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“Come on Sokka! You’re such a slowpoke!”
She runs on ahead of him, her giggles light and free; her tiny legs running up the hill as fast as they can carry her.
“Wait Katara! Don’t run too fast! Mum and Dad say I have to look after you!”
“Excuses, excuses Sokka.” She reaches the top of the hill and stares down at him, her hands on her hips proudly. “Don’t be such a sore loser!”
His run turns to a slow jog before he comes to a stop. He catches his breath for a moment, hands on his knees. He glares up at his little sister, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold and her tongue sticking out at him playfully. He rolls his eyes.
“Admit it Sokka, I’m faster than you are!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say Katara.”
Katara lets out a scoff of mock outrage. “Excuse me, Mr Baby, I think what you meant to say was” – her voice drops in pitch slightly – “Oh amazing sister, you are so fast and way better at running than I am. I, Sokka the slow brother, am at your service.” She falls into a dramatic bow, her head almost level with her knees.
Sokka lets out a loud laugh. “Oh of course! My mistake Ms Katara, fastest girl in the Southern Water Tribe Village, I, Sokka the slow brother, am at your service.” He drops to his knees and dips his head. He hears her giggle, a wicked grin appearing on her face.
“Well…” she drawls, thinking of the best way to make him suffer. “I know!” she exclaims gleefully, pointing her finger towards him. “You have to piggyback me for the rest of the day!”
Sokka groans but doesn’t put up a big fuss. He would never admit it to anyone, but he likes protecting his sister like this. Besides, she isn’t even heavy. She’s only seven after all. With a small smile, he gets up, walks to the top of the hill, then gestures for Katara to get on his back. She lets out a giggle and almost bounces with excitement before bounding over to him and scrambling onto his back.
She surveys the landscape for a second then points her finger out slightly to the left of Sokka. “Go this way servant!” His eyes follow her finger. She’s pointing to the base of a rocky mountain, where under the snow Sokka can see some small yellow flowers. He smiles.
“Ok, Your Majesty,” Sokka says, raising his hand to his forehead in a salute.
“Giddy up slow boy!” she yells gleefully, her legs tightening around his waist.
He sets off at a slow jog towards the flowers. It isn’t long before he reaches them. It’s only a small patch of them, perhaps a dozen or so short bushes, but each was completely covered in the bright flowers. He loosens his grip to allow Katara to slip off his back. She excitedly hurries to pick one.
“Sokka look! They’re so pretty!”
“Ooh they are! Let’s pick some so mum can braid them into your hair.”
Katara lets out a squeal of delight and rushes to pick quite a large bunch of flowers. She shoves a fistful of them in his face right under his nose. “Smell them Sokka!”
He inhales deeply. “Mmm delicious!”
She returns to the bushes to pick another bunch. Sokka sneezes.
“Come onnnnnnn!” she says after another minute, drawing out the last syllable to show her impatience and grabbing his hand, as if he hadn’t just waited for her to pick the flowers. “Let’s go! I want mum to put them in my hair right now!”
“Ok then Your Majesty, hop on,” he says, squatting down so Katara can jump on his back. She hops on eagerly. “All right, next stop: our house!” his voice booming as much as a prepubescent boy’s voice can.
It wasn’t long before they were re-entering the village. Sokka gives the people he passes a half-wave, which is the best he can do while holding Katara and with a heap of flowers poking him in the back of the neck.
He shrugs Katara off him when they get to their front door and announces, “We have arrived Your Highness.” He bows again which prompts another giggle from his little sister. Without wasting another second, she pushes open the door and bounds through it.
“Mum look what we got!” she yells to the house.
Kya pokes her head around the corner holding a wooden spoon. “What did you get my love?”
Katara waves the flowers at her mother. “Flowers! Sokka piggybacked me to them!”
“Oh, how lovely! And how nice of your brother for doing that. Did you say thank you?”
“No,” Katara says, with a roll of her eyes. “He was my servant today.”
Kya makes eye contact with him and rolls her lips together to stop herself from laughing out loud at her daughter. Sokka grins.
“Anyway,” Katara continues, “We got them so you could braid them into my hair.” She glances over at him, “Sokka said you would.”
“I can certainly do that. Give me just a second so I can finish this off and make sure it won’t burn.”
Katara sighs sulkily, “Fiiiiine.”
“Come on, let’s sit down while we wait,” he says, placing a hand on her upper back and steering her towards their living room.
She sits down with a big huff, looking forlornly into the middle distance; the bright flowers sit in her lap cheerily. Sokka can’t help but laugh at the juxtaposition. Katara sends him a death glare. Not two seconds later, Kya walks into the room.
“Mum, Sokka’s laughing at me,” she whines immediately.
Sokka looks at her with an eyebrow raised. Kya’s eyes twinkle with amusement as she sits down next to her daughter. “That’s not very nice, is it?” she says to Katara.
Katara shakes her head with a pout.
“Maybe,” she continues, glancing up at Sokka, “If he says sorry and he behaves, he can get a flower in his hair too.” She winks at him and takes the flowers from Katara’s lap.
She perks up at this. “Really? But he won’t look pretty with flowers like me, he’ll just look annoying.”
Sokka slaps a hand to his mouth, silently shaking with laughter. Kya barely covers her laugh with a cough.
“I’m sorry Katara,” he manages to choke out, “I promise I’ll be nice to you.”
“I accept your apology… I guess.”
“Well done sweetie,” she says looking at Sokka. Katara’s chest puffs out but he knows who the praise is really for. “Now, sit still Katara.”
“Ok,” she chirps, her bad mood already forgotten.
Kya’s fingers work skilfully through her hair, twisting and looping it into a beautiful design. The flowers get braided in so well that Sokka wonders if his mother has some special hair-styling ability.
Katara sits like a statue through the whole process, and by the end of it she looks beautiful. Sokka can’t help but think she looks like a princess from all the stories Gran-Gran tells them around the campfire.
“All right my love, we’re done.”
Katara squeals with delight and runs off to look at herself in the mirror, barely even saying thank you as she leaves.
Kya motions for Sokka, who has been leaning against the doorway, to come and sit next to her on the floor. “What would you like Sokka?”
“Just something easy.”
She hums in acknowledgement. “Sure.”
Her touch is gentle as she gathers his hair into two piggy-tails at the top of his head. Then she twists each of them into buns with a flower in the middle, his hair acting almost like it’s a pot.
“There you go my love.”
He reaches up to touch the buns, the flowers sticking up bouncing as he feels them. He gives his head a shake and feels them wiggle back and forth.
His mother laughs at him and he can’t help but laugh too.
After a beat of silence she says, “Thank you for being so good today.”
He blushes slightly at the praise. “It’s my duty as a big brother.”
She leans over and gives him a kiss on the forehead. “I know. But thank you anyway.” She stands up and with one final smile at him she returns to the kitchen.
He sits there for a moment, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He is extremely content; his house is full and warm.
His heart is too.
«»
Sokka jolts awake, gasping. He clambers into a sitting position and blinks a few times, reality coming back to him slowly. It takes a second for him to become aware of the thin layer of sweat covering his body, which makes his shirt stick to his neck and back in a way that makes him desperate for a shower. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he tries to rid his mind of the dream. It isn’t quite a nightmare in the way that it doesn’t scare him per se, it just leaves him feeling… shitty for lack of a better term. It’s more of a bad memory he can’t seem to shake. After a few more deep breaths he resigns himself to the fact that he probably isn’t going back to sleep any time soon. He kicks his blanket off frustratedly and heads over to the firepit, the leftover embers just barely glowing.
He throws some small sticks into the pit and blows on the embers gently, causing them to flare brightly. It doesn’t take long for the sticks to catch. He throws a few larger wood chunks on before settling down in front of the fire, feeling the warmth grow on his face. It’s calming. The soft crackling and the faint rustling of the leaves around him help to clear his mind, but he is still left with a sense of unease in his stomach.
“Hey Captain Boomerang. You ok?”
Sokka looks up, startled out of his thoughts. Toph moves towards him slowly, her eyebrows crinkled in concern. He rubs his eyes and sighs. “I’m ok. It, uh, it was just a bad dream.”
“Are you sure?” Her head is cocked to the side. She doesn’t look convinced.
He pauses for a beat, before turning away from her self-consciously. “Did I wake you?”
“Nah I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep.”
He hums in acknowledgement. He’s not dumb. No one he knows ever just ‘can’t sleep’, especially because they’re in the middle of a war and all of them have seen a little too much, and felt too much pain for their age.
He’s only 15. And she was only 16 when she-
He consciously pulls himself out of his thoughts. Toph is looking in his direction and he realises she’s waiting for a response.
“Huh?” he says, eloquently.
“I said, can I sit with you for a bit?” she asks, already sitting down next to him.
He smiles. “I’d like the company.”
She smiles too. “Good! Seeing as I’m already here and I am actually my own person and all.”
Sokka chuckles. There’s a moment of comfortable silence and then he says, “Thanks.”
“Don’t sweat it. Seriously.”
She shuffles closer to him, so close their arms are almost touching. Under any other circumstance, he might have felt uncomfortable at their closeness, but in the middle of the night, beside the fire, he only feels cosy and warm and comforted. They sit in silence for a while.
“You wanna talk about it? Your dream, I mean.”
Sokka doesn’t respond immediately. He stares into the fire for a few seconds before replying. “Not really.” He picks up the stick lying beside him and pokes at the fire. “It was about Yue.”
“Oh. I’m sad I never met her. She sounds amazing.”
“She was,” Sokka muses. There’s more silence.
“Tell me about her?”
Sokka pauses for a long moment. He keeps his eyes locked on the fire and swallows thickly. “What do want to know?”
“I don’t really mind, just, I’d like to hear what she was like.”
Sokka lets out a wistful sigh. “She was beautiful, of course, but the things that drew me to her were more than that. She always held herself with such dignity and poise. But you could tell there was kindness there too. All you had to do was speak to her to realise that. She was so gentle to all her people. And funny too. But the thing that really stood out was her bravery. When she” – his voice catches in his throat – “when she sacrificed herself, she was filled with so much determination.” Tears begin to form in his eyes but he tips his head back to force them back in. “What she did was amazing. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
“I guess I did,” says Toph. “But it was nice to hear it from you again.”
Sokka feels his heart clench. “You would’ve good friends, I think. You’re both headstrong. Driven.”
Toph hums softly in agreement and places a hand on his knee. “I think so too. I mean, she was royalty and everything but I’m all for being friends with cool strong girls.”
Sokka chuckles weakly. “I really wish she had more time.” He puts his hand over Toph’s and looks up at the moon. It’s full, shining brightly down on him. “I miss her. I miss her a lot. Every day I look up and I see her. And” – he takes a breath – “and it just reminds me of everything. Her beautiful eyes and her smile that made my heart hurt. That ridiculous gemstone she wore in her hair. I” – his voice suddenly goes quiet – “I just want to see her again.”
I just want to see her again.
It’s that thought that finally breaks him. The tears that have been threatening to spill down his cheeks his whole rant finally win. A tear slides down his cheek. And then another. And another, until they are running down his face faster than Momo can devour a peach. Toph rubs at his back gently, her touch a welcome and reassuring one. His sobs eventually mellow out into a few hitched breaths.
The silence that follows is comfortable, holding no pretence. The soft crackling of the fire and rustling of the leaves were again the only thing Sokka could hear. Then suddenly Toph says, “Can I braid your hair?”
“Huh?” says Sokka, confused at the sudden change of conversation.
“Mum used to do my hair when I was really small. I always found people playing with my hair calming.”
“Hmm. I never took you for the hair-in-braids-like-Heidi type.”
“Well I wasn’t. But I’m from a noble family, don’t forget. I can do a decent plait in under thirty seconds and I can do a mean French braid.”
“Well then, go right ahead. Hold on, I’ll move in front of you, gimme a sec.” He butt-shuffles to the side, positioning himself in front of her.
She reaches her hands out, patting his arms as she moved them upwards trying to find where his head is. “Damn you're taller than I remembered brainiac,” she says in mock annoyance as she gets up onto her knees and sits back on her feet. “Try not to move too much, ok?”
He hums. “Sure thing boss.”
A comfortable silence settles over them again, Toph’s sturdy and calloused fingers making quick work of his hair. It was a bit longer than he usually kept it. Funnily enough, the stress of being chased by a crazy fire-wielding Princess stops you from caring that your hair has grown by a few centimetres. He lets out a relaxed sigh, the sense of peace settling over him not even able to be disturbed by the occasional yank at his scalp. It wasn’t long before his hair was firmly secured to the top of his head, the strands that weren’t quite long enough to fit nicely in the braid sticking out giving the braid a relaxed appearance.
“Tada!” Toph exclaimed.
“Shhh! People are still asleep,” he hurriedly shushes although he can’t help but smile at her.
She giggles, smirking mischievously at him, “As if I care!”
“You'll care when Katara refuses to cook you dinner tomorrow,” he says with a laugh, slapping her arm playfully.
“Eh, sugar queen will get over it,” she says coyly.
He ran his hand over the braid as he turned around to face her. “This braid is so nice. You weren’t lying.”
“Of course not! When I said a mean French braid, I meant it. Tell me that isn’t Ozai level mean.”
Sokka laughs. “I simply cannot. It’s impossible.”
Their laughter fizzles out and there’s a beat.
“Hey, thank you for this. Seriously.” Says Sokka appreciatively, placing a hand on her knee. “You don’t know wh-”
“Shh, I don’t wanna hear it. I wasn’t gonna let my friend deal with a nightmare alone.” She grimaced, “I get it, I’ve been there. It’s not fun.”
He rubs his thumb back and forth comfortingly. “Then let’s make a pact. Next time one of us has a nightmare, the other will sit with them like this. Although I must warn you, my braid is only like, Aang level mean.”
She smiles at him. “It’s a deal then. Let’s shake on it,” she says holding her hand out to him. He takes it and they shake.
“Come on,” he says, standing up but still holding on to her hand. “Let’s try and get some sleep. Before Katara really does wake up.”
She huffs out a laugh and pushes herself to her feet. “Good idea,” she says heading over to the sleeping mats haphazardly placed next to Appa. She settles onto her mat and Sokka onto his.
Sokka smiles. And his chest feels a little lighter than it was before.
«»
“Again.”
Sokka groans loudly. His whole body aches and his limbs are heavy with the weight of exhaustion. He lifts his head off the dirt to look in the direction of the voice. “Do we have to?” he whines.
Zuko steps into his line of sight. He is trying and completely failing to hide his amusement at Sokka’s suffering. “Well, I mean we don’t have to, but if I were you, I would be taking all the training I could get.”
Sokka gasps in mock outrage and lets his head fall back to the ground. “Wowww, so rude. And for what?”
“Because you’re shit at sword fighting, that’s what.”
“The audacity! And in my own home!”
Zuko barks out a loud laugh, the kind that makes you throw your head back and your eyes crinkle and extends his hand out towards Sokka. Sokka eyes at it warily. There is a beat. Zuko raises his eyebrows slightly and tilts his head forward, challenging Sokka to ignore him.
Sokka sighs dramatically. “Fiiiine.” He grabs the hand and Zuko pulls him to his feet with a strong tug.
Zuko goes and picks up Sokka’s sword from the ground where he had dropped it just moments before. “Here’s your sword,” he says, handing it to him. “Try not to drop it so quickly this time, okay?”
Sokka rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s just start.”
Zuko grins back at him, twirling his two swords relaxedly in his hands. “Sure.” He immediately moves forwards, raising one of his swords to strike. Sokka barely has time to block the movement, raising his sword just enough to stop Zuko from hitting him. Zuko’s sword pushes against his. He smirks. “Sokka, you know you’re supposed to be fighting me, right? You did say start after all.”
Sokka’s only response is to let out a pained grunt. He draws back, sliding away from Zuko, then sidesteps to the right, making a swipe at Zuko’s knees. Zuko dodges and makes a large, sweeping cut in the direction of Sokka’s head. He ducks, moving under Zuko’s sword, thrusting his sword forward Zuko’s chest. Zuko swiftly stops Sokka’s sword with one of his own. He rotates his sword around Sokka’s, twisting Sokka’s arm around behind him. Sokka tries to resist but Zuko’s brute strength is too much for his exhausted arms, which bend easily like cooked spaghetti. He is forced to step back and turn away from Zuko to avoid getting stuck, or worse, dropping his sword. He snaps his head back to focus on Zuko and his hair, held loosely by a single tie, begins to slip out of its low bun. “Ah fuck,” Sokka mutters under his breath. He should’ve retied it before starting this next round.
Zuko rolls his eyes but continues to advance towards Sokka. He jabs his swords and Sokka sidesteps a second time, then moves behind Zuko to avoid the attack. He whips around to face Zuko again and the hair tie gives up, falling from his hair altogether. Hair immediately falls into his eyes and mouth, sticking awkwardly to his sweaty cheeks. He runs his left hand through his hair to try and push it back out of the way. It falls back into place almost straight away. He lets out an annoyed huff.
Zuko falters slightly, his arms relaxing from their raised defensive position a little. “What terrible form,” Zuko scolds, looking at Sokka’s hair disdainfully. Sokka notices that Zuko’s gaze is focused on the stuck together strands hanging just over his right eye. “Imagine if that happened in a real fight.”
“Lucky me then,” Sokka deadpans. “And lucky you! Now my stupid hair is in my face you have the advantage.”
Zuko huffs out a humourless laugh. “Sure,” he says sarcastically.
Sokka can’t see the joke. How is he supposed to defend himself like this?
He takes a breath to psych himself up, then moves in to attack Zuko, swiping at Zuko’s face. He can tell the action takes Zuko by surprise by the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. Zuko raises his swords to block but the usually flawless reaction comes a split second late. He must be getting tired by now, Sokka thinks to himself. They had been fighting all afternoon. Maybe he did have a chance after all.
Sokka pulls back to jab at Zuko’s chest again, which Zuko blocks this time. Their swords clash loudly and strain against each other, neither one of them wanting to step away. Sokka pushes himself into the block, his tired muscles protesting angrily, but he forces himself to stay strong through the sheer determination to win. He locks eyes with Zuko, whose eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and face is dripping with sweat. Sokka’s eyes narrow and his lips pull back into a smirk. He knows how close he is to winning. Sokka feels the block beneath him weaken for a split second and takes the opportunity to surge against the swords, pushing them out of Zuko’s hands.
Sokka spends no time celebrating, knowing the fight isn’t quite over yet. He steps forward into Zuko’s space, and before Zuko can register what is happening, Sokka snakes his leg behind Zuko’s, grabs a fistful of the fabric at his shoulder and using his leg as a fulcrum, pushes Zuko backwards onto the ground. Zuko lets out a yelp of surprise as he hits the ground. Sokka sinks to the ground with him and kneels over him, one leg either side of Zuko’s chest. The hand still in the fabric of Zuko’s shirt forces Zuko into the ground and the other holds his sword horizontally at Zuko’s neck. Sokka has to lean forward to stop himself from falling, meaning his face is directly over Zuko’s. He can feel the heat from Zuko’s body under him.
“Well would you look at that,” Sokka drawls. He releases his grip on Zuko’s shoulder and shifts himself back onto his knees, careful not to sit on Zuko as not to squash him. Sokka holds his hand up loftily to examine his nails as if this were the most mundane situation of all time. “It looks like you were right. I must’ve had the advantage after all.” He glances up from his nails, abandoning his mock superiority in favour of staring down at Zuko. His breaths are quick and shallow, and he is pointedly avoiding Sokka’s gaze.
For a moment, there is silence between them, their heavy breathing the only sounds around them. Then, the silence becomes too long, awkward. He throws his sword on the ground next to Zuko. “Are you so prideful that you can’t even look me in the eyes and congratulate me when I do a good job?”
Zuko flinches, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “Sorry,” he says, eyes finally meeting Sokka’s. Sokka becomes acutely aware of their position and he finds that his mouth is totally dry. Zuko quickly regains his composure, “Your uh, your footwork was good, you’ve definitely improved. I really liked the throw at the end,” he says, ignoring Sokka’s sudden clamminess. He can’t tell if he’s just hiding it well or if Zuko is doing them both a favour. He finds himself hoping with every fibre of his being that it’s the former.
“Thanks,” says Sokka, flashing Zuko a quick smile so as not to seem like a hypocrite before scrambling off of him and getting up, thankful to be further away from him. He walks over to his water flask to where it sits on a nearby rock and takes a big gulp, then tips the small remaining amount over his head. He feels the sweat on his brow get washed away but he feels no less hot and his mouth feels no less dry. He takes a seat on the rock, trying to catch his breath.
“Hey,” says Zuko gently, squatting down next to him, “you dropped this.”
Sokka glances over at him. He’s holding Sokka’s hair tie. “Hah, guess I did.”
He goes to take the hair tie from Zuko but he moves it out of his reach. “Here, let me.” Zuko stands and moves behind Sokka. Then he feels Zuko’s hands on his scalp. He feels his stomach clench and fights the urge to tilt his head back, pushing it into Zuko’s fingers.
Zuko’s hands hesitate, but only for a moment, and then they delicately pull Sokka’s hair together into a ponytail at the base of his head, blunt nails lightly scraping at his scalp. Sokka bites his tongue and lets out a long, controlled breath. Before he knows it, his hair is secured in a tight low bun. Sokka reaches his hand out and feels Zuko’s handiwork. It’s incredibly neat and sleek, with not a single hair out of place. He turns to look at Zuko, an eyebrow raised questioningly at him.
“A Prince can’t go out in public looking like a mess. Who do you think I am? Or rather” – he averts his eyes – “have you forgotten who my father is?”
Sokka smiles up at him sadly. Zuko remains focused on the grass near his feet. He exhales roughly, “Sorry for ruining the mood.”
“Hey,” he says softly, “It’s fine.” He tries to catch Zuko’s eye. “Seriously.”
Zuko glances up nervously before giving him a small smile. He offers Sokka his hand, “Come on, let’s go again.”
This time instead of complaining he takes Zuko’s hand without a second thought and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He jogs back over to where his sword is laying, shaking his arms out as he went to dispel some of the nervous energy he’s still feeling. Picking it up of the ground he locks eyes with Zuko. Zuko grins determinedly at him. His heart clenches.
Feeling suddenly reinvigorated, Sokka smiles back.