Archive of Our Own

The first glimpse is always the hardest. 

This time, Zuko finds him alive. A relief. He is not always so fortunate. 

The windows are a bit foggy from the cold, making it difficult to see clearly, but Zuko knows it’s him. It’s Sokka.

He sits at a modest wooden table, a woman’s hand held softly in his own. There are two children across from them, one young enough to be in a high chair and the other not much older. The room is filled with warm, amber light. 

And Sokka looks happy. 

There are soft wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. His hair is long and neatly pulled back. This time, his face is clean shaven. It makes him look young. 

His eyes are bright. That’s what Zuko loves the most—his eyes. (Bright, happy, alive .)

Zuko watches for too long. His body is stiff and his face is raw from the cold, and that deep, hollow feeling is back in his chest. Reluctantly, he turns away. 

He tries to keep from crying as he walks. 

This isn’t the right universe. It never is. 

When he’s far enough away to go unnoticed, he taps a few buttons on his watch, and ascends. 

His ship is cold and lonely, but it’s home. Druk, his cat and sole companion for the past three years, is sleeping sprawled across the ship’s computer keyboard, just like always. Zuko walks over and gently rubs the back of a finger against Druk’s cold nose, hoping to wake him without startling him. He’s an old man now, and Zuko’s not so sure his hearing is very good anymore. 

Druk starts purring before he even opens his eyes, and Zuko smiles. If not for Druk, he isn’t sure he would’ve survived this long. 

Zuko places a prepackaged meal—fire noodles with chicken—in the microwave, and changes into his sleep clothes. He settles on his bed with his meal in hand and Druk in his lap. It’s quiet as he eats; he considers watching something or putting on some music, but can’t decide what feels right, and after finishing about half his meal, he gives up, turns out the light, and mercifully falls quickly into sleep. 

I remember damage.

Zuko jolts awake, cold sweat soaking the collar of his tunic. He breathes into the darkness for a few moments, watching images from his dream flash in his mind. His mother’s smile. His father’s glare. 

Sokka’s eyes, deep and blue like oceans, or maybe entire worlds. 

A ship trembling. A flash of impossibly bright light. 

And then: alone. 

Adrift .

He’s not sure what time it is, not sure that it even matters, so he gets up. He makes a cup of tea, which reminds him of Uncle and sends a pang of homesickness through his chest, and tries not to think of what little family he left behind on Earth. 

He sits in the cockpit, staring out at the endless expanse of stars, and nurses his tea. Tries not to wonder if Sokka is out there. Tries not to remember the horror of the last time he saw him.

At first, Zuko was angry. He’d been so angry. 

Zuko is good at anger, used to anger. He held onto it for as long as he could. 

He would scream out into the void of the universes, beating his hands against the metal walls of his ship. How could he have lost Sokka? How could this be happening now, when things were so good? Was he destined to suffer endlessly? Was he cursed, unlucky? What cruel story did the universe have written for him?

Too soon, the anger fizzled out. What followed was a gaping emptiness, a numb sort of heaviness. Not true sadness, not even fear—just emptiness. 

And because he has nothing else to do, no other option or choice, he continues searching. He doesn’t really have any control in it. 

It always ends up the same way:

The ship begins shaking. Sounds become muffled and distant. A horribly bright light flashes, and Zuko finds himself suddenly somewhere new. A new universe, a new galaxy, dimension, timeline? Even he does not understand it, not even after three years. But ultimately he continues, hoping desperately to one day find some kind of endpoint . 

The planet he arrives on is the nicest he’s seen in a while. Of course they’re always habitable—there would be no sense in visiting planets that cannot host life—but some are more beautiful than others. 

He touches down in a wooded area near the seaside. It’s just about dusk, and it’s quiet and warm. Glowing bugs skirt between the trees and the sounds of insect activity are dull and low behind him. 

This planet is similar to Earth, he thinks. There’s three moons, and it’s much bigger, but otherwise, eerily similar. 

It reminds him too much of home. The trees are tall and dense as he makes his way through the forest. According to his map, there is a small town nearby. As good a place as any to start looking. He’s long since given up on any kind of a system; somehow, he never ends up too far from where he needs to look. 

(And somehow, never exactly where he needs to be.) 

Zuko walks. He never minds having to walk places; he doesn’t get much exercise otherwise. And he misses the way his feet hit the ground, the way his body feels when weighted by a planet’s gravity. 

After a while, he sees faint light off in the distance—the town, alive and bustling in the night. He begins to hear noises, voices carrying over the wind. It sends an ache through him. 

He is so alone. 

But he can’t help the futile hope that rises in his chest. Because he knows, by whatever universal power has condemned him to this search, that somehow he is heading in the direction of Sokka. 

And maybe this time it will be his Sokka. 

When he reaches the town, he worries it’s too late at night. He should’ve stayed on his ship, waited for morning. But to his (unusual) good luck, the small village is teeming with activity, even at such a late hour. 

Vendors line the streets and people mill about. Smoke from torches swirls through the air, carrying with it scents of fried food and sweets. Despite himself, Zuko smiles. He’s stumbled into some kind of festival, and though it reminds him how alone he is, it is also somehow  comforting and welcoming. 

He wanders, aimless, knowing his feet will guide him where he needs to be. It’s not too long until he catches sight of him, his breath leaving his body in an awed gasp.

Sokka . 

He looks so right —so much like his Sokka. The right age and physical condition. Even his hair is similar, though his wolftail hangs longer than Zuko remembers. 

And his eyes. His eyes are the same, except for one horrible difference: there lies no recognition behind them. In fact, he doesn’t really see Zuko at all, standing next to a food vendor, scanning the crowd, presumably looking for someone he knows, whoever he came to the festival with.

Zuko swallows around a lump in his throat. This is Sokka, but not his Sokka. He’s about to turn away, to retreat back far enough into the woods that he can teleport onto his ship without being noticed, when Sokka’s face suddenly lights up. 

Zuko’s heart all but jumps into his throat as he watches Sokka wave his hands above his head, some type of meat skewer in each hand, and a huge smile plastered across his face. 

Zuko’s feet move even before he can tell them to—he’s practically running towards him, pushing people aside, when—

“KATARA!” Sokka calls out. Zuko whips his head around and sees her, a few paces behind him. She rolls her eyes a bit at the spectacle of her brother, and moves past Zuko, barely glancing in his direction. She jogs over to Sokka, and they embrace, then continue walking down the line of vendors. 

Zuko might’ve fallen to the ground right there had he not been surrounded by families bustling about the festival, cheerful music blasting in the background. It always hurts, always stings, the lack of recognition—seeing someone he loves and knows so intimately not even give him a second glance. 

Sokka is his everything, but here, Zuko is nothing but a stranger to him. 

It’s all too much. The sudden burst of hope and joy, clashing with profound disappointment. The music is loud, the bodies around him are too close, and he’s flushed with sweat. His breathing becomes shallow and fast, and he’s had one of these before, used to have them all the time on Earth as a child, but it doesn’t make this time less scary. 

He attempts to turn and leave, to get back to his ship as fast as possible, but it’s too late. Pins and needles tingle his limbs, and his vision is going fuzzy. The best he can do is push through the crowd to a more secluded area where he finds himself doubled over, hands gripping his knees, and back heaving with panic. 

“Hey man, are you alright?”

Zuko falters. It’s been so, so long since he’s heard that voice.  He straightens up as best he can to see Sokka and Katara looking at him, concerned. He tries to assure them he’s fine, but the words won’t come. 

Sokka crouches to be at level with him. “Are you here alone?”

Zuko nods. 

“Is there someone we could call for you?” Katara asks. 

Zuko shakes his head. He feels Sokka’s hands grasping his shoulders, and it’s so familiar and so grounding that Zuko immediately feels a tiny bit better. 

“I think you’re having a panic attack, man. You’re okay, just focus on my voice, and try to slow down your breathing. My name’s Sokka. What’s yours?”

“Zuko,” he grits out. He lets Sokka keep holding his shoulders, but he can’t seem to meet his eyes. It would be much, far too much to meet his eyes. 

Because they’ve had so many moments like this before. And Sokka was really the first person Zuko ever trusted with such vulnerability, and it was an honor for that trust to be reciprocated. And Zuko doesn’t know how to ever stop grieving that. 

After a while, he is able to calm down. Sokka’s been muttering reassurances, rubbing his hands up and down Zuko’s arms. At some point, Katara must’ve left to find him some water, because when he’s finally more lucid and able to take deeper breaths, she hands him a chilled bottle. 

He accepts it with shaky hands, and sits down, resting his head against the cool wall behind him. 

“Thank you,” he says, gulping down the icy water. 

“No problem,” Sokka says, still squatting next to him. “I used to get panic attacks all the time, so, I know ‘em when I see ‘em. Super fun, awesome experiences.”

Zuko nods. So like Sokka to immediately try and make him feel better. 

“I haven’t had one in a while,” Zuko says, calm enough now that embarrassment begins to creep in. “Sorry for, uh—”

“Let me stop you right there, buddy. No apologies necessary.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments. Zuko finishes his water and keeps breathing as they watch the festival slowly dwindle down. 

After a while, Sokka asks: “Do you live near here? We could walk you home?”

Zuko shakes his head. “No, I’m not from here. I’m just…visiting.” 

“Okay, well, do you want to come back to our place for a bit? Relax a bit more before you have to get going?”

Zuko should say no. He should get up right now and march into the woods, never to be seen again. But for the first time, he allows himself to look over at Sokka. To really look at him. And there’s that earnestness, that resolve, that need to take care of others that’s so heartbreakingly familiar, and somehow, Zuko finds himself nodding yes . 

It’s a bit surreal, standing here in Sokka’s kitchen, watching him move around the space in the most familiar way. His mannerisms, his stature, everything, so familiar. 

“So, where are you traveling from?” Sokka asks, head stuck in the fridge.

“I’ve been traveling for so long. I don’t know if I’m really from anywhere anymore.” 

Sokka pauses, turns to face Zuko. “It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away from home. It’s still home.” 

Zuko nods, gratefully sipping his tea to avoid having to answer. 

My home isn’t a place, but a person. And I lost him. 

Sokka patches together a simple meal of leftovers. They sit at the counter, eating together. 

Zuko knows he’s watching him. Staring, even. They’re watching each other, appraising, unsure of what they’re really looking at. 

Sokka examines him with a tilt of his head and a quizzical expression.

“Do you want to walk down to the beach?” 

It’s dark out. Sokka grabs a pair of flashlights and chucks one towards Zuko. With the sun having completely set, it’s a bit cold, and as they get nearer to the shore, the wind picks up. 

They settle on the sand, staring out at the dark ocean. 

“I like to come here to think,” Sokka says after a while, “you know, clear my head, and all that.” 

Zuko hums. It’s been a while since he’s spent time on a beach. “It’s nice. Calm.”

“Yeah,” Sokka smiles. 

They sit like that for a long time. Zuko’s flight suit doesn’t offer much protection from the cold, but the cool air grounds him, and the smell of saltwater carried by the breeze is so nice that he doesn’t really mind the chill in the air.  

Sokka doesn’t say much. Maybe this version of him isn’t so similar to the one Zuko knows, or maybe he can sense that Zuko hasn’t had a real conversation in a long, long time, and is doing him the kindness of not pushing it. 

Zuko aches to talk to him, but it’s an ache for something this Sokka cannot fulfill, and Zuko doesn’t know how to begin to explain any of it. 

They walk back in the darkness. 

“Are you staying on this planet for a while?” Sokka asks when they reach the gate outside his home. 

“I wasn’t, I—” Zuko stumbles, not knowing what to say. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you decide to stay for a bit, here’s—” he reaches forward, grabbing Zuko’s wrist and begins punching numbers into Zuko’s watch “ —my number.” 

Zuko’s dumbstruck. His cheeks feel warm. Is Sokka flirting with him? 

“Th-thanks,” Zuko coughs out. But he really does mean it. 

“Good night, Zuko.”

Zuko dreams of Sokka that night. A weird mixture of his Sokka, and this Sokka. So alike and yet so different. 

When he wakes in the morning, Druk purring softly in his lap, he finds himself comparing last night’s interaction to the first time he’d met his Sokka. It hadn’t been nearly as pleasant. 

Zuko won’t pretend their initial mutual hatred wasn’t mostly his own fault. He was young and angry when he joined the Galactic Exploration Forces, and didn’t mesh well with anyone, let alone Sokka. 

It wasn’t until they were paired together on their first expedition that they’d begun to understand each other. It helped, of course, that Zuko nearly crashed their ship during a meteor storm, and they both feared they would die. 

Near-death experiences have a habit of bringing people together. After that, they’d been inseparable. They finished training together and after graduation, they continued to work closely together. 

Zuko’s never trusted someone the way he does Sokka. 

To be loved is a calamity . The pain of opening yourself up to someone is only eased by that person themself, and without Sokka, Zuko feels like he’s walking around with a bleeding wound in his chest. 

Zuko knows he’s making a mistake when he wanders back into Sokka’s small town. But he can’t help himself. This is the closest he’s felt to anyone in so long, and he cannot resist the connection with Sokka, even if it’s mostly a lie.

He feeds Druk, gives him a little pat on his head, and then beams back down to the surface. 

He’s nervous as he walks into town and finds himself back at Sokka’s front door, but that all dissolves when Sokka opens the door with a grin on his face. 

“Decided to stick around?” 

Zuko nods. 

Sokka takes him to a restaurant in town. There’s things about him that are eerily similar to the Sokka he knows. One being his incredible appetite. Another being his unbridled enthusiasm when talking about something he’s passionate about. 

In this universe, Sokka is a teacher. It’s summer break right now, which explains his abundance of free time. But Sokka tells him all about his students; he works with children who have learning difficulties and trouble reading. He tells him about a young boy who started the school year so nervous about reading that he would stutter over the words and cry whenever he couldn’t sound one out, but ended the year proudly reading a picture book to his class. 

Sokka tells him, too, about the materials he uses—the way he’s designed his classroom to be accessible for all kinds of learners, how he’s worked so hard to advocate for the children in his care. He does it all with a fire in his eyes, and though this Sokka’s vocation is so different from the Sokka of Zuko’s universe, that unending passion is still there, and it makes Zuko so happy to see some of it again. 

“And then, there’s the lighting, it can really overstimulate some kids, so I tried to get new—” Sokka stops abruptly. “Oh shit, I’m doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Rambling on and on about something you probably don’t even care about, considering the only question you asked me was what I did for work.”

“No, I really liked hearing you talk about all of this.” 

Sokka smiles, small and shy, and Zuko finds himself smiling back. 

He falls into a rhythm. Each morning, Zuko wakes up and feeds Druk. He makes himself breakfast and stares out into space, convincing himself to fly away and continue his search. 

And each morning, he fails.

They spend a lot of time together. Sokka takes him to all his favorite spots in town. They sit on the beach for almost every sunset. Zuko listens as Sokka tells him more about his students and coworkers, about wanting to take up welding but just having bought the supplies for a giant crochet project, about Katara’s stellar college grades, about his dad and Bato and Gran Gran. 

Zuko listens, dread heavy in his stomach, as Sokka tells him things he already knows—how his mom passed away when he was little, how for the longest time, all Sokka felt he was good for was protecting his baby sister.

Sokka listens, too. Sokka listens as Zuko tries to tell him about himself. He finds himself opening up about his childhood, about the last time he saw his mother, about getting his scar from Ozai, about his little sister that hurts to even think about. 

And when Sokka asks him about now , Zuko aims to be as vague as possible, even though it fills him with guilt. He tells Sokka he’s an explorer who’s lost his way.

Sokka asks what he is looking for. 

Zuko wrestles for a while with the idea. Should he tell him? Is it wrong to be here, accept his hospitality, get to know him, all while lying to him? And why is he even staying here? 

What does he hope the outcome to be? He’s wasting time. He needs to get back out there. He needs to keep searching.

But for some reason, day after day, he stays. Here in this little bubble, a small little piece of stolen happiness, his days with Sokka. Ship parked just outside the planet’s orbit. 

As with most things in his life, Zuko manages to fuck this up. 

They’re at the beach again. The sun is setting, and Zuko can’t stop sneaking glances of Sokka in the amber glow of the sun. He’s so beautiful, and though Zuko knows his feelings are probably false—more a desperate desire to have his Sokka back than actual feelings—he yearns for him, aches for the man sitting in the sand next to him. 

But Sokka is watching him, too, with a look that’s both new and familiar to Zuko. 

Sokka likes him, Zuko realizes, a sharp stab of guilt in his stomach. Sokka likes him, and he doesn’t know why Zuko’s really here. He doesn’t know that Zuko already knows him so much more than he could imagine, he doesn’t know that Zuko wants him but can’t have him, can’t want him, because this is not his Sokka, and what kind of person would he be if he simply replaced him with an alternate version from another universe? 

Sokka leans over and brushes a loose hair from Zuko’s face, hand hesitating for a moment before returning to gently cup his scarred cheek. Zuko feels himself leaning in, Sokka in front of him like a black hole, pulling Zuko towards him with a force stronger than gravity. 

Their lips brush. Sokka closes his eyes. And Zuko pushes him away. 

“Stop!” he yells, suddenly standing up. “I—I can’t!” 

Sokka looks up at him, confused and hurt. 

“This isn’t right!” Zuko pants. “I just—I’m sorry, Sokka, I can’t.”

Zuko turns to leave, but Sokka stands up and grabs his arm. “What is it?” Sokka asks.

Zuko shakes his head, doing his best to avoid Sokka’s eyes. 

“You can tell me,” Sokka urges softly. “I know something’s up with you. I know you’re lost and that you’re looking for something. You can tell me.” He lets go of Zuko’s arm, only to gently take hold of his hand and give it an encouraging squeeze.

“Sokka…” Zuko doesn’t want to tell him. But he deserves to know. “What I’m looking for is you.” Sokka’s brows jump up in surprise. 

“What does that—”

“I know you. Well not exactly you , but… a version of you. When I told you I’m not from here, I didn’t just mean another planet. Three years ago, you—well, the other you—and I were partners on a mission. And I don’t know how it happened, but we entered some kind of…anomaly… I don’t know what it was! A black hole, or something, I don’t know—you were always the scientist. I was just the pilot. But we were sucked in. And everything got really bright and loud. You were so scared. I tried to grab onto you, but your fingers were just outside of my reach, and before either of us could even figure out what was happening, the light flashed and then went out completely. It was quiet. I called out for you in the dark, but… You were gone. You were just gone . And I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

The Sokka standing in front of him is shocked, speechless. Zuko feels heat rise in his cheeks. Here he is, open and on display. The horrible, vulnerable truth is permeating the air around them. 

After a while, Sokka asks, “You’re from an alternate universe?” 

Zuko nods. 

“And in that universe, me and you are…?”

Zuko’s chest tightens. “We’re partners. Best friends. Probably soul mates, if those exist.” 

“And this other version of me?”

“He’s out there, somewhere. He has to be. And I can’t stop looking for him. But then I came here, and I met you, and you are so much like him but also so different, too? And I missed him—you—so much, and you were so kind, and so I stayed. I kept staying even though I knew it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t fair to my Sokka, wherever he is out there.” 

Sokka drops his hand. Takes a step back. Zuko can practically see the thoughts as they fly through his mind, attempting to process everything Zuko just said. 

“So you were just… trying to replace him with me ?” Sokka chokes out, a horrible look of dejection on his face.

“No,” Zuko pleads, “no, no I wasn’t trying to do that! I swear—”

“That’s really fucked up, Zuko,” Sokka spits, stepping back again.

“I—I know. I know it is. I wasn’t trying to replace anyone, though. I just… got caught up…”

Sokka glares at him. “I think you should go.” 

Zuko does. 

Days later, Zuko is still unable to make himself leave. His ship remains parked outside the orbit of Sokka’s planet, hovering, waiting for him to make a decision. 

Zuko’s always been impulsive and a bit foolish. It’s gotten him into trouble many times. But he’s never been someone who can ignore their gut, and right now, he knows he can’t leave Sokka without at least some kind of apology. Whether Sokka accepts it or not will be up to him, but Zuko has to at least try. 

But he doesn’t feel like he can impose on him any further, so he eventually settles on writing Sokka a letter, planning to drop it off and slip away. He’s aiming for selflessness, but he’s pretty sure it’s actually cowardice.

He struggles with what to write for a long time. He’s never been good with his words, and that’s only compounded when it comes to trying to express hard, emotional things. He scratches out sentence after sentence, ultimately landing on an incredibly simple, short apology. 

Sokka,

I can’t begin to say how sorry I am for what I did to you. I knew what I was doing was selfish and wrong, and I can’t change any of that now. All I can do is say that I never meant to hurt you. And that as much as I was staying because I missed him , it was also because of you. 

You deserve the most wonderful of lives, and though I regret my actions, I don’t regret the time I got to spend with you. 

Goodbye,

Zuko 

It’s short, and probably insufficient, but it’s the best Zuko can do.

He waits until dusk to teleport back down to the surface. There’s a single light on in Sokka’s house, and Zuko’s tempted to peer in the window to get one last glimpse. But he can’t risk being seen, especially if he wants to avoid seeing that horrible, betrayed look on Sokka’s face again. 

(Coward.)

Zuko walks up to the front door, and just as he’s bending down to place the letter under the mat, the door swings open. 

Fuck.

He straightens up to see Sokka, whose expression flashes from shocked, to hurt, to carefully neutral.

“Zuko?”

“Sokka, I—” Zuko falters, not knowing what to say. 

Sokka looks at him expectantly.

“I was just coming to give you this.” 

Zuko offers the letter. Sokka looks at it, but doesn’t take it. 

Zuko steels himself and finally meets Sokka’s eyes, takes a shaky breath, and—

“I thought it would be better if I just dropped this off and didn’t bother you anymore. But you deserve a real apology, Sokka. What I did to you was wrong. I knew it was wrong the whole time, but I just couldn’t make myself leave. It’s been so, so long since I’ve had anyone in my life, and I was so lonely. And you were so… you . And I missed that so much. So I was a selfish ass—”

“You used me.” 

Zuko swallows. “I did.”

“Not only did I have to wrap my head around the fact that there are… other versions of me floating around out there—which, by the way, would be so cool to learn about under different circumstances—but then I had to accept that this guy that I was really starting to like and care about was just using me as a substitute for someone else. That’s so fucked up, Zuko.” 

“I know,” Zuko nods, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do to change it, or to make up for it. And I’m going to leave now, for good. I just… couldn’t leave without apologizing.” 

Zuko extends the letter out again. Sokka deflates a bit, and grabs it. 

“I’m not going to read this right now,” Sokka shakes his head, “not when you’re right here in front of me.” 

“No, that’s—of course not. That’s fine, “ Zuko sighs. “You don’t have to read it at all, if you don’t want I just… I’m sorry. I should go.”

Zuko turns on his heel, and begins to walk away. A profound shame washes over him, and he feels his eyes well with tears. He always messes things up, always makes the wrong choices, he should’ve never come here, should’ve just—

“Wait,” Sokka calls out, “just—don’t go yet.” 

Zuko turns back around. Sokka’s standing unusually still, an expression that Zuko can’t read on his face. 

“I’m not going to act like this isn’t fucked up, or that it didn’t hurt, “ Sokka sighs. “But I also can’t say I don’t understand why you did what you did. Even when we first met, I could tell you were really lost, and sad, and I can’t imagine how hard the past few years have been for you.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“No, it’s not. But I still think I can forgive you.”

Zuko can’t help himself—he rushes forward and pulls Sokka into a hug.

“Thank you,” he says, face shoved into Sokka’s shoulder, “thank you.”

“I’ve got you,” Sokka whispers, hugging him back.

“I’m not sure I can keep doing this,” Zuko confesses in a desperate whisper. “What if he’s not even out there anymore? What if I never find him?”

Sokka pushes him back, shaking his head. “I don’t know. But you can’t stay here.”

Zuko’s tired of looking, tired of aching with loneliness. These past few weeks with Sokka have been the happiest he’s had in years, and the thought of leaving that behind fills him with dread.

“But maybe this is where I’m supposed to be. Maybe all my searching was futile, and the universe is trying to teach me a lesson, and I’m just supposed to…” Zuko trails off, not sure what else to say. 

“Give up?” Sokka asks. 

Zuko nods.

“No, Zuko. You need to go. And I’m not saying that because I want you to leave. But you need to go. You won’t ever be fully happy here. You’ll always be wondering about him. Wondering if he’s out there, still.”

“But, Sokka, I really do like you .”

“I know,” Sokka smiles, sad. “But you love him. And you owe it to yourself, and to him, to keep searching. And I owe it to myself to find someone that can love me completely.”

Zuko sighs. Sokka’s right. And Zuko knows, more surely than he’s ever known anything before, that Sokka will find someone who can actually deserve him. 

“You will, Sokka, you will.

“Who knows, maybe this universe has a version of you. Where do you think he’d be hanging out?”

Despite himself, Zuko laughs. “I don’t know. Wherever he is, he’s got to have his shit together compared to me.” 

Sokka chuckles. “I don’t know, man. You really pull off the sexy, mysterious spaceman thing. That is, until you told me your life story and I realized you’re just a huge, lovestruck dork.” 

“Shut up.”

They walk down to the beach for one final time, and sit by each other on the sand. The waves crash rhythmically on the shore. As the sky darkens and the air grows cool, Zuko turns to his friend. 

Sokka looks back at him. They don’t say anything for a while, but Zuko doesn’t think they need to. 

“Thank you, Sokka,” Zuko eventually says, and in a lapse of impulse control, presses a kiss to his cheek. 

He stands, inputs the code into his watch, and leaves. 

Zuko flies aimlessly for a while. He does not immediately return to the site of the anomaly. 

He’s not sure he’s ready to. 

He knows Sokka was right—that he needs to keep searching. But he doesn’t know how to cope with suddenly being so alone again, and he isn’t sure he has the strength to continue on. He thinks of facing another three years like the ones he’s just experienced. Another five, another ten. How can he bear it?

When Zuko eventually decides to keep going, he plugs in the coordinates he knows will take him back through the singularity. 

The ship shudders with the effort of jumping into hyperspace, and for a moment all is blurry as they travel. With a sudden lurch, the ship stops, and Zuko looks out at the vast expanse of space in front of him, expecting to see the usual schism in the blackness, the odd way time and space warp around the pinpoint of bright, blinding light. 

But nothing’s there. Zuko blinks, confused. He leans closer to the window and searches the great darkness beyond him. He sees distant stars, maybe even planets. But his portal is gone. 

Panicking, he looks down at his dashboard, assuming he must’ve plugged in the wrong coordinates. But no, they’re correct—of course they are, he’s typed them in so, so , many times. He hits the travel button again. Maybe something is wrong, somehow. Maybe for some reason, his ship stopped short. 

But nothing happens. 

He is where he’s supposed to be. 

But this time, he is truly alone. Not even the vain hope of searching another universe remains; he’s stuck here, without Sokka. And he can’t keep looking. 

Zuko slams his fists on the dashboard. Druk startles awake and looks at him disapprovingly. Zuko doesn’t care. He wants to scream. He wants to throw things. He wants to destroy himself and his stupid ship. 

A blinding fury comes over Zuko like a match erupting into flame. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fucking fair . 

What did Zuko ever do that was horrible enough to deserve this? How did he earn this agony?

Was his mother right to leave him? Was his father right to burn him, discard him? 

His knees slam on the hard metal floor. He’s shaking, taking huge, heaving breaths. He thinks he hears himself crying, but the noise is distant and muffled. Everything’s too hot, too bright. He can’t see. He’s going to explode. He’s going to die . 

He tries to rein himself in, tries to ground himself and get his breath back, but all he can think of is the last time he’d panicked like this, and how it was Sokka who helped him. Not his Sokka, but a different Sokka that he grew to love, too. He can’t go back to him, and he can’t keep looking, not with the disappearance of the singularity. 

It’s over. It’s all over. He’s alone.

He’s alone . 

Great sobs rack through his body, replacing his gasping breaths with desperate wet cries. Zuko presses his hands against his eyes, and rocks forward. He cries and cries. He cries until the tears won’t come anymore and the dry sobs scrape his throat raw. 

He is hollowed out, empty and cold. 

It takes him a while to notice the ship shaking. He pulls himself up off the ground and checks the dashboard. 

All the screens are displaying nonsensical, jumbled numbers and letters. The meters are spinning, needles flipping around rapidly. His ship continues shaking, more and more violently. Druk hisses and dives into a storage cabinet to hide. 

Zuko’s frozen with fear. But there’s peace that comes, too. 

Maybe this is how it was always supposed to end. 

He sits at the helm, gripping the dashboard for stability. He stares out into space, heart rate rising as the stars begin to warp and shift in an incomprehensible way. A pinpoint of white light ahead of him grows, sending piercing beams in all directions. 

He watches until he can’t bear it anymore. Accepting this as his fate, he clenches his eyes shut, and braces for whatever mysterious end awaits him. 

The ship stills suddenly, nearly throwing Zuko from his chair. Panting, he opens his eyes, and sees before him another ship.

A ship that’s incredibly familiar. Because it’s his ship. 

Bewildered, Zuko steps forward and presses his face as close to the glass as he can get it. 

The ship in front of him is identical to his, down to the blocked serial numbers on the lower left wing. It even has a dent along the side from the time Sokka nearly killed them flying straight into a hunk of debris. The only difference is the missing scratches on the nose—those Zuko was at fault for, from a particularly rough landing on a stormy planet about a year ago. 

What the fuck is going on?

Zuko continues scanning the cloned ship in front of him, his heart jumping into his throat when he sees a shadowy figure in the window across from him. He can’t make out a single detail, can barely see their face, and wonders if somehow he’s stumbled upon another doomed version of himself. 

A beam of light casts out from the other vessel, and Zuko panics as he feels himself go weightless, formless, as he’s teleported away from his ship. 

He arrives on a transport landing and glances around at an interior almost identical to the one he just left. 

“It is you,” a voice beside him says, and Zuko whips around so fast he nearly falls over, because he knows this voice. 

Sokka surges forward, pulling him into a tight hug.

Zuko recovers from his shock after a moment and hugs back with matching fervor, his body slotting against Sokka’s in a natural, familiar way that he hasn’t felt in years. Zuko buries his face in Sokka’s neck, feeling his warmth and breathing in his smell. 

They pull back and look at each other, shock and awe mirrored in their eyes. 

Sokka shakes his head in disbelief. “How—”

Zuko cuts him off, pressing forward to kiss him. He cradles his face in his hands, revels in the taste of him and the feel of his stubble and the insanity of this moment. There are wet tears on his cheeks; though whether they are Sokka’s or his or both, he can’t know. 

They kiss until they’re both gasping for air, parting but still holding each other close. 

There’s so much to say as he gazes into Sokka’s eyes, so many questions to ask, but he doesn’t know where to even begin. 

“Baby,” Sokka whispers, and Zuko’s knees almost give out just hearing Sokka’s voice again. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Zuko eventually says. 

Sokka makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

“You found me.”