’m going to call my supervisor, and then I’ll call you right back,” Sokka proclaims, and he hurriedly finishes his declaration over Katara’s muffled noises of protest.  “Someone else can deal with Sugita for a bit!  We have reserve field agents for a reason.”

“Sokka, I’m fine, I’ll be okay--”

“Have you eaten today?”

Katara doesn’t immediately reply.

“Okay!” he exclaims.  He pulls the phone off his ear and says a goodbye while he can’t hear anything Katara might be saying in response.  “That settles it.  I’ll call soon!  Try not to throw up any more!”

Sokka immediately presses call on June’s number.  He’s never needed to use it before-- Zuko’s in charge of their communication to Central, and Sokka doesn’t have a close personal relationship to the woman.  He’s just hoping he’s built up enough credit in her eyes to ask for a favor.  He figures he can work enough charm in to get off the hook.

“Sokka?” June answers.

“June, my gal,” he says smoothly, “how are you doing today, beautiful?”

“Wow,” June huffs, letting out a bark of laughter.  “Uh, I’m doing good, Sokka.  Does this phone call have any importance, or do you just want to try out worthless lines?”

“Uh, well, no,” Sokka flusters, scrambling into seriousness.  “Okay, so I’ll just cut to the chase.”

“Please do.”

“I have a family emergency of sorts happening right now, and I was hoping that you could send a replacement field member for me for the next few days.”

“Got it.”

“So… yes?”

“Yes, of course,” she chuckles.  “I can set you up with two options, actually.”

“Wow.  It’s my lucky day.”

“Sure.  So the first option is for me to send a temporary replacement to be Mr. Sugita’s partner, in which case, you would… where are you two located right now, anyway?”

“Joplin, Missouri.”

“Okay.  I can send a replacement that can arrive by tonight, and when the replacement arrives, you can leave the field with the car they’re sent in.”

Sokka does mental math.  A replacement coming in tonight, means that he wouldn’t be in Texas until tomorrow.  Better than nothing, but Aang might be back in an area with reception at that point.  “Okay.”

“The next option is just for you and Mr. Sugita to drive to wherever you need to go, and just leave the data collection machines on while the van’s running.  Right now, there are multiple field teams around the Joplin area, so I’m not too worried about letting one team wander for a few days.”

The oil change shouldn’t take too much longer, so if Zuko is okay with the trip, they’d arrive a bit after dinner.  If.  “Right.”

“Talk it over with Mr. Sugita, and let me know what you decide.  I’ll give you an hour, and if I haven’t heard anything, I’ll send the replacement for you.”

“Right, thanks June,” Sokka smiles.  “Talk soon.”

He hangs up and exhales, placing his hands sturdy on the bathroom countertop.  He catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror; a tendril of hair carelessly thrown from his wolftail, bottom lip bitten down to its fundamentals.  The faucet is leaking, a stark pitter patter that he’s only just noticed.  He holds his palms close together, open under the leak, and waits for enough water to gather to splash his face with.  It trails down his cheek, falls onto his collarbone, soaking the collar of his sweatshirt.  

He’s not too sure how long he stays there, captured by the moment, but eventually a knock on the front door breaks his concentration.  Zuko stands there, glistening in sunshine sweat, a confused look on his face.

“You okay?” Zuko asks, walking inside the room and closing the door behind him.  Sokka follows him into the main area and sits on his bed.

“Yeah,” Sokka breathes.  “So, a bit of a situation came up.”

“Yeah?” Zuko echoes, fingers reaching for the hem of his tank top.  Sokka flops onto the bed and trains his eyes on the ceiling. 

“Katara’s sick,” he says, over the shuffling of clothes.  “I need to go home to Fort Worth to help her out until Aang gets back.”

“Where’s Aang?”

“No Man’s Land.”

“No Man’s Land?”

“A pocket of Texas with absolutely no cell reception,” Sokka explains.  “Piandao sends all of the field teams there for a few days in the season.  It’s a desert grassland area, so storms rarely form, which means most of the time gets spent playing cards or watching the wild horses.  Aang’s out there right now.”

Zuko hums, and Sokka chances a glance over.  Zuko is turned with his bare back towards Sokka, busy rifling through the motel wardrobe.  Sokka watches his shoulders flex with every arm movement.  “All right, let me shower, and then we can head down.  Have you called June?”

It takes a second for the words to process in Sokka’s head.  “Oh, uh-- yeah.  Hey, Zuko, you don’t have to come with me, if you don’t want to.  June can just send a replacement.”

“That would take longer, wouldn’t it?” he points out, absent-mindedly.  He pulls out a handful of clothes and shuts the dresser closed.  “And how long is the drive to Fort Worth from here, in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” Sokka says, with difficulty.  His mouth has grown dry and tacky.

“Let me check real quick,” Zuko murmurs, soft belly moving slightly with his breaths.  He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and is concentrated on it for a few moments.  Sokka takes the time to admire the smallest visible etchings of veins along Zuko’s forearms.

“Okay,” Zuko clears his throat.  “It’s a six hour drive from Joplin to Fort Worth.  We’re lucky that we’re in the south section of our territory now, otherwise it could’ve been a lot longer.  In this case, we only have to go through Oklahoma.  I’m going to shower right now, and you’re going to tell your sister that we’ll be there tonight, okay?”

Relief floods Sokka’s senses as he snaps out of his entrancement.  “Right.  Thank you, Zuko.”

“Of course.  Your sister needs you, right?  We should get you there as soon as possible.”  With that, he shuts the bathroom door behind him.

Sokka clenches his hands into fists and shoves himself to a sitting position.

It only takes a moment to send a text to June, letting her know of their decision.  After she sends back a very thoughtful “k” text, Sokka dials Katara back up.

She answers quickly.  “Sokka?”

“Hey, Katara.  We’re leaving in about ten minutes, okay?  The drive takes six hours, so we’ll be there around dinnertime tonight.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?”

“Oh, yeah, uh.  Zuko’s driving us in the van.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just…” Katara trails off.  “I have to clean up the guest room, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Sokka insists, gently.  “We can share the living room if we need to.  You’ve got two couches.”

“Okay, but I’m still going to clean the guest room.”

“Do what you want, but you don’t need to put yourself out,” Sokka sighs.  “I’ll see you tonight, okay?  Do you want me to pick you up some advil or something at CVS?”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be nice, actually.  And some Gatorade or something too, please.”

“All right, big spender,” Sokka teases, rolling his eyes.  “Talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.  And, hey.  Did I… did I imagine you saying something about Sugita being attractive?”

“Unfortunately, you did not,” Sokka exhales, looking at the sliver of light coming under the bathroom door.  “That is now a thing.”

“Right.  Okay.  We’ll talk about that when you get here?”

“If you won’t puke on me.”

“No promises.”

Sokka laughs.  “Okay.  I’ll text you when we’re close.  You don’t have to stay up, I still have the spare key on me.”

“I’ll be up,” Katara says, but she yawns, so Sokka doesn’t set any mental expectations.  “Just knock and I’ll come bring you guys in.”

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

They knock.  Nothing happens.

“I had a feeling she’d be asleep already,” Sokka sighs.  Zuko shifts beside him.  “I know it’s barely ten, but she likes her sleep.  Especially when she’s feeling under the weather.”

“Makes sense,” Zuko comments, taking in their surroundings.  It’s a cool night, the stars are out and shining brightly, and Katara still has Fourth of July decorations on their front porch.  It’s August.

“The keys to the apartment should be on your key ring,” Sokka says, gesturing to Zuko’s palm.  Zuko tosses the keys over, and Sokka catches them easily. 

The key ring is, at this point, mostly a collection of miscellaneous ‘treasures’ found in the form of keychains from gas stations across the middle of America.  Each one is a memory, and Sokka doesn’t want to imagine himself, at the end of the season, sitting down with Zuko and deciding who gets which ones.  So instead, he focuses on quickly finding the key to Katara’s house, and he’s gone through half the ring before he hears something from behind the door.

“Shit,” Sokka curses, dropping the keys on the porch in surprise.  He quickly picks them up, and adjusts himself back into a standing position just in time to see Katara open the front door.  Bumi rests against her shoulder.

“You could’ve knocked,” she chides.  

“We did!” Sokka defends loudly, throwing his arms out for emphasis.  Zuko chuckles from beside him.

Katara rolls her eyes.  “Knock louder next time, will you?”

She opens the screen door, and Sokka and Zuko follow her inside to the little foyer.  Sokka gives her a hug as Zuko takes off his shoes.  Sokka quickly shuffles his own off, and grabs Bumi’s hands in his own, wiggling them around playfully.  Bumi blinks slowly at him.  Sokka smiles.

“Sorry about the mess,” Katara says softly, watching Bumi’s face.  “I haven’t been feeling too good, so I couldn’t find the energy to make everything spotless.”

“Oh, no worries,” Zuko says, brushing her off easily.  “Although, Sokka, you really could’ve just told me that Katara’s pregnant.  When we were driving down here, I was pretty worried that the sickness might’ve been something bad.”

Katara opens her mouth before Sokka gets the chance to.  “Pregnant?  Sugita, I’m not pregnant.”

“You’re not?” Zuko genuinely asks, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.  “Are you sure?”

Katara’s eyes flash.  Sokka drops Bumi’s hands and instinctively clenches his stomach muscles.  He’s too familiar with her strong right hook.  “Why would you think I’m pregnant, Sugita?  Is there something you want to say about how I look?”  

The questions are drawn out slowly.  Sokka surreptitiously grabs onto the hem of Zuko’s shirt and tugs him slightly backwards.

“You just--” Zuko splutters, gesturing his hands wildly.  “You-- I mean--”

“Cut the shit and clarify.  What are you on about?” Katara growls.  Her voice is, at once, shrill and darkened.  Sokka takes a step back.

“I am so sorry,” Zuko cringes, face scrunched.  “I just-- I really thought you knew.  You’ve got this, like, aura.  I’m sorry.”

Katara’s narrowed eyes turn to Sokka.  “What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“Believe me, I wish I knew,” Sokka replies quickly, wrapping his hand around Zuko’s wrist as the other man’s body becomes agitated. 

Surprisingly, Katara sighs and deflates, without doing them any damage.  “I’m not pregnant, Sugita.  Honestly, I’m just in shock!  You’ve been here thirty seconds yet somehow I’m already sick of your shit. And yes, also physically. I’m also physically sick,” she frowns, scrunching her nose up.  “But I’m not pregnant.”

Bumi smacks his mother lightly in the face with a smattering of giggles, which gracelessly turns Katara’s attention away from Zuko.

“See, Bumi here is an only child.  And he’s going to stay that way for at least a little while, won’t you, baby?” Katara coos, rubbing a finger against his cheek.

“So, uh,” Zuko starts, and Sokka crosses his fingers behind his back, hoping for a positive shift in conversation.  “If you’re not, uh… Anyways, what sickness do you have?”

Katara doesn’t even look back at Zuko.  “I’ve been tired as hell and I’ve thrown up a few times over the past few days.  I needed help taking care of Bumi if I crash, so that’s why Sokka’s here.  You don’t have to worry about me, Sugita.”

“So… sleepy and puking?”  Zuko asks, eyebrows scrunched.

“Yes,” Katara huffs.  “And I’ve been having some issues eating, in general.  Probably because I know I’m just going to throw up whatever I put in my mouth.  It’s probably a virus, or something.  Uh, wash your hands a lot.”

Zuko doesn’t reply.  Sokka doesn’t say anything in response, either, because he’s too busy recalling a frantic google search from his freshman year of college.

….Classic pregnancy signs and symptoms!  The most common early signs and symptoms of pregnancy might include: missed period; nausea with or without vomiting; increased urination; and, fatigue!  Other less obvious signs and symptoms of pregnancy that you might experience during the first trimester include: moodiness; bloating; cramping; food aversions; and, nasal congestion!  If you miss a period and notice some of the above signs or symptoms, take a home pregnancy test…

Sokka can’t even blink.  “Katara.  Uh.  This is an awkward question, and I apologize in advance.  But is it possible that there’s a chance you’re pregnant right now?”

Katara gawks at him.  “Listen, I told you, it’s probably just a little virus or something, there’s no way I--”

She freezes, and then bites down on her lip.  She’s thinking.  Sokka waits nervously.

Ten seconds pass by and then her eyes turn feral.  “Sugita, I swear to god, if I’m pregnant right now, it’s all your fault.”

“Wouldn’t it be Aang’s fault?” Zuko sarcastically asks, under his breath but still not quiet enough to go unnoticed by the Qanik siblings.  

“OH-kay!” Sokka exclaims, stepping in between the two of them.  He has to interfere before he becomes a witness to murder.  “Here’s what we’re going to do.  Katara, you hang out here with Bumi.  Zuko and I will make another CVS run, all right, and pick up a pregnancy test.  Does that sound good?”

“Don’t get the cheapest one there,” Katara says, systematically brushing her hand through Bumi’s little tufts of hair.  “I want the results to be accurate.  And Sugita can buy everything, right?”

Sokka turns to make eye contact with Zuko.  He tries his best to telepathically communicate with Zuko that he should agree with anything Katara says.

It seems to work.

“Right.  I’ll, uh.  I’ll wait in the car,” Zuko mutters, slowly backing out of the apartment.

Katara and Sokka both watch him go, and don’t look at each other until he’s buckled in.

“That's the guy you’ve got the hots for?” Katara sighs.  “Him?”

“He’s a really good guy,” Sokka defends pitifully.  “He’s just a bit blunt, sometimes.  Once you get past it, he’s a lot better.”

Katara hums.  “As long as you’re happy.  And hey, Sokka?”

“Yeah?”

“I want some peanut M&Ms too.  Get a family pack.  They can go on Sugita’s bill.”

“Are you trying to drain him of his money?” Sokka chuckles.  “You know, we don’t get paid that much.”

“I’m not trying to do that,” Katara says innocently, but the smirk on her face sells her out.  “Just want to make sure that he’s well-off enough to take care of my older brother.  Someone needs to help pay off your online shopping bills.”

Sokka scoffs but doesn’t argue.  They say their goodbyes and he saunters back into the van, where Zuko fidgets nervously with their keychains.

“That could’ve gone better,” Sokka says, choosing to get right to the point.  “Most people don’t just assume pregnancies.”

“I know,” Zuko cracks out, leaning forward to rest his head on the steering wheel.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I fucked up.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad or upset or anything at you,” Sokka murmurs, smiling at Zuko.  “It’s kind of funny, actually.  Don’t tell Katara I just said that, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Zuko sighs, picking up his head.  “I’ll just apologize again when we get back.  She won’t hate me, right?”

“Oh, she might,” Sokka admits.  “But that’s okay.  I like you plenty enough, so she’ll be bound to come around eventually.  Sibling code.”

Zuko raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Sokka wants to brush a hand over it, to relax it into fading away forever.  He can’t do that, though.  Not now.  So he settles for another smile.

This time, Zuko offers a timid smile back.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

They grab the pregnancy test (and the peanut M&Ms) and head back to Katara’s.  She lets them in, snatches the plastic CVS bag out of Sokka’s hands, puts Bumi on the living room carpet, and then walks into her room.  Sokka sighs, asks Zuko to stay with Bumi, and then follows her.

Her bathroom door is shut, so Sokka lounges on her bed until she opens it.  She looks at him quietly for a few moments, before opening the door wider and motioning for him to come in.  He does.

“So….” Sokka starts, locating the pregnancy test on the countertop.  It’s flipped over, so he can’t read anything on it.

“The test takes a few minutes to work,” Katara chides gently.  “Be patient.”

“Okay,” Sokka mutters.  He leans against the bathroom door and waits.  And waits.  And waits some more.  Katara’s eyes are closed.  Sokka starts to feel restless; he can’t begin to imagine where her mind is at.

“Any luck contacting Aang?”

“I’ve sent him a few texts, but he hasn’t seen them yet,” she sighs, finally moving to lean against the countertop.  

“Do you want me to ask Paindao to send them a message through their pager?” he offers.

Katara loosens her neck muscles and hangs her head.  “Won’t really change anything at this point, will it?  I’m either pregnant, or I’m not.  The outcome won’t be different whether he knows it’s a possibility or not.”

“I guess you’re right,” Sokka sighs.  He fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

Katara goes back to being statuesque, her little movements of breath only faintly breaking the mirage.

Silence stretches the moment into what seems an endless abyss.

Finally, Katara speaks.  “Okay.  I think we’ve waited long enough.”

With that said, she flips over the test.

A subtle “+” looks deep into their souls.

“No way,” Katara murmurs, flipping the test back over, as if the positive result would fall to the floor, and a true negative would jingle teasingly in its spot.  “No way.”

Sokka blinks rapidly.  “Okay.”

“Okay,” Katara echoes under her breath.  “Okay, okay.  Positive pregnancy test.  Okay.  Hold on.  I need to do some mental math.”

“Ugh!” Sokka exclaims, opening the bathroom door back up again.  “I’m not staying for that.  Please, just-- don’t do that, uh, around me.  Okay.  I’ll go wait in the living room with Bumi and Zuko, all right?  Do you need a hug?  Here’s a hug.”

The hug is over in less than a second and Sokka leaves the room before his sister can say anything else.

“How is she?” Zuko asks as soon as Sokka walks into the living room.  Bumi’s got his fists in Zuko’s hair, and the red ribbon that usually ties it together lays messily on the floor.

“A little frazzled,” Sokka admits quietly, sitting next to them on the floor.  “You were right, probably.  The test came back positive.”

Zuko’s face morphs uncomfortably.  “Sorry, it’s just, I was around Ty Lee a lot when she was pregnant with Yasuno, and I know it sounds like an old wives’ tale, but I think pregnant people really do give off a glow.”

Sokka bites back a grin.  

“Anyways, I was thinking,” Zuko continues, “maybe we should take a field trip somewhere tomorrow, or something.  Get them out of the house.  Somewhere Katara can escape her head, does that make sense?  I don’t know.  Does she have a favorite place in town?  I can drive us there.”

The gesture is gentle, caring.  Especially so, when Sokka remembers the shaky acquaintanceship between Zuko and Katara in the first place.

“I don’t understand you,” Sokka admits lowly, a small smile on his face.

Zuko tilts his head, confused.  “You don’t-- uh, what do you mean?”

“I just,” Sokka starts, brushing a free hand through his loose hair, “we’ve been on the road together for months now, and I know you pretty well, but I still don’t always understand you.  There’s a difference.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Zuko asks, cautiously.

“Not at all,” he replies, smile growing.  “It’s kind of nice, actually.  Keeps me on my toes.”

Zuko’s face softens, and he opens his mouth as if to reply, but at that moment, Katara returns.  Her face is expressionless, and she freezes when she notices Bumi snuggled into Zuko.  

“Bumi likes you?” Katara wonders aloud, and Sokka laughs at her bluntness.

“I guess so,” Zuko replies, with that same sense of confusion in his voice. 

Katara tilts her head but sits down with them.  “I’m surprised he’s been so calm.  Usually he pitches a fit if someone new holds him.”

“Ah,” Zuko acknowledges, before holding out Bumi slightly, as if to inspect him further.  Bumi gurgles, some spit dribbling down his chin.  “Well, now I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.”

Gooey.  That’s how Sokka feels.  Gooey.  It’s disgusting.  He loves it.

“Zuko brought up the idea of going to the Fort Worth Botanic Gardens tomorrow,” Sokka says instead of declaring his overflowing emotions.  He figures Zuko will make the connection in his head; the Botanical Garden is Katara’s favorite local haunt.  “Aang probably won’t have cell reception for at least another day, so maybe a walk in the gardens would be a fun way to pass the time.  If you’re up for it?”

Katara looks wary.  “And if I throw up?”

“We have a bucket in the van,” he replies.  “Plus, Zuko here drives like a grandma.”

“I do not,” Zuko chides gently, bouncing Bumi on his knee.

Katara laughs.  “Sure.  Fuck it.  Why not?  Anyways, Sugita, I need to steal my baby back.  It’s bedtime.  Sort yourselves out, too, or don’t.  Do what you want.”

She grabs Bumi, and Sokka waves a goodbye to her.

“Oh, um, goodnight!” Zuko calls out, just before Katara closes her bedroom door.  Zuko looks over at Sokka.  “So, uh.  Where do we sleep?”

“Do you mind a bit of a mess?” Sokka asks.

Zuko bites back a smile.  It’s a gorgeous afflatus.  Sokka could write poetry about it.  “No, I don’t mind if things are a bit messy.”

And doesn’t that make images appear in Sokka’s head.  “Okay, you can take their guest room, then.  It’s through that door--” he points “--and I’ll be right out here, on the sofa.  You can come get me if you need anything.”

“All right,” Zuko sighs, hoisting himself up off the floor.  “Good night.”

“Wait!” Sokka calls.  Zuko hasn’t even had the chance to go anywhere.  Sokka reaches over and grabs the stray red hair ribbon, and holds it out to Zuko.  “For you.”

Zuko blinks, then stretches out a hand to cover Sokka’s own.  He grabs the ribbon slowly, and his fingers tickle the inside of Sokka’s palm.  Zuko’s tongue slides quickly over his lips.  “Uh, right.  Thank you, Sokka.”

“Yeah,” he says dumbly.  “Yeah, no problem.  Good night.”

Zuko’s hand slides away completely and he waves as he leaves for the guest bedroom.

Sokka pulls himself up onto the couch.  He doesn’t have the energy to extend it into a temporary bed.  He throws a thin blanket over himself, and stares at the ceiling, all too aware of Zuko getting ready for bed in the next room.

Sleep takes her sweet time to arrive.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Aang and Toph are still unreachable in the morning.  Zuko and Sokka and Katara watch the morning news and have breakfast (scrambled eggs and toast, an elaborate concoction burned up by Zuko).  Bumi starts crying a little after ten, and after Katara feeds him, and they all check again if Aang has cell service (he doesn’t), they pack up their things for the Botanical Garden.

“Ready to get this show on the road?” Sokka exaggeratedly asks, holding open the front door and wiggling his eyebrows at his sister and Zuko.  Bumi sits in his carrier at Sokka’s feet.

Zuko smiles, but Katara scoffs.  “Shotgun.”

“Hey!” Sokka objects, but his sister’s already walked outside and opened the van’s passenger door.  Zuko starts laughing, and Sokka punches his shoulder in mock insult.  “I’m getting it on the way back.”

“If you call shotgun fast enough, sure,” Zuko murmurs with a smile, before going to settle into the driver’s seat.  

Sokka bites back a smile as he watches Zuko hoist himself into the driver’s seat.  He turns to lock the front door, and then grabs Bumi and saunters over to the van.

“Are there even seats back there?” Katara asks, concerned.  She’s twisted her body to completely face her son, who sleeps soundly.  A little drool tumbles down his chin.

“I’m going to hook his carrier up to a spare seat belt we have in the back,” Sokka reassures her.  Is it legal?  Probably not.  But they’re in Texas.  Bumi will be secure.  It’ll be fine.

Sokka maneuvers Bumi into stability, and then has the sudden realization that, with all of their equipment, there’s really no place for him to sit.

“Hey, Zuko?” he calls.  “How should I fit myself in here?”

Zuko surveys the back, analyzing the minimal space they do have.  

“Move the spare gas can,” he ultimately suggests, nodding his head to himself.  “We’ve got a full tank right now, I doubt we’ll need it.”

“All right,” Sokka easily agrees.  “Katara, is it cool if I rest this on your front porch?”

“Fine by me,” she says distractedly, fiddling around with the van’s radio.  Sokka’s in shock that Zuko hasn’t stopped her yet.  Maybe it’s the pregnancy perks.

“Be right back!” Sokka says, grabbing the gas can and struggling to coax both himself and the canister out of the van at the same time.  He manages, though, and is back within a minute.  

Katara’s humming along to the radio (country music, which Sokka knows Zuko dislikes, but is putting up with good-naturedly).  Bumi must have woken up, because he’s looking straight into Sokka’s soul with his big glassy baby eyes.  Zuko starts driving, and Sokka settles in next to his nephew, engaging in a pointless staring contest with him.  Bumi keeps on winning, despite not knowing what battle is truly playing out.  Sokka’s a bit in awe.

Katara and Zuko start talking softly in the front of the van, but Sokka can barely hear their conversation over the low hum of the van’s equipment.  He entertains himself by playing more games with his nephew; a aimless round of I-Spy, a tickling outburst that ends up with Bumi kicking Sokka in the nose, and then finally, a more successful game of peek-a-boo with a gleeful Bumi squealing in delight at every face reveal.

The garden entrance soon looms out their windows, and Sokka can hear Katara direct Zuko on where to go.  She brings them over near the Japanese Garden, which doesn’t come as a surprise to Sokka.  It’s where she and Aang got married, all those years ago.  It’s a breathtaking landscape.

They unload themselves from the van and start walking towards the garden entrance.  The overwhelming greenery is a pleasant sight, especially since Sokka’s been viewing monotonous plains over the past few months.  They’ve arrived too late in the season for the cherry blossom trees to be in bloom, but the rest of the foliage leaves little to be desired.

“This is gorgeous,” Zuko’s raspy voice suddenly chimes in, right next to Sokka’s ear.  Sokka glances over at him, hands in his pocket, as his eyes skirt from tree to tree.

Katara has Bumi in her arms, and she walks ahead of them, pointing out all the fluttering butterflies to her son.  Sokka smiles at the sight, and then bumps his shoulder into Zuko to indicate that he’s listening.

“I can see why this is your sister’s favorite place in town,” Zuko says quietly.  “It’s beautiful.”

“Look into the ponds when we walk,” Sokka suggests happily.  Zuko immediately tilts his head to focus on the murky depths.

“Are those… fish?”

‘Yeah,” Sokka confirms.  At this point, they’ve stopped walking.  Instead, they teeter on the edge of the paved walkway, both looking deep into the water.  “There’s over a thousand koi fish in the garden’s ponds.  We used to come here when we were little and give as many of them as we could names.  I wonder how many generations have passed under our toes.”

Zuko hums.  “That’s a frightening thought.”

Sokka barks out a laugh.  “Frightening?  How is that frightening?”

Zuko shoves him lightly, and Sokka stumbles some distance away as Zuko rolls his eyes and returns his focus to Sokka’s eyes.  “All these koi fish here, destined only for their singular pond.  What are they supposed to do when they want to disappear from everyone they’ve ever known?  Simply hope to be caught by a park ranger here, to only meet their demise?  Is that the best they can hope for?”

Sokka can’t stifle the laughter bubbling in his gut.  “Zuko-- Zuko, they’re just koi fish.”

“Still,” he sighs, although the tiniest grin has appeared on his face.  “Why didn’t God predict their potential subtle desires, and give them their own abilities to shift ponds?  What if they don’t have any friends around them?”

“They have family,” Sokka replies, running with Zuko’s logic.  “History here, where they make their new beginnings.  And the pond is big!  And safe.  I think they lucked out here, in terms of fish lives.”

Sokka’s eyes have wandered over to his sister, who has settled at a picnic table near the Moon Bridge; a beautiful bridge over the water with a picturesque background, a scene Monet himself couldn’t fathom to invent.  Bumi sits drowsily on her lap, babbling what can only be nonsense to the only person on the planet who listens patiently to him.  

And Sokka’s never been a koi fish, and he’s never felt tied to any one place or person, but standing here next to Zuko, watching over Katara and Bumi, he thinks he feels the peace the koi fish feel in their safe little pond.  There’s love despite mobility.  No matter how far he may stray, he can always find this; his little pocket of sunshine, a home that fits beyond the boundaries of coordinates.

Zuko pulls him out of his introspection.  “I think your sister’s waiting,” he chuckles, tugging lightly on Sokka’s shirt sleeve.  “Let’s go catch up with her.”

And so they go.  They walk away from the koi fish, and this does nothing to impact every individual little fish, living their life in their pond with their own home.  The fish will stay for another visit.  

Sokka looks over at Zuko, who’s still got the faintest grin on his face.  Sokka grins brightly back.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

“Aang and I actually got married on the Moon Bridge,” Katara says, in between bites of finger sandwiches.  “It was a very quaint and small ceremony.  Best wedding I’ve ever been to, although I might be biased.”

“Nah, I mean, you are biased, but it really was the best wedding,” Sokka agrees.  

“That sounds like it was lovely,” Zuko grins.  He’s got a little bit of mayonnaise on the edge of his mouth; Sokka wipes it gently away without thinking.  Zuko grins even bigger.  “This whole place is gorgeous.”

“We haven’t even seen Sokka’s favorite place yet,” Katara mentions.

“Oh, yeah?  And what would that be?”

“The cactus garden,” Sokka replies.  He rolls his eyes.  “Although, might I remind us all, we’re here for Katara today.  The cactus garden can wait for next time.”

“If you think the Botanic Gardens are good, Sokka should take you to Marfa soon,” Katara suggests, feeding Bumi a halved grape.  “It’s the best sight Texas has to offer.”

“Marfa?”  Zuko asks, a cute crinkle in his forehead. 

“Marfa, Texas,” Katara continues.  “It’s too far for a day trip, but Sokka, you should definitely take Zuko out to see the lights after your field season is over.  Come on down, take him to the cactus garden here, and then make a trip out to Marfa.  Sounds like a fun time, no?”

In all his life, Katara has never once played the wingwoman for him.  Sokka’s unsure of how to feel.  

“No, yeah, that does sound good, uh…” Zuko’s got a dumb little smile forming on his face.  Sokka loves it.  “What do you mean, “the lights”?” 

“The lights,” Sokka finally chimes in.  “The Marfa lights.  If you’re lucky, and it’s a clear night, these strange lights appear in the sky.  Nobody’s ever been able to figure out what they are, exactly, but my favorite theory is that they’re from alien UFOs.”

“Aliens?”

“Yeah, well,” Sokka sighs, “it would be cool.  As long as you ignore the car lights from the nearby highway, which may or may not get distorted by the natural geography to be projected onto the sky.”

Zuko laughs.  “Wow.  I’d love to see the mystery lights.”

“As soon as the field season’s over, I’ll take you,” Sokka promises, voice light.  Zuko looks back at him, bright and happy, and Sokka feels weightless.  As if his smile alone could bury the logical explanations of the lights, and revel in the mystery of humanity, of reality.  As if he could keep Sokka dreaming.

Bumi starts shuffling around in Katara’s lap, and Sokka watches him stick out his chubby fingers to grasp for Zuko and his hair.  Katara heaves a deep sigh before thrusting her child onto him.

“Your turn, Uncle Zuko,” she says, dropping Bumi into his arms.  Zuko’s face reddens almost instantly, and he flusters a few sounds before giving speech up in favor of focusing on the baby.

Sokka catches Katara’s sight and dramatically rolls his eyes at her.  She smiles wickedly back at him.  Uncle Zuko? he mouths.  She sticks out her tongue at him.  He huffs.

“After we wrap up here, why don’t we call it an early day?”  Katara segues.  “I’m feeling a bit tired, honestly.  And I’m sure Bumi would love a proper nap.”

Zuko seems currently incapable of speech, so Sokka answers for them both.  “Sounds good!  Let us know if you need anything.”

Katara hums and grabs another finger sandwich.

And although Sokka knows that the moment will decay naturally, and that ‘forever’ won’t consist of his exact moment, he allows himself the foolish hope of permanence of this.  His family; his nephew, tugging on Zuko’s hair, Uncle Zuko (and doesn’t that sound so nice).  Zuko gently unclasps Bumi’s fingers, so Bumi latches onto his pinky.  Katara laughs.  Sokka swears to memorize the flush of fondness rushing through his brain.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Hours later, when Sokka and Zuko are settled in the living room playing Go Fish for the thousandth time, Katara suddenly opens her bedroom door.

Sokka blinks at her.  She blinks back.  Zuko’s head whips between the two.

“Sokka.”  Katara says.  She fists her palms and hits them against her thighs twice.

Sokka raises his eyebrows.  It’s their secret message, an urgency so necessary that any delay is a betrayal.  “Right now?  Are you sure?”

“Bumi’s asleep,” Katara replies.  “Uncle Zuko can handle himself, I’m sure?”

“What’s going on?” Zuko asks Sokka, bewilderment on his features.

“Emergency Waffle House visit,” Sokka says, getting up off the floor and brushing his hands off his jeans.  “Sorry.  Sibling code.  I’ve got to go.  We’ll be back in an hour?”

Katara nods.

Zuko hasn’t moved from his seated position on the floor.

Sokka grabs Katara’s keys from her TV stand and shuffles on his shoes.  Katara’s right behind him.  Sokka’s laces aren’t tied, but this is an emergency Waffle House visit.  Laces don’t need to be tied.  Laws don’t apply now.  He opens the front door and starts leaving.

“Wait, what--”

“If you need anything, just text me!” Sokka calls back to Zuko, waiting for Katara to exit before shutting the door.  

The nearest Waffle House is only a five minute drive away.  Sokka feels serenity hit him as they arrive, enter, and find absolutely no worker in sight.

“Want to sit at the bar?” Katara asks, the first words out of her mouth since they left her place.

“Of course,” Sokka says easily, stumbling his way forward.  There’s bacon sizzling mysteriously on a stove, and the aroma is tantalizing.

A teenage waitress saunters in through the kitchen door, and looks at the siblings with mild distaste.  

“What can I get you two?”  she asks, reaching into her apron for a pad of paper and a pen.

Sokka nods for Katara to go first.

“Four chocolate chip waffles,” Katara decides.  “And a cup of coffee, please.”

“All right.  You?”  

“The bacon, egg, and cheese hashbrown bowl,” Sokka replies.  “And an extra side of bacon.  And coffee, too.  Thanks.”

The waitress grunts before turning around to start their orders.  Katara rests her head against the countertop and closes her eyes.

Coffee arrives slowly, and Sokka pours Katara’s preferred amounts of sugar and cream into one cup, before pushing it over to her.  She drinks half of it in one go.  

“Want to talk about it?” Sokka asks gently, just as the waitress throws their plates of food in front of them.

Katara asks the waitress for silverware instead.

Sokka tries again once half her waffles are gone.

“I’m here for you if you need someone to listen.”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out quickly, a bit of waffle flying from her mouth.  Sokka hands her a napkin.  She takes it almost subconsciously.  “Again. Me.  Right now.”

She starts chewing again.  She does it in an angry, exaggerated way.  Sokka decides his goal should be to placate her, if possible.

“Yeah, I guess you are,” Sokka says, picking up a slice of bacon.  “How do you feel about that?”

“You know, I just,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know.  I always wanted more than one kid.  Aang wants more kids, too.  I just thought there’d be more time?”

Sokka chews his bacon thoughtfully.  “You know, we’re only a year apart from each other, age-wise.  I think we turned out pretty good, right?”

Katara breathes out in an amused huff.  “I guess.”

She steals some of his bacon and Sokka doesn’t even comment on it.

“At least this will all be over in nine months,” she says.  “I’ll have another baby and won’t feel sick anymore.  That’ll be nice.”

“How long have you been feeling sick?” Sokka asks. 

Katara bites down on her lip and concentrates.  “About a week now?  I think.”

The math doesn’t entirely add up in Sokka’s head.  “If you were sick before Aang went to No Man’s Land, why didn’t you tell him?”

Katara shovels half a waffle into her mouth, which means that Sokka has to wait for her to finish chewing it before getting an answer.  It takes at least thirty seconds.  Hakoda should have taught them better manners.  “I don’t know.  I can hold down the fort on my own, you know?  I wanted to do that.”

“No one thinks that you can’t,” Sokka reassures gently.  “You’ve got a support system.  Don’t be afraid to reach out for it.”

Katara rolls her eyes.  “I know.  It won’t happen again.  At least for another nine months, I promise.”

Sokka laughs.  “Fine.  I’m holding you to that.”

“You’ve got a support system, too,” Katara quietly remarks, folding her fork over her knife on top of her plate.  “In case you need to talk about anything.  Even Zuko.”

“I know,” Sokka groans.  “Listen, why do you think I called you in the first place?  I know I’ve got people to lean on.  I’m here reminding you that you’ve got the same.”

“Fine, fine,” Katara sighs.  She’s got a tiny smile on her face.  Sokka chalks up a win.  “Anyways, let’s go back home.  Your boy was acting like a chicken without its head.  We should go check up on him.”

“He can fend for himself,” Sokka drawls.  “But, yeah.  Let me take care of the tab, and we can go.  Good talk?”

“Good talk.”

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

The next morning, Katara’s texts to Aang finally go through.  Aang calls her and she tells him to come home.  

Since Aang and Toph are still a fair distance away, Sokka and Zuko spend their day doing chores around the house.  Lightbulbs get switched out, garbage heads to the bin, and laundry gets folded and put away.  Zuko grabs sandwiches from a local deli for lunch, and after eating, Sokka accidentally takes a cat nap on the couch.

Aang and Toph arrive before Sokka wakes up.  As his eyes adjust to the afternoon sun, he feels the slightest tickle on his leg, and his eyes widen to take in the sight of Toph leaned over him, her fingers scrunching teasingly, a wide grin on her face.  As he reacts to the sensation (by screaming loudly, like a dignified man), he catches sight of Zuko in the kitchen doorway, bent over, laughing.  Toph joins him almost instantly.

“Not funny!” Sokka insists.  “Toph, I could’ve kicked you in the face just now!”

“What a rude way to greet your best friend,” she playfully bemoans, and Sokka happily scoffs at the words before wrapping her in a hug.  

“It’s good to see you,” he mumbles into her ear.

She huffs.  “I’d say the same to you, but, you know.”

He laughs as they detach from each other.  “Where’s Aang?”

“He’s with Katara and Bumi right now,” Toph replies.  “In the kitchen, having some adult conversation.  It didn’t interest me.  That’s why I’m with you and Zuko right now.”

Sokka closes his eyes.  He doesn’t need to see the smirk on her face.

“By the way, Sparky, how’s it been hanging with this idiot the past few months?  Kinda hard?”

“Oh, no, not really,” Zuko says, so innocently.  “We’ve been getting along really well, actually, uh, right, Sokka?”

“Yeah,” Sokka acquiesces.  “Yeah, it’s been all peaches.”

“Peaches, huh?  Hm.  Sounds a little fruity.”

Zuko starts coughing on absolutely nothing.  Sokka begs any higher being who’s listening that this is just a fever dream.

“Well, boys, what’s the plan from here?  You two going to stay around here for a little while longer, or does June want you back north?”  Toph’s voice is no-nonsense, a vast difference from her last insinuating comment.  

Sokka cracks his back.  “I haven’t heard anything yet from Central.  Have you, Zuko?”

“Oh, I have, actually,” he says, and his voice is practically dripping with an apologetic tinge.  “June needs us back up there, actually.  Jet’s team-- do you know Jet?-- it really doesn’t matter, actually, but they’re off for this week.  We need to get back up to Joplin again, at least.”

“Okay,” Sokka nods.  Now that Aang’s back in town, he feels a lot better about leaving Katara at her house without Sokka staying there.  “Let me get my shit together, and then we can say our goodbyes.”

“Thank goodness,” Toph teasingly says as Sokka gets off of the couch.  “It’s about time.  Was worried you two might stick around for longer than an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka croaks, stretching out his arms.  They finally feel loose again, and Sokka drops a kiss onto Toph’s forehead before gathering his scattered items from the room.  “I know you’re happy to see me, Toph.  You’re not that good at hiding it.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” she insists weakly as Sokka pulls away.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he laughs.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Sokka and Zuko have both put their bags in the van, they’ve both used the restroom, and they’ve gathered everyone around the front porch.

“Katara, Aang, congratulations.  I’m excited to be the best uncle to more than just one person.  And Toph, uh, keep on doing whatever you’re doing.  Keep me in the loop, all of you,” Sokka says.

“What he said,” Zuko echoes, quiet from behind Sokka.

“Aang, I have high expectations for you.  You’re a great father to Bumi, and you’ve been good enough to Katara so far.  Keep it up.”  Sokka is far beyond giving Aang the shovel talk, but he feels required to give something of a hint of it again.

Aang nods solemnly, a hand fixed solidly on Katara’s shoulder.  “I’ll do my very best.”

Sokka nods in acknowledgement and smiles.  “All right.  Goodbye, you guys!  Love you all.  See you all again very soon.”

They all wrap themselves in individual hugs, and Zuko heads over to the van.  The ignition starts and Sokka sends one final semi-serious pointed look at Aang, prompting him to nod seriously again.  Sokka holds back a laugh.  He ruffles Toph’s hair, then turns to his sister.

Sokka presses a kiss against Katara’s forehead, and then walks off.

The spare red gas can glistens from its spot on Katara’s front porch.

Chapter Text

The end of the season approaches quickly.  Time winds down in the background, until Sokka is left with mere days separating him from his eight-hour drive back down to Texas.  He debates getting Zuko a present for the occasion.  Begrudgingly, he starts using his spare moments to make Zuko a mixtape.  Time passes by unaware.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Sokka flips through his field notebook: since they started driving, they’ve tackled eighty seven storm systems.  Of those, about a quarter have been storms strong enough to spawn tornadoes.  They’ve led twenty-three community meetings about storm safety, and Sokka’s managed to survive five (5) summer camp visits with small children.  They’ve visited eight different states, but are currently winding down where they started: Kansas.  And despite the innumerable Cracker Barrel signs they’ve seen, they’ve gone to exactly…

“Zero.  Zero times, you’ve taken us to Cracker Barrel.  I thought people from the midwest were supposed to be kind,” Sokka pouts.

Zuko hums along to the Madonna song on the radio (it took him awhile, but Sokka now has all the lyrics from Zuko’s Madonna albums memorized).  “Yeah, they are.  I’m from California, though.”

“Zuko,” he whines.  He reaches out a hand and taps on the clock obnoxiously.  “Look.  It’s one o’clock.  We haven’t eaten yet.  That sign we passed just said there’s a Cracker Barrel five miles away.”

“So?”

“Are you serious?  Zuko.  We need to go.”

“Give me a single reason.”

“Because I’m asking nicely?”

“No, a real reason.”

Sokka presses his palms against his forehead.  “Fine.  Uh, well.  Oh!  The peg game.  I bet you that I can beat you at the peg game.”

“The what now?” Zuko splutters, a choked laughter rising out of his throat.

Sokka rolls his eyes.  “Nope, I’m not elaborating on that until we’re sitting down at a Cracker Barrel together.  Then we’ll play the peg game together.  There's your reason.”

“Fine,” Zuko firmly acquiesces, and Sokka immediately hollers in surprise and joy.  “But only because you promised we’d be pegging each other.”

Sokka laughs, and revels in the sharp teasing grin on Zuko’s face.

He’s not quite sure how he got lucky enough to see it in the first place, but he’s taking it and running with it, forever.  Carrying it back to Texas with him.  His favorite souvenir of the summer.

(Their Cracker Barrel waitress’s name is Barb, and four gold stars are etched into her apron.  They order sweet tea, country fried steak, ocra, and a heap of mashed potatoes.  Sokka shows Zuko just how fast he can finish the peg game [an impressive forty-two seconds], and when his eyes flicker from the game back up to Zuko, he feels his face warm as he notices how Zuko’s laughing too hard to keep his eyes open.  After the meal, Zuko buys Sokka a pack of Zebra gum and other assorted candies, and then Zuko waits patiently as Sokka challenges some older folk outside to exaggerated games of chess.  Sokka’s midway through his third game when Zuko’s palm reaches out and lands on Sokka’s shoulder.  It’s gentle.  It’s grounding.  And as Sokka claims his third checkmate, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Zuko, he feels he’s won more than simple games.)

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

The sun cradles the horizon, the moon stretches brightness into the stars, and so it goes.  And it goes again.  And it goes again.

Zuko offers to read Sokka’s palms.  Sokka can’t remember anything Zuko said about his future, but he does remember the softness.  Of hands overlapping, of words fumbling around with certainty, of smooth steady smiles.

Their last day begins.  

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

In their final motel room, Sokka wakes up to Zuko sitting on the edge of his bed, hands on his phone.  Sokka pushes himself upwards and Zuko looks over at him, a gentle grin slowly falling on his face.  

Sokka indulges in the eye contact for a brief time, then huffs out a laugh and rubs at his eyes.  “Take a picture, Sugita, it’ll last longer.”

Zuko laughs, picking a pillow up from his bed and throwing it directly at Sokka’s face.  “In your dreams.”

Sokka deflects the pillow easily.  “Bold of you to assume that I’d be dreaming about you.”

“Okay.  Anyways.  Good morning,” Zuko groans, standing up.  “I’m just gonna-- I’m just going to go get ready for the day.  Wake up and get dressed.  We need to be driving in half an hour.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Captain?”

“Yeah.  Trying out something new.  Like it?”

Zuko smirks.  “Thanks for finally admitting that I’m in charge here.”

He closes the bathroom door behind him before Sokka scrambles back a rebuttal.

Sokka falls back into bed with a sigh.  He throws an arm over his head, then feels like an angsty protagonist in some coming-of-age film, which makes him quickly bring his arm back to his side.  He looks at the ceiling.

This is the last ceiling , Sokka thinks.  The last motel ceiling of their season.  Their last ceiling together.  How could sleep have come so easily, last night, despite the despair of knowing that they’d be sleeping under their last shared ceiling?

Sokka shakes off the thought with a resolution: he should just ignore the last aspects of today.  If he’s getting emotional over a ceiling, then… Maybe it’s best to push the thoughts aside, to unpack later, when he’s back, alone, in Texas.

The best plan (for him, but maybe also Zuko), is if they just pretend that the season isn’t ending anytime soon.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

“Last day in the field,” Zuko comments nonchalantly, handing Sokka a Dr. Pepper and bag of Bugles.  

There goes the plan.  

“Last afternoon in the field,” Sokka echoes.  The words are sour in his mouth.  They’re stopped at a gas station, Sokka leaning up against his open van door, watching Zuko walk towards him.  Now’s the time.  He grabs the food from Zuko and throws it onto his seat, and then pulls out a little gift bag from underneath, thrusting it out to the other man.

“What’s this?” Zuko stammers, blinking rapidly before looking at Sokka with wide eyes.  Sokka smiles, taking in all of Zuko; messy Zuko, week fifteen of the same five outfits Zuko, holding the rumpled gift bag in his slender hands Zuko.  All of these versions are simultaneously Sokka’s favorite.

“Just a little something to celebrate,” Sokka chimes, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.  Zuko blinks at him, and then a smile breaks across his face.

“Okay,” Zuko huffs.  He tampers his grin by biting down on his lower lip.  “I, uh, didn’t get you anything, though?”

“Really?  A Dr. Pepper and Bugles bag beg to differ.”

“No, okay, I meant like, I didn’t get you anything special for today.”

“That’s fine, Zuko.  I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Right.  Um.  Okay,” Zuko breathes, sticking a hand deep into the gift bag.  He pulls out a plastic CD case, a handwritten tracklist attached by a flimsy sticky note.  A little polaroid picture is taped to the front of the CD.

Zuko’s thumbs first brush over the picture, and then his eyes slowly move over to run down the song list.  “Sokka, this is…”

“Just a little something!” Sokka exclaims, cracking his knuckles and stretching his body out.  Anything to distract himself from caring too much about Zuko’s reaction.

It’s a futile effort.  Zuko cracks open the case and takes out the CD, tilting it in the sunshine.

“You made me a mixtape.”

“Right, well.  If you ever need a break from the Madonna CDs--”

“--not sure I’ll ever run into that situation, but sure--”

“--but just in case, Madonna and Britney Spears did a collab song in 2003, not sure if you knew about that--”

“--not sure if--” Zuko splutters, looking utterly affronted.  “You assumed that I didn't know about “Me Against the Music,” who do you take me for--”

“--listen, well, okay.  Sorry.  But these songs are all in a similar vein to your usual tunes, and a little bit more, uh, updated?  No, modern.  Music made after the 1980’s.  Modern.”

“Nice save,” Zuko sighs, before looking back down at the CD, dragging his thumb along the edge.  In a softer tone, he goes, “I really love this, Sokka.  Thank you.”

“Figured you’d need a way to remember me, next season,” Sokka half-heartedly jokes, letting out a pathetic attempt of laughter.

Zuko’s eyes find Sokka’s again.  They’re crinkled at the edge, a little bright, a little soft.  “I’m pretty sure you’re impossible to forget.”

“Well.  Okay.”

“With or without the music,” Zuko continues, “I couldn’t forget about you if I tried.”

“Then don’t try,” Sokka mumbles, eyebrows furrowed, looking into Zuko’s eyes.  “I won’t either.”

Sokka watches Zuko swallow, deep, meticulous.  “Sokka.”

Sokka bites down on his lip, and then lowers his eyes to the CD case, reaching out a hand to tap on the case.  “The, uh, picture is from the gardens.  Katara took it of us when we weren’t looking.  I snapped a picture of it on my phone” --cut off that train of thought, Zuko doesn’t need to know your weaknesses-- “anyways, I wanted you to have it.”

Zuko’s eyes move gracefully onto the photo.  He smiles.  “Right.  Thank you, I love it.”

“Right,” Sokka echoes.  He quickly becomes enamored with the slightest blush tinging Zuko’s cheeks.

Zuko stammers out something else, but Sokka can’t pay attention to the words.  Zuko’s face is brighter than usual.  What does that mean?  What does that mean.  Does that mean-- no.  Yes?  Maybe.  What?

“--come on, Qanik, are you with me?”

“Right,” Sokka repeats, blinking rapidly.  “Yes.  I’m here.  Sorry.  Um.  Should we go?”

He gestures widely to the car behind them, and Zuko chuckles.  Giggles.  It’s an adorable distraction. 

“Okay,” Zuko says, walking to the other side of the car.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Sokka grabs the snacks from his seat, and then climbs in.  He buckles himself up, and concentrates on opening the soda bottle that Zuko had gotten him.

Zuko buckles and starts the car.  Madonna starts singing.  Zuko places his mixtape on the center console, but untapes the picture of the two of them, moving to plaster it on the thin plastic covering the many meters in front of the steering wheel.

“Right where I can see it,” Zuko mumbles.  Sokka’s gut bubbles with unbridled joy.  He tampers down his smile as Zuko switches the gear to drive.

They pull away from the gas station.

(Neither have put gas in the tank.  Their smiling faces, unaware, trapped in time, cover the gas gauge.  It approaches empty.)

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

“So.  It’s our last day together.  Did the summer live up to your expectations?”

Sokka takes in Zuko.  His fingers are clasped firmly around the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road.  His head is moving slightly to the quiet Madonna album playing, and Sokka’s fairly certain the movement is subconscious.

“I thought I would hate this assignment,” Sokka confesses.  It’s a truth he’s lived with since relocating north, and one that Zuko already probably knew.  Still.  Clarity rests gently on his side.  “I thought I’d be counting down the days until I get to leave the midwest, leave your team, and head back to Texas.”

Zuko gulps but doesn’t look over.  “Yeah?  How good are your predictions, then?”

“They’re usually great,” Sokka laughs.  “But I was wrong, then.”

“Oh.  Oh?”

“Oh, indeed.  I don’t have the words to describe this summer, Zuko.  The best way I can answer your question, I guess, is to thank you.  I couldn’t think of a better person to be stuck on the road with for months on end.”

“Really?” Zuko croaks.  Sokka can’t get a perfect view of his face, but he can catch Zuko’s teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Sokka confirms softly.  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Zuko.”

“Do you want to grab a beer later?” Zuko’s mouth stumbles.  His eyes haven’t moved off the road.  “After our shift tonight, I mean.  With me.  Grabbing a beer.”

Sokka blinks rapidly at him.  The urge to look away is profound, and after a few seconds, Sokka succumbs, and looks at the darkening clouds in the distance.  “Yeah, a beer sounds good.”  He hopes the waver in his voice isn’t too noticeable.  

“Great.”  Maybe the waver in his own voice is fine.  Zuko’s wavers within a single syllable.  Maybe they’re both… maybe they’re both…

Zuko’s work phone rings.

Sokka bites his lip and looks out his window as Zuko moves to answer it, putting it on speaker for Sokka’s benefit.  “This is Sugita.”

“Hey, Zuko, it’s Suki.”

“Hi, Suki!” Sokka bursts out, a teasing tone to his words.  “How are you doing?”

“Oh, hey, Sokka.  I’m all right, I hope you two are good as well.”

“Well, now we’re doing great,” Sokka schmoozes.  Suki laughs.

“Perfect.  Anyways, I wanted to call the two of you about the storm formation due south of your location.”

Sokka glances back at their equipment.  For whatever reason, even though their systems are registering storm-strength winds, the alarms haven’t gone off.  Sokka swivels his chair around to face the radars completely.

“Shit,” he mutters, flicking through the various maps.  “Sooks, thanks for the call.  I was totally missing this one.”

“The wind speeds are pushing 40 miles per hour and climbing,” Suki comments.  Sokka can practically see her frown.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sokka replies, fisting his palms together.  “The alarms didn’t sound, for whatever reason.  We’ll head there now.  Zuko, take us south eight miles.”

“Okay,” Zuko says, immediately making a u-turn.

“These winds have really picked up all in the past fifteen minutes,” Sokka mumbles, still mentally working through how the alarms didn’t start signaling in the car.  Did he turn them off by accident?  Is that even a possibility?

“Boys,” Suki reluctantly says, “I think this formation is going to turn into a supercell storm.”

Sokka squints at his readings.  The wind speeds are high and climbing, and the wind shear has begun layering the storm to form a rotating updraft in the storm’s middle.  There’s an element of instability in its formation.  If it does pick up enough speed to become a supercell storm, then… 

“Well, that’s annoying,” Sokka mutters, poking his fingers on his equipment as if that act alone could change their numbered readings.  “Looks like we’ll be out here for a few more hours.  Guess I’ll take a rain check on that beer, Zuko.  Ha.  Get it?  Rain check?”

“It’s rare to have a supercell this late in the season, though, right?” Zuko asks, Sokka’s joke ignored.

“Rare, but not unheard of,” Suki replies.  “Especially these days.  Climate change is really fucking this all up.  Sokka, what are the radar readings right now?”

“We’re looking at an inside diameter of half a mile,” Sokka replies.  Not the largest storm he’s ever seen, but still big enough to be a pertinent threat.  “The downdraft seems strong, so we have to factor in potential microbursts as well as tornado spawns.”

“Do you think we’re actually going to be seeing a tornado?” Zuko asks, his voice closer than Sokka was expecting.  Sokka almost snaps at him to look at the road, but then he realizes that they’re waiting at a red light.  Sokka glances at Zuko, and finds him twisting and leaning forwards, taking in their equipment screens.  

Sokka’s throat goes dry, so he forces himself to swallow before opening his mouth again.  “No guarantee, but a tornado spawn would align with these readings.  Let’s keep our guard up.”

Sokka and Suki debate the best location to go towards as Zuko steers them closer and closer to their guesses.  

“--another three miles, maybe,” Suki theorizes, Sokka following her words intently--

“--uh, guys?  That’s not necessary,” Zuko interrupts.  He’s pointing out their window.  Sokka glances outside.

The clouds are beginning to dangle from the sky.  They’re forming a chandelier, bright and magnificent.  Dangerous in its beauty.

“There she is,” Sokka whispers in awe.  “Okay.  Suki, we’re here.  I have to make sure our cameras are focused on the tornado, but we’ll keep you updated if anything exciting happens.”

“Please do,” he hears Suki reply.  Zuko and Suki say their goodbyes, and Sokka angles their equipment to best capture data from the evolving monster.

Zuko twists in his seat and looks over Sokka’s shoulder.  He’s silent for a few moments, and when his voice finally rings out, it’s wary.  “Can I tell you something?”

Sokka ignores the readings to look Zuko in the face.  “Yeah, man.  Of course you can.”

“I always like when we get a storm on our last field day,” he says, a small smile on his face.  “Almost as if nature is waving us goodbye.”

Sokka laughs.  “I like that.  Yeah.  One last hurrah for the season.  That’s kind of nice.”

“She’s a pretty one, too,” Zuko comments, poking at the glass window.  “Look at that violet sky.  The little bursts of gold from lightning.”

“It is beautiful,” Sokka agrees, never taking his eyes off Zuko.

“Yeah,” he hums, hands returning to his lap.  

From that point forward, Zuko leaves Sokka to his equipment.  Sokka diligently makes sure everything is working and recording. The wind speeds kick up more and more, and the whoosh of air clumsily digging grows louder and louder. 

It takes less than a minute for the chandelier to collapse onto the grass, a small funnel rising into the sky.  It twists, a graceless ballet putting on its best performance for a sparse audience.  It’s the opening number.  It’s her entrance to a show short and sweet.  Her time to shine. 

Sokka takes in their nearby surroundings.  There’s a small cornfield on one side of their highway, and nothing but a field sparsely filled with weak trees on their other side.  Sokka knows there’s a little town a few more miles down the road; not because they’ve passed it, but because the sound of a tornado siren starts blaring its way towards them. 

“Heads up, Zuko, there’s ground contact now,” Sokka warns.  “We’re still a safe distance away, and it’s not moving much, but she’s here with us on land.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges.  “I’m on standby for you.”

Sokka squints at his maps.  Years on the field have allowed him the ability for quick analysis, although sometimes his predicted trajectory turns out inaccurate.  There’s no sure-fire scientific way to predict where a tornado will spawn, land, or travel.  Sokka still takes a guess, though, reading the radar imprints of the storm to his best ability.  It seems to be heading in an eastern direction, which means that it would be shuffling through the cornfield.  A good thing, really, since the more objects it runs into, the more resistance that could slow it down, but…

They’re parked nearby its most likely path.

“Zuko, we probably need to move,” Sokka says.  “We’re too close to its trajectory.”

“Okay,” Zuko nods.  “Where do you want me to go?”

“Let’s go--” thump.  Sokka looks out the window, where an ear of corn has just ceremoniously thunked against the glass.  It reminds Sokka of a childish taunt, which makes him chuckle a bit, before refocusing and examining the visuals of the storm.  The tornado’s grown a bit bigger, but, more concerningly, it’s moved in their direction.

Usually Sokka loves being proven right.  He would have accepted being wrong, though, this time.

Zuko rests a hand on Sokka’s shoulder, peering out the window with him.  “Oh.  Shit.  That’s not good.”

Sokka should be paying attention to the lone ears of corn, torn from their stalks and being thrown their direction by the wind.  However.  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before.”  

“Oh, sorry.  Shit.  Fuck.  Damn it.  Anyways, let’s move away from here, all right?”

“Yeah, good idea,” Sokka sighs, twisting his chair around the right way again.  He buckles himself in, and Zuko takes a deep breath before shifting the van gears.

They don’t move.

“That’s weird,” Zuko mutters, testing out the pedals with light taps of his feet.  “Hey, I’m going to turn the van on and off again, okay?”

“Right.”  If that’s the best fix for computers most times, then maybe it’ll work with the van.

Zuko dislodges their keys.  The various trinkets on the ring, collected over a summer of togetherness, jangle lightly over the sounds of the storm.  Zuko puts the keys back in.

The van stutters, but doesn’t evolve into working.

Zuko tries a few more times.  Sokka watches him intently, a sense of panic beginning to seed in his chest.

Four times now.  Five times.  Six.

Zuko’s face pales.  His fingers reach out, peeling back the polaroid so recently plastered behind the steering wheel.

“What?” Sokka asks frantically.  “What’s wrong?  Zuko, hurry up and start the car, we need to leave now!”

Zuko looks over at Sokka, eyes wide.  “We’re out of gas.”

“What do you mean we’re out of gas?”

“If I try to keep the engine on, it’ll ruin the van, Sokka.  We can’t go anywhere, anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re out of gas!” Zuko cries, voice cracking and growing louder with every word.  “We didn’t fill up this morning, and I didn’t see the gas light, Sokka, I messed up, I stuck the photograph over where the light is.  And now we’re stuck here, Sokka.  We can’t leave!”

“Okay, hold on, let’s calm down, we have spare gas in the back--” and they both turn around, to the empty spot where their red gas can is supposed to rest; but a distant memory hits Sokka,  they moved it when they visited Katara, they don’t have any spare gas on them right now--

Sokka’s mind starts whirling, a mile every millisecond, the speed of his thoughts rivaling the speed of the wind outside the car.  

“Isn’t there an electrical way to kickstart it back up?” Sokka desperately asks.

“Maybe on a newer model, Sokka, but we’ve been driving the oldest piece of crap van in the whole National Weather Service!”

“No,” Sokka hears himself saying, “no, that can’t be happening.  This can’t be happening.”

Distantly, Sokka acknowledges the sight of Zuko threading his fingers through his hair and ripping it out of his messy bun.  His red ribbon, usually secured tightly on his head, is now clenched his hand.  

Sokka can’t remember how to move his own arms.  He can’t reach over to Zuko and comfort him.  He can’t move.

“--fucked, Sokka, we’re absolutely fucked--”

Sokka doesn’t register Zuko’s words.

We’re out of gas.  We’re out of gas.  We’re stuck here.  The storm is coming towards us and we’re just… stuck here.

Sokka hears a loud slam beside him, and it tears him away from his thoughts.  He looks over and sees Zuko outside, walking away from the van door.

Idiot!

As quickly as he can manage, Sokka rips his seatbelt off and opens his own car door.  He immediately slips in the mud and falls, thumping his head on the ground before hoisting himself back up.

“Zuko!” he calls desperately, ignoring the thrumming in his body.  “Get back in the car!  You know what the wind speeds are right now!  What on earth could you possibly be trying to do?”

“I’m trying to find a ditch!” Zuko yells back, voice still tinged with a frantic messiness that scares Sokka more than the whipping winds.

It’s too much, watching Zuko run through the field, knowing that despite his shit depth perception, he’s still determined to find them shelter.  Shelter.  From the tornado.  How do you take shelter from a tornado… in the middle of nowhere, Kansas…

The memory of a lesson knocks its way back in Sokka’s brain.

“Zuko!” Sokka screams.  “Get back here!  A ditch won’t help us!”

Zuko turns back towards Sokka, and through the haze of the storm, something akin to anguish appears as a phantom on Zuko’s face.

“So that’s it?” Zuko practically laughs, throwing his hands out.  “You’re not even going to try to help find shelter?  You’re fine with giving up?”

That’s nowhere even close to the truth.  If Sokka felt confident enough to move away from the car, he’d have half a mind to laugh back in Zuko’s face.

They only had a month left in the academy. Sokka sat in their classroom with Aang right beside him-- the two boys had bonded over fruit snacks on their very first day, and were, from that point on, inseparable during the training process.  Piandao cleared his throat before the lesson; Sokka and Aang sheepishly finished their loud conversation about the latest “Iron Chef” episode, and turned their focus forwards.

“Today,” Piandao had started, in the regal voice he saved for teaching, “we’re going to be discussing common myths surrounding tornadoes.  You have all passed rigorous classes dedicated to the sciences behind storms, but even the slightest misbelief that you hold onto now could jeopardize your life in the field.  At the end of the day, some storms that you will be exposed to have great potential to be deadly.  The purpose of today’s lesson is to snuff out any misconceptions that you hold that could endanger your life.”

Most of what Piandao went on to cover was already familiar to Sokka.  Green skies weren’t absolute indicators of a storm’s severity.  Overpasses weren’t adequate places to take shelter, as their small, rigid openings actually increase wind speed, and make it more likely for a person to be thrown out into a storm.  Tornadoes had the potential to enter cities; it was rare, sure, but there was enough of a lingering possibility that took any sense of absolute safety out of living downtown.  Tornadoes don’t last long; only around 20 minutes, at most.  

“If you’re stuck somewhere with no shelter,” Piandao eventually lectured, “there is some partial truth to the tendency to believe that ditches and other low spots are effective shelters from the winds.  However, if the storm is producing vast amounts of rainfall, lying low in a ditch increases your chances of getting injured in a flash flood.  Not to mention, these places offer little to no protection from flying debris.”

“Then where would you recommend us to go, in that situation?” Aang asked, taking diligent notes from the lecture.

Sokka listened along lazily.

Piandao frowned, thinking to himself for a moment.  “Realistically, there aren’t any great options in that situation.  But, if you’re in a sturdy vehicle, similar to the ones that we use here at the National Weather Service, I’d recommend remaining in your car.  Pull off to the side of the road so that you can ground your car in the earth.  The equipment in your vehicle has some backup power, but most of our vans don’t have a backup generator to make mobility an option.  Therefore, you must move to the backseat and buckle in, and get low in the van; lower than the windows.  Try to cover yourself with something, such as a blanket or a large jacket.  From that point on, you just have to wait out the storm.”

Sokka’s jaw dropped slightly.

“That sounds like a death trap,” Sokka said, the words leaving his lips before he could fully process them.  But it was the truth; that process didn’t sound safe, at all.

“Every storm is a death trap,” Piandao replied firmly.  “That’s why our research is so vital; the more we understand about these storms, the more we can adequately prepare ourselves for them.  Even gaining the knowledge to predict a tornado a minute faster than we are able to do so now will end up saving countless lives in the future.”

At that point, Sokka had nodded along, the purpose behind his career pathway feeling stronger than ever before.  

Now, Sokka could care less about the bigger mission behind his career choice.  In front of him are a boundless tornado and a wide-eyed Zuko, looking scared beyond comparison.

“Come here!” Sokka insists, motioning frantically towards himself and the car.  “We need to move the van!”

Zuko doesn’t move towards Sokka, but he also doesn’t continue on his ditch-finding quest.  “What?”

“The van is the safest place to be right now!”

Sokka turns away from Zuko to climb back into the van.  He shifts the car into neutral and goes back outside, running to get behind the car.  They’ve already pulled over to the side of the road, so the effort to move it into the mud shouldn’t take too long.

After three pushes, Sokka hears Zuko huffing from right behind him.

“What are you doing?” Zuko yells into his ear, putting his hands on Sokka’s shoulders.  Sokka shrugs them off.

“We need to move this into the dirt,” he replies, not wavering his focus from the van.  After another moment spent shoving the van, moving forward another inch, Sokka grits out, “You know, Zuko, now’s the part where you can help me out.”

He felt Zuko slide into place beside him, their shoulders brushing.

Every few seconds Sokka glances up at the storm; the base of the tornado in the sky is still unnervingly large, although it doesn’t appear to be moving quickly.  He can’t make up his mind as to whether or not that’s a good thing.

When the back tires divot into the dirt offroad with a satisfying plop!, Sokka runs to the front of the car to place it in park.  He feels Zuko’s presence behind him, and it’s the only reassuring thing in his environment.

“There should be a hook on the back of the van,” Sokka hollers over the sound of the wind.  “It’ll act a bit like an anchor for us.  Lower it into the ground for me, will you?”

Zuko runs to the back of the car as Sokka leans over to reach into the passenger compartment in the front seat.  There’s an incredibly rumbled blanket inside; Sokka grabs that before shutting the front door.

He then launches into the back of the car, to where all of his scientific equipment is.  He moves every loose item onto the floor of the car, pushing them all into the back corner of the space.  

Zuko shows up at the opened backseat door, his cheeks reddened.  

“The hook’s down,” he says, eyes wild.  “What’s next?”

Sokka tugs at a piece of stray rope he had on his desk; it’ll have to do, as the pseudo-lab backseat isn’t equipped with seatbelts. He ties one end onto a latch in the car ceiling, and then reaches for Zuko.

“Next, we stay in here,” Sokka murmurs, slamming the door shut as soon as Zuko hoists himself into the confined space.  Sokka grabs Zuko’s hand and ties the other end of rope to it.  Sokka would make a joke ("kinda kinky, eh?") if he wasn’t completely certain of Zuko’s frazzled state.

“What about you?” Zuko asks, tugging against the rope.  He’s looking at Sokka as if he holds the answers to the universe’s most delicate questions. Everything in Sokka’s soul hurts and it has very little to do with the storm raging outside.

“We only have so much rope, I’ll hold on tight to you, okay?” Sokka says, hoping it’s coming across as reassuring.  There’s no time to backtrack if it’s not.  “Now lay down, will you?”

Zuko listens to Sokka immediately.  He flattens himself against the floor of the car, pressing down as if he could sink through the metal.  Sokka takes a deep breath, glances out the car windows one final time, and then squats down to lay himself right beside Zuko.

“I’m going to put the blanket above us, okay?” Sokka says through chattering teeth.  He doesn’t feel cold, he doesn’t feel anything, except for the slight rattling that has overcome his body.

Zuko nods his head.  Sokka throws a corner of the blanket over Zuko, and then throws a leg over Zuko’s hip and saddles in close to him before making sure the blanket covers the rest of them.  Once he feels secure, Sokka nestles his head onto Zuko’s shoulder, subconsciously pressing down, as if his weight alone could protect the man beneath him.

Zuko’s fidgeting stops.  He goes limp under Sokka.  A minute passes, and Sokka feels Zuko’s hand latch around his wrist.

It’s steadying.

“Sokka,” Zuko croaks, his voice raw.  “What’s… what’s going to happen to us?”

In reality, Sokka’s not entirely sure.  But the admission of uncertainty doesn’t seem helpful.  He’s not sure what to say, exactly, until he remembers a time when Zuko’s voice was soft, confessional: 

I like when you explain the readings to me.  

“There’s nothing else we can do, no matter what,” Sokka admits gently, quietly.  “There’s no use worrying about possibilities we’ve done our best to minimize.  We’ve got each other now, don’t we?”

A strong gust of wind knocks against the van, tilting it the slightest amount.  The teetering is mirrored in the pit of Sokka’s stomach, and only finds grounding when Zuko moves his hand around the back of Sokka’s neck, squeezing lightly.  Zuko’s fingers are long, lanky, and cold.  Sokka is weak against their shaky tug forward, and easily finds himself pushing his forehead against Zuko’s scarred cheek.  

He can almost feel the imprint of Zuko’s individual teeth, with how hard he’s pressing in.

It strikes Sokka that he’s been spending the summer collecting memories.  Moments of joy to cherish after the season finishes.  They’re potent happiness, and he feels them all slot in, ready for review…

….Zuko’s eyes flicker down Sokka’s chest, paying close attention to a collection of condensation on his upper left ribcage…

…. “I took a gamble for you.”... 

…. Zuko’s mouth opens, but he starts laughing before any words come out.  His glee is contagious, and Sokka finds himself smiling and reaching over to lightly slap his arm...

…. Sokka wakes up alone on the floor, the wool blanket wrapped tightly against every side of his body.  Zuko catches his movement, turns away from Azula, and waves at Sokka, a little smile on his face, a cup of coffee in his hand….

….”And then there’s you.”....

….“Zuko-- Zuko, they’re just koi fish.”....

…. but Sokka doesn’t indulge in them, like he expected to.  It’s simple to push them aside, even while facing danger in the form of an inescapable storm.  The shocking simplicity has one root cause: Zuko’s still right here.

If this ends up being the end, then there’s no point in Sokka losing his mind in memories.  He’s wrapped around Zuko, and their breathing is synched, and Zuko’s fingers play with the slimmest tendrils of his hair.  If this ends up being the end, then Sokka can’t imagine a better way to go.

“Zuko,” he mumbles into his cheek.  “Thank you for this summer.”

Zuko’s fingers tighten.  “What do you mean?  Sokka, the summer isn’t over.  It isn’t over.  Not yet.”

It might be, Sokka thinks, but he bites his tongue.

“You still have to let me buy you a beer,” Zuko says, the strength in his voice growing firmer.  “And you have to take me back to Texas.  I loved it there.  I really did.  I loved it there.”

“Really?” Sokka chuckles, voice a croak. “You loved it there?”

“I loved you there,” Zuko corrects.  His voice doesn’t waver.  Everything is still.  The eye of the storm?  Is that what this is?  Have they eclipsed?  With the wind furiously whispering and Zuko quietly proclaiming,  “I loved you there, I really did.  I love you here, too.  Sokka, Sokka, I need you to understand that. Do you understand that?”

Sokka understands that.  Of course he does. 

“Sugita,” he croaks, flitting out his tongue to moisten his lips.  “Watch out, or you’re going to have me thinking that you like me.”

“Qanik,” and Sokka is breaking, in the gentlest way.  “Don’t mess with me.  Not now.”

Zuko’s voice is pained and tight and longing.  Sokka is ignited. 

He turns his head.  Zuko is already looking at him. 

A slight motion forward, and Sokka meets his lips. 

All of Sokka’s senses dull down to the touch points of contact between him and Zuko.  Zuko’s lips, slightly open and vaguely chapped, serve as an unknown terrain for Sokka to focus on. 

Sight. Hearing. Touch. Taste. Smell. All five senses, all flooded by Zuko, and him alone. The jostling and rumbling in his periphery is from Zuko.  The tightness coiling in his gut is from this moment finally happening.  Sokka places his hands on both sides of Zuko’s face, feeling smoothness, feeling scar tissue, and momentarily, things are okay.

Things are more than okay.  Zuko presses further into Sokka, and they’re kissing, and Sokka has never felt more comfortable in his life.

They wait out the storm in much the same fashion, and finally, when the winds whir down and their van stops shaking, they blink into a new world, fashioned out of both their hands.  Sokka can’t stop looking at Zuko.  He can’t stop smiling.  Zuko digs his fingers into Sokka’s dimples, and they both laugh, creating the loudest sound in their new universe.

Forget tornados.  Science will never be able to explain this, Zuko in his arms, and the bellyful of hopefulness resting comfortably in Sokka.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

They don’t notice the head injury until they’re safe, still stranded on the roadside, while they’re on FaceTime with June.

“Sokka, are you bleeding?”  June’s concerned voice rings out, interrupting Zuko’s retelling of the events.  Beside him, Zuko stiffens, and then wildly looks Sokka up and down.

Sokka cocks his head.  “Um, no?  At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“Are you sure?  Because it looks like your head is bleeding, Sokka.”

“Oh,” Zuko breathes, leaning into Sokka’s personal space.  For a frantic second, Sokka thinks he’s going in for another kiss, which would be awesome, just not while on FaceTime with their boss.  But Zuko stops himself a few inches away from Sokka’s face, and reaches a hand up to brush some hair away from Sokka’s forehead.  “Sokka, you’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” he replies, confused.  His head certainly didn’t feel hurt.  He doesn’t believe it until he taps the supposed injury with his own fingers, and they come down scarlet.  “Huh.  That’s not great.”

Zuko scrunches his face.  “Shit, Sokka, I’m so sorry, I should’ve noticed earlier.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Sokka reassures.  “Nothing we could’ve done, anyways.  I didn’t even notice.”

“Still,” Zuko insists, still brushing Sokka’s hair back.  “I knew your hair was messy from outside, but I should’ve noticed the red, and--”

“Company policy requires you to go to the hospital,” June interrupts.  “Sugita, call an ambulance?”

“Of course,” Zuko promises, finally moving his hand down.  “Yeah.”

Zuko borrows Sokka’s phone to do just that, leaving Sokka to fill in the details with June over the phone.  

Yeah, we ran out of gas.  No, we didn’t have our spare gas with us.  How many fingers are you holding up?  Three, I think.  Does your thumb count as a finger?

Zuko finishes his call and turns back to Sokka, brushing the hair out of his head wound once again.  “The ambulance is on its way.  How are you feeling?”

“Never been better,” Sokka says.  It’s true.

His words crack the tension on Zuko’s face, until Zuko sports a pathetic little smile he tries to subdue with a bite of his teeth. 

“Sugita, Sokka,” June interrupts, “I expect a full report of the incident on my desk by the beginning of next week.  Sugita, make sure Sokka gets medical help, and Sokka… just, feel better soon.  That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sokka dutifully replies, nodding his head.  The movement throws his perspective in whack.  There’s suddenly too much motion, despite the perceived feeling of stillness in his nerves.  Is he moving?

“--you lay down, okay?  I’ll help you--”

Before Sokka processes anything happening around him, his back meets the firm softness of the ground below him.

He thinks Zuko’s still talking, but he can’t really tell, so maybe it’s not rude to interrupt, because he might not be interrupting--

“Zuko?”

A huff.  “Yeah?”

“Is June still on the phone?”

“June?  Uh, no.  She’s not.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

“... why?  Did you need to tell her something?”

“No,” Sokka gets out, licking his lips.  His eyes are closed.  He’s not quite sure when he shut them.  “I need to tell Zuko something.”

“Okay.  What?”  The voice speaking sounds incredibly fond.  It sounds like Zuko.  Sokka smiles.

“He’s the coolest.  I like him so much.  So much with love.”

Slender fingers parse their way through Sokka’s hair, rubbing softly along his cheeks.  “Get some rest, Sokka.  Help will be here soon.”

“So much,” Sokka murmurs again.  “So much, with love.”

The last sensations he processes before succumbing to blissful thoughtlessness are the steady pressure of fingers on his face, the light touch of a forehead against his own, and the slightest rain scattering several drops over his eyes. 

“So much, with love,” a voice repeats.

Sokka sleeps.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Light rolls into the hospital room through a slit in the satin curtains, slowly rustling Sokka to consciousness.  He rubs at his eyes as the sunlight begins to seep through the thin hospital blanket covering his face, and begrudgingly accepts the beginning of the day.  He sits up, seeing Zuko set up some food onto a little plastic tray, and when Zuko whips his head up, the smile overtaking Sokka’s face is automatic.

“You’re awake,” Zuko breathes, as if this rousing is miraculous instead of mundane.

“It would seem so,” Sokka nods slowly, grin growing wider as Zuko lets out a relieved huff of laughter.  “Hey.  Good morning?  Afternoon?”

“Morning,” Zuko confirms, bringing the plastic tray over to Sokka.  

Sokka gladly accepts it.  

“You slept through the doctor coming in, about an hour ago,” Zuko fills him in. “She said she’ll come by again in a few hours to check up on you.”

“Thanks, Zuko,” Sokka says, in between scoops of peach yogurt.  “And, hey, thanks for… you know.  Thanks for staying with me.”

“Like I would leave you here.” Zuko brushes the thinly-veiled affection off quickly, with only a lip bite revealing his potential embarrassment to Sokka.  It’s endearing, terribly so.

“Hypothetically, you could have,” Sokka points out.

“Right.”  Zuko musses with his hair for a moment.  “Well, you know.  I was a little worried about you.”

“Really?”

“How are you feeling?”

Zuko’s voice is tender, sincere, and focused entirely on him.  Zuko’s sitting beside Sokka, with a rumpled blanket and pillow resting at his feet, which tells Sokka that the man spent the night beside him as well.  Zuko’s here, a shaky hand reaching up to brush at Sokka’s hair, and Sokka has never felt better.

“I feel awful.  Kiss it all better?”

Zuko blinks rapidly, then closes his eyes completely.  A tampered-down smile breaks loose on his face.  “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Sokka smiles, setting aside his food tray onto his bedside table.  “Yeah, Zuko, I’m not seeing a doctor for a few more hours, you would not believe how excruciating the pain is all over my face, so.  No pressure, but morally, since you’re here and all, might as well try to, you know, help a guy out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Zuko huffs, shaking his head but opening his eyes.  They’re so bright, so awake, and Sokka loves them so much.  Sokka loves him so much.  “Where does it hurt?”

“My lips,” he stammers out.  “Bet that’s unusual for a head injury, sure, but I heard concussions can do all sorts of crazy stuff to your body.”

“Right,” Zuko acknowledges, leaning in to meet Sokka’s lips.  The kiss is soft, slow, and after a few moments, Sokka reaches up his hands to cradle Zuko’s face.

Zuko inches back the slightest bit.  “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Sokka breathes.  “Loads.”

“Good,” he smiles.  “I really was worried about you.  You were pretty out of it right before the ambulance came and picked us up.”

“Oh, right,” he murmurs, grimacing.  “Sorry about that.  Not too sure why I couldn’t hold myself together.

Zuko laughs, a light tingle of joy.  “Not your fault.  The doctor said it was probably because of all the adrenaline leaving your body.”

“Right,” Sokka chuckles.  “Um, anyways.  I didn’t do anything embarrassing, right?”

“No,” Zuko says after a pause, his smile soft on his face.  “Nothing embarrassing.”

Zuko tilts forward, so that their foreheads are resting against each other, and Sokka closes his eyes, content.  He turns his neck the slightest bit left so as to cradle the curve of Zuko’s palm better.

“About what happened yesterday,” Zuko murmurs.  Hesitancy unwillingly dwindles from his voice.  Sokka cracks one eye open.  “Did you… did you mean everything that you said?”

“Depends,” Sokka croaks.  “What did I say?”

Zuko scrunches his eyes closed and twists his mouth.  “Before… before you were out of it, you said that you, uh, loved me.”

Sokka opens his other eye.  “Huh.”

Zuko leans away.  “Yeah, uh, sorry if this makes you feel awkward, or something--”

“--you know that I just asked you to kiss me, like, two minutes ago?”  Sokka teases.

Zuko reddens.  “Right.  Well, uh, still.”

Sokka looks at the hospital ceiling.  It’s too much to bear, if he has to look Zuko in the eye while unfastening his true feelings for the other man.  “You’re one of the most peculiar people I’ve ever met.  You’ve made my life feel full, and the thought of not having you in my life in the future has been driving me crazy, Zuko.  You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, both inside and out.  Falling in love with you has been as essential and uncomplicated as breathing.”

He finally looks back down at Zuko.  To his horror, the other man’s eyes have filled with tears.

“Zuko-- shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?  Are you okay?”  

Sokka frantically brushes at the corners of Zuko’s eyes, but pauses his movements as Zuko begins to laugh.  It’s a tad hysterical.  It’s entirely too joyful.  Sokka watches for a few moments, and then joins in.

“I feel awful,” Zuko says through his smile.  “Kiss it better?”

Sokka has never smiled wider in his life.  “Anything for you, Sugita.”

They push into each other, their teeth clack, and it’s messy, it’s invigorating, it’s endearing, and it’s everything Sokka wanted, for the past season on the field, for every month that’s gone by in which he knew Zuko Sugita, and for all of his life that he’s ever lived.

Chapter Text

Zuko Sugita doesn’t seem to have changed much in the past eight months.

Silky long black hair, tied back into a bun, secured by a red ribbon.  Eyes straight from a fairytale; his right, a striking kobicha, and his left, a cloudy copper, surrounded by an angry burn, seemingly incapable of healing.  Loose black clothes, making his skinny arms and pale skin stand out drastically.  And his voice...

“Two against one.  Sokka, we’re not bringing the Nicki Minaj windshield sun shade with us.”

Still rough at the edges.

“Toph?  You’re against it, too?”

“Listen, Snoozles,” she sighs, leaning up against Appa.  “I’m all for a good bit of havoc--”

“It’s not havoc,” Zuko butts in. “It’s just not a good idea.  I’m worried about having to explain a Nicki Minaj sun shade on our government-made and -grade vehicle to our higher-ups, and I know you two have a great relationship with Piandao, but working with June these past few years have instilled a fair bit of fear in my heart--”

“Okay, Sparky, calm down; havoc aside, though, Sokka, I think Sugita’s got a point.  Piandao lets us get away with a lot, but he values professionalism. Also, it’s not like I would be benefiting from having a Nicki Minaj pinup printed on our sun shade.”

“What do you mean?” Sokka exclaims. “Everyone would benefit!  It’s Nicki Minaj, looking down on us and protecting Appa from overheating!”

Toph flicks her hand in front of her eyes repeatedly. It takes a second to click in Sokka’s head.  Right.

“Point taken,” he sighs, dragging a hand across his face.  “All right.  New plan.  Aang won’t have crazy field hours anymore, so I can enlist him to create a 3D Nicki Minaj figurine for us to put on our dash.  That’s a reasonable compromise.  Toph, you could reach out and feel it, or whatever.  I’m sure we can figure out a P.O. box for him to mail it to somewhere along our route, maybe in a month or so?  That should give him enough time to create it.”

Zuko makes a spluttering noise and Toph starts laughing.

Zuko finally regains himself, and asks, exasperated, “You know Aang has his hands full with your niece and nephew, right?  Combined with his office hours at the communication hub? When will he have time to make something like that?"

“You’re forgetting that I’m his best friend,” Sokka mentions. 

“Katara exists,” Toph (resident shit-stirrer) says. 

“They’re married!” Sokka exclaims. “How am I supposed to compete with— you know what, never mind.  Let me just call Aang—”

“How about we just agree to save this argument for later?” Zuko sighs, climbing into the front seat of Appa. “We have an hour and a half before reaching Waco, and you two haven’t set up any of your equipment yet.  Nor have you started your recording logs.”

He slams the door shut. 

Toph smiles.  “I was a little worried about Zuko joining our team, you know.  It’s good to get the reassurance that those fears were unfounded.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I thought he might always side with you in arguments because the two of you are canoodling.”

“Really, Toph?”

Her smile widens.  “Yeah.  Foolish of me, I know.  Of course that wouldn’t happen— he probably knows better than anyone how ridiculous you are.”

“You’re really implying that it’ll be the two of you guys against me this whole season,” Sokka scoffs, scuffing his sneakers against the road.  Toph doesn’t immediately reply.  When Sokka looks back up at her, her shoulders are thrown back, her eyes are targeted at the sky, and her grin’s gotten even wider and goofier.  “Oh, you-- that’s my boyfriend, Toph!  I get boyfriend privileges!”

“Seems as if the Sokka-shenanigans-prevention privileges I’m sharing with him outweigh the simple boyfriend situation the two of you have got going on,” Toph snarks, swinging an arm out to latch onto Sokka’s shoulder.  “Damn.  Oh well!  Too late to change teams.  Piandao was very clear that it’d be the three of us for the next four months.”

“Wait, hold on a second, Toph,” Sokka grasps, latching a hand of his own onto Toph’s.  “New plan.  Listen.  How about we team up on the new guy?”

“You realize I can hear you two, right?” Zuko calls, leaning his head out of the van window.  “No one’s teaming up against anyone.  We have a schedule to keep, so get in the car, you two.”

“Shotgun,” Toph shouts, jerking her hand out of Sokka’s.  

“This season is going to be a nightmare!” Sokka bemoans, smile on his face.  He’s never said a falser statement.  He’s so excited.  He’s so excited.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Four months prior, the decision to move Zuko to their southern team was finalized.

The discussion was brought up carefully, tenderly.  Aang scheduled a conference call between himself, Sokka and Toph, and it was then that he told them of his decision to transfer into a desk job.  

“Going corporate, huh?” Toph had tsk-ed, shaking her head.  “A free-spirit like you doesn’t fit with a desk job, Aang.”

“A free-spirit like me wants to be a free-spirit with his family,” Aang had replied, laughing.  “I’ll miss the field, but maybe I’ll end up back out there when the kids are older.”

“What’s the office job?” Sokka redirects.

“Working at the communication hub for the southern region.  I’ve talked it over with Piandao, and he signed off on you guys being one of the teams I oversee, so we won’t truly be apart this season.”

“I knew we wouldn’t get rid of you so easily,” Toph jokes.  “Any word on who’s taking your spot on our team?”

“Suki just got her certification to be a team’s driver,” Aang says slowly.  “Piandao recommended her for the team, but actually, I was thinking, well, um, Sokka?”

Sokka knits his eyebrows together.  “Yes?”

“There’s a list of drivers from all districts who are willing to change assignments, and, well, I looked at it, and Zuko’s on the list.”

Sokka’s heart picks up speed.  “Zuko?”

“Yeah, Zuko,” Aang confirms, a smile curving onto his face.  “Any thoughts on asking him to come down south?  Suki will probably get placed with Mai and Ty Lee, that way, which I think she’s been wanting, anyways.”

“Oh yeah,” Toph agrees.  “Plus, Azula would love if Suki stayed in the area.”

Sokka’s fingers are flying over his phone screen, sending a frantic message to his boyfriend.  (“pls pls pls take aang up on the offer, pls, i can’t imagine anything better than getting to see u everyday”.)  Toph’s comment takes a moment to register in his brain.  Confused, he looks up.  “Azula?  Zuko’s sister?  Why would she care whether or not Suki stayed in the area?”

Toph’s mouth crumples into itself, as if she had just bit into a lemon.  “Are you serious?”

Sokka gets more confused.  “Yes?”

“Ohhhkay.  Anyways,” Toph moves along, “I, for one, don’t have an issue with Sugita being our driver.  I’ve ridden with him before, and I trust him.”

“Great!” Aang enthuses.  “Sokka?  Your thoughts?”

“Aang, I’d volunteer to watch Bumi and Kya for every single night until the season starts if you asked Zuko to be our driver,” he says seriously.  Toph starts laughing, but Sokka ignores it as he continues to talk to Aang.  “I’ve been missing Zuko like crazy.  Having him where I can reach out and grasp him?  Whenever I want to, and not just during the odd weekends?  Aang, please.”

“All right, all right,” Aang says, goofy grin still on his face.  “I was hoping you’d say that.  It’s been tiring listening to Zuko talk about how much he misses you whenever I get him on the phone.”

“Ugh, right?” Toph chimes in.  “They’re obnoxious apart.  They’ll be better together.”

“Toph, you’re really okay with this?  With Zuko being on the same team as us?”  Sokka has to make sure.  If Toph’s going to feel stuck as a third wheel, then…

“Yeah, I guess,” Toph confirms quietly.  “Otherwise I’d have to sit in the van with you and listen to your complaining.  I should save Suki and I from that fate.  I think I’m good with this plan.  Really.”

“Okay, so I’ll reach out to Piandao about what we discussed today, and then I’ll ask Zuko about it,” Aang outlines.  “Don’t fill your head with any sort of expectations until it’s official, all right?”

“Too late,” Sokka grins.

“Lame sap,” Toph coughs, making Sokka and Aang laugh.  “But, yeah.  Do that, Twinkle Toes.”

“Will do,” Aang says.

Their conversation ebbs and flows with idle chatter, how are the kids, what have you been up to, can Toph call Sokka and Zuko cringe if she has to be stuck in a van with them all summer, and eventually it wraps up with sweet goodbyes.  Sokka settles himself into his couch, throws on a random Netflix anime he’s been meaning to try, and waits.

It’s an hour later when Sokka finally hears the chime of a message notification from his phone.  Cautiously, he takes his hand out of the Doritos bag on his lap, and reaches out to look at the notification.

It’s a message from Zuko.

(“see you next season :’)”.)

Sokka’s mouth widens into an uncontrollable grin.

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Their first stop of the day is a run-down gas station on the edge of Waco, comfortably snug amongst the blowing Texan tumbleweeds.  They clamber outside, and while Zuko pumps the gas, and Toph strikes up a conversation with the bicyclist beside them, Sokka ambles his way into the storefront.

He nods a hello to the store clerk, an elderly man tending to a cigarette, who grunts back at him.  Sokka makes his way to the back of the store, picking up some drinks for the three of them (an energy drink for himself, iced tea for Zuko, and the oddest soda he can find for Toph-- this time, blue Mountain Dew).  He brings them up to the register, and as the old man rings him up, Sokka’s eyes catch on keychains placed by the card reader.  

Their theme seems to be miniature versions of mundane items.  Sokka’s fingers flick through food items, a random premature smattering of Halloween charms, and then they find a collection of travel-related items.  Sitting on a hook, nestled behind a comically large fake penny, rests three red gas can keychains.

Sokka smiles as he finagles them into his hand.  “These three, too, please.”

The elderly man doesn’t react as he quickly scans them in.  “That’ll be eight seventy-two, son.”

Sokka pushes over his cash, stuffing the change into his pants pocket the moment he gets it back.  He calls out a thanks as he grabs the goods and heads out the door, where Toph has migrated away from the biker and found her way back to Zuko.

“Took you long enough,” Toph says, sensing Sokka’s footsteps coming closer.  “What’d you get, saucy magazines?”

“Better,” Sokka says, placing the Mountain Dew bottle into Toph’s hand.  “I got us all drinks, that’s blue Mountain Dew for you, Toph, and then I also got us all some very important presents.”

Zuko nudges the gas pump back into place and turns to look at Sokka, reaching an arm out to click the gas cap close.  “Very important presents?”

Sokka hands him the iced tea, and then proudly displays the gas can keychains.  “Figured it’d be smart to keep a little reminder around with us.”

Zuko’s mouth opens, jaw stooped low, and Sokka can’t help the laughter that fights its way up from his belly.  

Toph kicks at him, frowning.  “I don’t get it.  What is it?”

“See, Toph,” Sokka exaggeratedly explains, “last season, Zuko and I had the habit of buying souvenirs at gas stations.  Anything from lighters to pens to weird little local merch.  Now, they had some keychains at this station, and, well, I couldn’t resist one in particular.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, and Toph clears her throat obnoxiously, Zuko finally elaborates.

“The keychains are of spare gas cans,” he says, deadpan.

Toph clicks her tongue, processing it, and then joins Sokka in his giggling.

“No shame in carrying around a good reminder.  I, for one, don’t want to be around for a repeat of you two confessing your love for each other,” she defends, which sends Sokka howling.  “Great thinking, Snoozles.”

“I have the strangest feeling that we’re really all going to be ganging up against each other this season,” Zuko sighs, as he clips the new keychain onto the van keys.

“All are friends, all are foes,” Toph sagely concludes.  “Anyways, Sokka, I’m putting this one on my backpack.  You’re a genius.”

“Thanks, Toph,” Sokka grins, pulling himself together.  “Ah, okay.  Let’s get on the road.”

“Roger that,” Toph says, opening the passenger door and throwing herself into the seat.

As she closes her door, Zuko takes a few steps towards Sokka, reaching out to tug at the edges of his hair.

“You’re really something,” he mutters, a figment of a frown on his face.

“And you love me for that,” Sokka tries with a queasy smile.

Zuko breathes out loudly, tugs on Sokka’s hair again, and then his face finally softens.  “Yeah.  I really, really do.”

Sokka reaches a hand up to cover Zuko’s, and rubs his thumb along the tendons protruding his skin.  “I love you, too.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, lowering their hands back down, but never leaving Sokka’s grasp.  “First day of the season again, already.”

“First day of the season,” Sokka echoes.  “Ready for another day in the field?”

“Yeah,” Zuko huffs, a grin slowly taking over his face.  He squeezes Sokka’s hand.  Fondness stirs in the pits of Sokka’s gut.  “I’m ready.”