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There are few metaphors for firebending Zuko enjoys. He doesn’t care that the Ember Island Players’ hit song Love Amongst the Dragons topped the charts for two months. Not only do they ignore the ancient ballad they claim to be inspired by, they describe firebending like painting. As if fire is something static, something you can put on display. As if you can blend your qi with scientific precision the way you might mix paints.
No one embodies fire like Ozai. Artless, ferocious, and vengeful, Ozai spent his days out of jail stomping around the apartment, bemoaning the loss of Fire Nation tradition, and sitting in front of the TV watching the news and working himself into a fury. When people ask about Zuko’s scar, they expect a story. Some trail of reasoning that leads from point A to point B. Despite Zuko’s best efforts to find a beginning, middle, and end, it is only decades later that he learns there isn’t one.
The story behind his scar does not start when Ursa left Ozai, or when Ozai lost his job due to the staggering complaints to HR. Nor is it because of something on the TV, or because Zuko had been too loud and careless. One moment Ozai’s qi rested dormant within him, the next moment fire devoured Zuko’s eye, clouding his vision forever.
One moment Zuko and Azula lived in a cramped two person apartment stuffed to the ceilings with old Fire Nation memorabilia, the next moment child protective services pushed them into Iroh’s welcoming arms.
Where Ozai is noise, Iroh is silence. Their uncle is the yin to their father’s yang, each of them defined by the other, and holding more of their sibling in them than they’d care to admit. Under Iroh’s tutelage, Zuko starts a daily meditation routine to cage the fire within him. As Iroh always says, discipline starts from within.
But that is not where discipline ends. No firebending is allowed in the house. Iroh uses an induction stove that only heats up when cookware is placed on top. Instead of a fireplace Ozai consistently feeds, Iroh has decades-old radiators in every room.
Where Zuko learned discipline from Iroh, Azula learned the power of silence, both of hers and her victims. Before long, terror spread through their middle school. Door handles would be as hot as a cast iron pan fresh from the oven, and the insulation in various outlets would be melted off.
The principal gathered the dozen or so firebenders in the gym, interrogating each at length. When Iroh picked them up that day, he said nothing, but let the judgement in his gaze speak for itself. That night, after Azula had been put to sleep, he brought Zuko to the fire escape. “I know it was your sister.”
Before Zuko could protest that Iroh knew no such thing, that if he just asked Azula she could tell him why, that it couldn’t be the same girl he used to hug under the covers when Ozai drove Ursa away, Iroh continued, “You have to be better than this, better than your father. Do you understand?”
His father was easier to understand, and Zuko nodded. Then he asked, “Better than my sister?”
Once again, Iroh said nothing, and yet Zuko learnt all he needed to know. Ever since then, Zuko joined Iroh in meditation every morning, repeating chants and phrases that he hoped he would one day understand.
He carries this habit with him into college, sitting cross-legged in the deserted common room as the sun rises. It’s halfway through his second semester, in the middle of spring, when he finally breaks the habit. In particular, it is the day his and Sokka’s lab report for their thermodynamics class is due, and he’s cursing at his lab partner while filling in the blanks of the document that Sokka still has not completed.
Zuko knows he is being uncharitable, and deliberately not thinking about how excruciating doing a lab without Sokka would be. He might need to text Sokka multiple times and pace the lab muttering about the unprofessionalism of his partner, but once Sokka is in the lab, he completes every task with gusto. Every measurement is taken at least twice, the second time always more satisfying for Sokka than the first. He can glance at the diagrams provided and intuit the setup needed, like understanding was a skill he was born with.
Zuko also conveniently forgets the precision with which Sokka moves; the clarity in his eyes when he regards the lab and his mismatched ideas fall into place like a patchwork collage. Messy and vibrant, no matter how much Zuko wants to yell at him for being late again, or overcomplicating the lab and testing an irrelevant (and usually more complicated) hypothesis, Sokka makes every moment together in that class worth it.
Until now. These last few weeks have seen Sokka even more distracted and listless than usual. And for the first time this semester, Zuko is writing a lab report on his own.
Zuko tells himself that it is sleep deprivation that makes the class drag. But without Sokka, physics loses its spark, and the lecture suffocates Zuko like a breezeless summer day. On his way out of the building, he almost crashes into Sokka. “I’m glad I caught you. Anything interesting happen in class?”
Before Zuko can answer, Sokka answers his own question. “Of course not, what am I saying? Pakku’s never taught anything you can’t just search up. Anyways–”
And before Zuko can protest, can demand to know where Sokka has been, Sokka grabs Zuko’s wrist and tugs him to his car. “There’s this thing I want to show you.”
Zuko lets himself be swept away for as long as he can before pulling back. There is no reason or logic to the burning in his chest, threatening to spill over, but the strain in keeping himself in check still spills into his voice. “Our lab was due today.”
Sokka falters. “Shit, I totally forgot.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry, but I was doing something important.”
“More important than a class?”
“Yeah,” Sokka answers immediately. “Look, I’m sorry I forgot about the lab. I’ll do the next one on my own.”
“You don’t need to—”
“But I want to show you what I’ve been a part of. Please.”
Sokka’s hand twitches, as if he might reach out, as if the distance between them means nothing. “Okay.”
“Cool! One catch. It kind of has to do with fire.” As Zuko freezes, Sokka continues, “And I know we haven’t talked about it, but it’s pretty clear where your scar came from. We wouldn’t be close to any open flame.”
“Where are we going?” Zuko should have known to be suspicious, known that if he fanned the flames within him they would come roaring out.
“It’s a prairie burn. You know, to clear out flammable material that could burn up on a bad day, to release nutrients from the dead plants into the soil.” Sokka points a finger at Zuko. “If you took that one environmental science class with me like I told you, you’d know.”
Zuko huffs, but Sokka knows him well enough to continue before he can build up to anything. “We’ll be standing really far back from the fire, and there are so many benders there to keep it under control.”
“Why do you care about burning some corn?” Zuko asks.
“Maybe because helping nature with the indigenous people here is the closest thing that’s felt like home,” Sokka snaps.
Fuck . “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
It isn’t. But Zuko has learnt well from Iroh, and after the silence between them stretches tight enough to cut, he does so. “I’d like to see it.”
“You sure? I don’t want you retraumatizing yourself just because you feel bad.”
“I wasn’t traumatized! And I don’t feel bad.” Zuko realizes how it sounds. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I want to go.”
Sokka tilts his head and Zuko immediately averts his gaze. He hates it when Sokka does this, and is unwilling to be studied like some diagram. He is equally unwilling to admit how different Sokka’s gaze feels from Iroh and Azula’s scrutiny, how being seen by Sokka almost feels like an embrace.
Zuko breathes in a futile attempt to regain control. When it doesn’t work, he simply huffs and heads to Sokka’s car.
Sokka was right. They stand far enough from the fire that Zuko barely feels the heat. Several airbenders are on standby beside them, ready to suck the air away in case the flames grow out of hand. Another two dance behind the flame, coaxing a wind just fast enough to push the fire forward without spreading too fast.
“It’s almost like they’ve tamed it.” Zuko nods at the airbenders. The firebenders that started the blaze stood back, unneeded after their role in the burn.
“Yeah, that’s kind of the point.” Sokka says, “and there are a bunch of waterbenders on standby over there too. They’re the ones controlling the moisture.”
“But you can’t just control fire,” Zuko says, sliding into one of Iroh’s lectures. “The only way to control fire is for it not to exist at all.”
“What?”
“What?” Zuko turns to look at Sokka, who stands there bewildered.
Sokka reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. He flicks it on and off, then on and off again. “I think I’m doing pretty good.”
“You know he meant for firebenders.” Zuko rolls his eyes.
“So I’m trying to put this delicately because I know your uncle means a lot to you,” Sokka says. “But that sounds like bullshit.”
“Hey!”
“I mean, I know I’m not a bender. But just think, if we never explore something, how do we know how it works? How can we stop it from hurting people?”
“You can’t understand fire.”
Sokka gapes. “We’re in a thermodynamics class, Zuko. You just wrote a lab report on your own about heat transfer.”
“I meant that metaphorically.”
“You need to take an English class. Because you have to be comparing two things to make a metaphor.”
Zuko groans, but he doesn’t want to spend this moment angry at Sokka. “Whatever.”
“Do you want to leave?”
Zuko forces himself to stare at the burning prairie. Even though the smoke is being blown away from them, he can still smell it. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine a time when he still sees clearly through both of them. “Sometimes, things just burn.”
“You mean spontaneous combustion?”
“No. I mean, sometimes you get burned, and there’s no reason behind it.”
“Oh.” Sokka glances up to Zuko’s face.
“I learned exactly how much I could hurt people when I got this scar. Do you really want me to risk this happening to someone else?”
“Do you plan on burning someone else’s face?”
“No! But just because I don’t mean to—”
“Then if you do hurt someone, you try and help them.”
“And if they don’t want me to?”
“Then you tried. And that’s all you can do.”
Zuko has nothing to say to that. Before them the fire moves ahead, leaving behind it swathes of dark, healthy soil just in time for the spring.
“Thanks for bringing me here.”
“You mean it? Because if you’re bored you can tell me.”
“I’m not bored.” Zuko finds himself more captivated by the burn the longer he looks. Instead of the pale tip of an incense stick, the blackened stalks the burn left behind promises growth. “I’ve never seen anything good come out of fire.”
“This is still such a weird take for an engineer,” Sokka says. “Are you actually a flat earther?”
“I’m trying to have a moment,” Zuko says. Trust Sokka to ruin the moment of epiphany he’s straining for.
“Oookay,” Sokka raises his hands and sidesteps away. “Let me know when you’ve had your moment.”
“Wait.” Zuko knows there’s no reason for the heat in him when he looks at Sokka. But for once, he stops trying to control whatever burns inside him. As Sokka looks back, he reaches out and holds Sokka’s hand.
Sokka looks back at him, his mouth hanging ajar, and Zuko wants to close it for him, to trace the contours of Sokka’s chin, to tell Sokka it’s fine if he didn’t contribute to a stupid lab report and that Zuko just wants to know he’s okay. This time, Sokka looks away. But Zuko isn’t worried. He has no proof or data, no reasoning for this. But he thinks he’ll have another chance to know, to explore whatever he and Sokka might share.