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Zuko arrived in the Southern Water Tribe with a carefully rehearsed explanation. Every word was measured, polished, and sharpened into one that could not be questioned. “It is an important diplomatic matter,” he said, voice steady as the wind rushed past the airship’s bow. His posture was impeccable, hands folded behind his back, and his chin slightly lifted. “I will be staying for one week.”
“A full week, Your Majesty?” the chancellor asked, careful but unmistakably probing.
Zuko didn’t look at him. “Yes.”
The air stretched thin between them. “And the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador… is aware of this extended visit?”
Zuko paused, only for a moment, but it was there. “…He will be.” Behind him, there was the faintest shift. Fabric brushing, boots adjusting, and the quiet language of attendants exchanging looks they thought was subtle. Zuko ignored it, though the awareness prickled at the back of his neck.
The chancellor cleared his throat again. “Shall I prepare formal correspondence, then? It may be… advisable, given the duration of your stay.”
“No,” Zuko said, sharper than intended. Silence followed. He forced himself to breathe, slow and controlled. “That won’t be necessary. This is… informal.” The word sounded wrong the moment it left his mouth. Informal. A week-long visit with no notice. Even he could hear the gears turning in everyone present.
The chancellor hesitated, the questions pressing just beneath the surface. “With respect, Your Majesty, an extended, unannounced visit may raise… misunderstandings. Three days would be more in line with standard diplomatic courtesy.”
Zuko’s jaw tightened. 'Three days. Too short.' The thought came immediately before he could stop it. 'Too short to—' he cut himself off. “This is not standard,” Zuko replied, voice cooling. “I have already decided.”
Another pause, longer this time. Zuko could feel it unraveling. The neat structure of his justification beginning to crack under its own weight. Because the truth was simple, embarrassingly so. There was no pressing matter, no treaty to finalize and no conflict to resolve. No reason that would sound reasonable out loud...Just Sokka.
Zuko’s fingers curled slightly behind his back. Ridiculous. He was the Fire Lord. He did not cross half the world for something as trivial as—
“…Five days, then,” the chancellor tried again, softer now. “A compromise.”
Zuko exhaled slowly, the cold air sharp in his lungs. Five days still sounded too little. His gaze drifted to the horizon, where pale ice met the sky in a quiet blur. Somewhere beyond that line, he closed his eyes briefly. This was unnecessary, impractical, and dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with politics. He couldn't just let his emotions get the better of him. For Agni's sake he was the Fire Lord! His people needed him, his nation needed him.
However....he also deserves a break. He tells himself. Zuko sighs, “…Fine,” Zuko said at last, the word slipping out quieter than expected.
The chancellor straightened slightly. “Your Majesty?”
Zuko’s expression hardened, as if sealing the decision into something official and impersonal. “Three days,” he said. Cutting it down before it could grow too large, as if that were the safest, most controlled, most reasonable thing to do. “Inform the Southern Water Tribe that I will be arriving for a brief diplomatic visit and will be staying there for three days. No futher elaboration is needed.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The chancellor bowed and retreated toward the door to carry out his duties
The tension eased, just slightly. The attendants settling, the conversation resolving into other issues and topics. Zuko remained where he was. Three days. It was enough. It had to be. And yet his chest tightened again, faint but persistent, because even as he told himself it was sufficient, a quiet, unspoken thought lingered beneath the surface, stubborn and unwelcome.
- - -
By the time the airship descended, the Southern Water Tribe was already waiting.
Zuko saw them before his boots even touched the ground. A small gathering near the landing area, bundled in furs, breath curling into the cold air. And at the front—
Katara and Sokka.
Something in his chest tightened, quick and unsteady, before he stepped down with practiced composure, every inch the Fire Lord again: controlled, distant, and untouchable, and that lasted exactly three seconds.
“Zuko!” Katara called, already moving.
She didn’t hesitate. She crossed the distance and pulled him into a warm, tight hug, arms wrapping around him with a familiarity that ignored titles entirely. Zuko froze at first, caught off guard, his arms hovering uncertainly before he slowly returned it, one hand resting lightly against her back.
“…Katara,” he said, softly.
She pulled away just enough to look at him, smiling brightly. “You didn’t send word! We only found out this morning.”
“It was… a last-minute decision,” Zuko replied, straightening slightly, a small awkward smile plastered on his face.
“You’re staying long, right?” she asked. “We can actually spend time together?”
Zuko hesitated. “Three days.”
Katara blinked. “That’s it?”
“It’s enough,” he said, a little too quickly, though he knew it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
There was a beat of silence, then Sokka stepped forward, “Well,” he said lightly, though his eyes hadn’t left Zuko once, “that’s disappointing.” Zuko turned toward where the voice came from, and for a moment, everything else faded. Sokka looked the same and not, older in the way time sharpened people instead of softening them, but still undeniably—
Him.
Zuko opened his mouth, something formal ready to come out, yet Sokka didn’t let him. He closed the distance in two strides and pulled Zuko into an embrace. Zuko stiffened immediately, breath catching as Sokka’s arms wrapped around him, firm and grounding. He could feel the warmth through layers of fabric, the steady rise and fall of Sokka’s chest, the heat of him so stark against the cold air that it almost startled.
For a second, Zuko didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hands came up, resting against Sokka’s back, hesitant at first before settling. 'So close and so warm.'
Sokka leaned in just slightly, his breath brushing against the side of Zuko’s neck, close enough that Zuko felt it more than heard it, “Missed you,” Sokka murmured, low and easy, as if it was nothing, and Zuko’s face burned instantly. He pulled back a fraction too quickly, eyes widening just slightly before he caught himself, expression snapping back into something controlled and carefully neutral.
“I—” he started, then stopped. Katara was watching them. Of course she was. Her expression unreadable for a moment, then faintly amused.
Zuko cleared his throat, stepping back fully now, arms crossing like a shield. “It’s a diplomatic visit.”
“Mm-hm,” Sokka hummed, like he hadn’t just—like that hadn’t just happened. “Yup." He said, popping the 'p'. "Very official. Very serious.”
Katara nudged him. “Sokka.”
“What?” he said, grinning now. “I’m just welcoming him properly.”
Zuko looked away, jaw tight, but the faint flush hadn’t completely faded.
“…Right.”
Sokka’s grin only widened. “Come on,” he said, turning and gesturing for them to follow. “If you’re only here for three days, we’ve got to make it count.” Zuko hesitated for half a second, then followed. He told himself it was for diplomacy. Not for the lingering warmth still ghosting at the back of his neck.
.
.
.
- - -
At first, it really was just fun.
Sokka dragged them through the Southern Water Tribe like he was determined to prove the world could be an enjoyable place if you stopped taking it so seriously. There were games with the children near the training grounds, quick competitions that somehow turned into full-blown debates about 'proper technique' that Sokka always lost but insisted were 'politically biased,' and long walks along the ice fields where Sokka talked nonstop about ideas that made absolutely no sense at first but slowly started making too much sense the longer Zuko listened.
Even the guards relaxed, which Zuko would’ve normally considered a bad sign, but… it wasn’t. Not this time.
Zuko found himself actually laughing once. Quietly and unexpectedly. It slipped out before he could stop it. It was small, brief, but real enough that even he seemed momentarily startled by it afterward, as if he didn’t quite know where it came from. Because, true to thought, it’s been so long since he had let himself laugh and just be himself. Sokka noticed immediately.
He stopped mid-step and turned toward him as he’d just witnessed something rare. “Oh,” Sokka said, pointing at Zuko with clear satisfaction. “There it is.”
Zuko blinked once. “There what is?”
“That,” Sokka said, grinning. “You laughing.”
“I am not—” Zuko paused, realizing too late he had no better defense. “…That was not laughter.”
Sokka nodded slowly. “Sure.” Then, without missing a beat, Sokka added, completely casually, “You’re pretty when you laugh.”
Zuko froze instantly.
His brain seemed to stop before his body did, like the world had briefly skipped a beat and left him behind. A sharp flush rose to his face almost immediately, betraying him in a way no enemy ever had.
“What?” he said too quickly, his voice coming out sharper and less controlled than he intended.
Sokka just shrugged, stating the obvious. “I said you’re pretty when you laugh.”
Zuko looked away immediately, as if the snow had suddenly become the most important thing in the world. “That is an inappropriate observation.”
Behind them, two Fire Nation guards slowly turned their heads toward each other. A long, silent look passed between them.
One of them subtly mouthed: 'Are you seeing this?'
The other gave a stiff, barely perceptible nod.
Zuko, still not looking at Sokka, cleared his throat. “We should continue.” Sokka hummed softly, clearly amused, but didn’t push it.
“Yeah,” he said. “We should.” But he didn’t sound like he meant walking anymore, and Zuko, still faintly red, definitely didn’t turn back around quickly.
- - -
Everything was fine at the start....until it wasn't. Zuko could tell something was off before Sokka said a single word.
It wasn’t obvious at first.
Sokka was still doing his usual pacing, still talking with his hands, still trying to act like everything was normal in that way he always did when he didn’t want anyone to notice there was something heavier sitting under his thoughts. But Zuko had been around him long enough now to notice the small tells, the subtle shifts in rhythm, the way Sokka’s jokes came half a beat slower than usual and didn’t quite land the same way when he tried to laugh them off. Even the wind seemed quieter between them, like it was giving space for something unspoken, and Zuko found himself watching him more carefully than he meant to.
When Sokka spoke again, his voice had that forced lightness that didn’t match his eyes, and Zuko immediately felt the difference, a change in temperature he could no longer ignore.
After a moment of silence, Zuko finally spoke, “You’ve been quiet.”
Sokka gave a short laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Zuko didn’t respond. He just waited, looking at him with soft eyes that seemed to say, 'You can tell me anything', without needing to speak the words aloud. Sokka’s grin faltered a little. He looked out over the ice for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s....nothing. Just thinking.”
“That’s usually when things become something,” Zuko said.
Sokka huffed. “Yeah, well. Today it’s just… I don’t know. Everyone here has something they can do: water, fire, ice, all that flashy stuff, bending things and all...and I’ve got sticks and ideas.”
Zuko frowned immediately, the reaction sharp and instinctive. “Don’t reduce yourself like that.”
Sokka shrugged again, but it was weaker this time, he didn’t fully believe the gesture himself anymore. “It’s not reducing. It’s just… facts. I can’t bend. I’m not like you, or Katara, or Aang or Toph, or anyone else who can just… do things. I have to build everything from scratch, and half the time it feels like I’m just improvising my way through being useful.” He tried to laugh again, but it came out strained, and he looked away as if the horizon suddenly had something very important to say back to him. That made something in Zuko settle into place, steady and firm, because he’d seen enough battles and enough broken people to recognize when someone was quietly convincing themselves they were less than they were.
Zuko turned fully toward him now, steady and direct in that way that always made people either listen or get annoyed.
“You’re the smartest person I’ve met,” Zuko said simply.
Sokka blinked. “That’s—no, that’s not true.”
“It is.”
Sokka scoffed. “You’ve met literal geniuses. Benders who can bend lightning and freeze oceans and—”
“And none of them think the way you do,” Zuko cut in, not raising his voice, but firm enough that it stopped Sokka mid-thought.
That shut Sokka up.
Zuko exhaled slowly, choosing his words less like a ruler now and more as a friend and a family, someone who wasn’t trying to win an argument but make sure the other person didn’t walk away believing something false about themselves. “You don’t need bending to matter,” he said. “You already do. You see problems differently. You solve things that everyone else gives up on. You turn what others call impossible into reality. Something people hesitate to believe, and that’s not less, Sokka. That’s very amazing."
Sokka looked down at the snow, kicking at it slightly. He needed something to do with his hands so he didn’t have to deal with what he was feeling. “…You make it sound easy,” he muttered.
“It isn’t,” Zuko admitted, honest in a way he usually avoided. “And that’s why you’re special, Sokka. To me—” He stopped mid-sentence. A flush rose to his face almost immediately, as if his own words had caught up to him too late. His eyes flickered away for a moment, jaw tightening as he realized what he had just implied.
“And… to everyone else,” he finished quickly, the last part coming out rushed, trying to fix something that had already slipped through.
A pause stretched between them, quieter now, as the world had finally stopped pushing in on them for a moment. Then Zuko added, softer, almost uncertain in a way that didn’t match his usual certainty at all, “And maybe one day you’ll invent something that makes all of us look stupid for not thinking of it sooner.”
That got a small laugh out of Sokka. Real this time, not forced, and not defensive, just surprised and a little relieved. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear it until it landed.
“Yeah?” Sokka asked, glancing at him again with those ocean eyes that could lure you in.
Zuko nodded once, feeling his cheeks get warmer the longer he looked at him. “Y-Yeah.”
Sokka stared at him for a moment longer than usual. Then suddenly his eyes lit up in a way that completely shifted the air around him.
“Oh.”
Zuko blinked. “Oh?”
“No, no, no—wait,” Sokka said, already turning in place as if his thoughts had physically caught fire, pacing faster now, hands moving as he started assembling invisible pieces in the air. “That actually—hold on—that fixes it. That fixes everything I was stuck on.”
Zuko frowned, stepping slightly forward. “Fixes what?”
“My entire problem,” Sokka said rapidly. “Like—mobility, adaptability, altitude advantage, supply drops, speed control—why didn’t I think of this before?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “I’ve been stuck on it for days. I wanted to invent something. Something that would actually help nonbenders, but I just couldn’t figure out how to make it work.”
His voice dipped for a second, honesty slipping through the excitement. “It was… honestly kind of frustrating. I knew what I wanted, I just couldn’t see it.”
Then he snapped back into motion, eyes sharp again. “And then you say that, and it’s like—obvious. It’s actually perfect and now I just need materials, I need metal, I need rope, I need—”
“Think of what?” Zuko tried again, but Sokka was already half gone mentally, already building something only he could see clearly.
Sokka stopped just long enough to grin at him, fully re-energized now. The weight from before had been redirected into motion instead of erased.
“You just gave me the idea,” he said.
Zuko didn’t look convinced. “I said one sentence.”
“And it was the right sentence.” Before Zuko could respond, Sokka suddenly crossed the distance back to him in two quick steps.
Zuko barely had time to register it before Sokka cupped his face with both hands, completely unbothered by the fact that Zuko had gone still for a split second, his brain had momentarily stopped working out of sheer confusion and then, before Zuko could process anything, before he could even decide whether he should step back or say something or simply remain functional, Sokka leaned in and pressed a quick, warm, entirely unceremonious kiss to his forehead, like it was the most natural conclusion to a conversation in the world, as if it meant nothing and everything at the same time.
It wasn’t dramatic, nor was it slow, wasn’t even planned, but it was Sokka. It was such a Sokka thing to do.
Then he laughed under his breath as he’d already mentally moved on to the next catastrophe, let go of Zuko’s face, and stepped back like nothing important had just shifted in the air between them. He was already turning away toward the workshop with renewed urgency. “I’m about to invent something dangerous.”
And then he ran...while Zuko just stood there. Completely frozen, snow crunching under distant footsteps, and wind moving as if nothing had changed.
Yes. The world was continuing normally in the exact opposite way Zuko felt internally, because something had clearly shifted, and no one else seemed to acknowledge it except maybe him.
“…Did he just—” Zuko started, voice quieter than he intended, placing his hand on the area where Sokka left his warmth. Behind him, one of his guards coughed loudly into his fist in a very obvious attempt to stay professional.
“Your Majesty,” the guard said carefully, staring very straight ahead now, “I did not see anything.” Zuko slowly turned his head, his face now a full tomato-red. The guard was visibly failing at maintaining neutrality, his expression twitching as he fought not to react. Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose, heat creeping up his neck despite the cold air around them. “…You better be.”
From a few steps away, Katara had just rounded the path when she witnessed all of it happen. Sokka practically flew past her, already halfway into the workshop and talking to himself at full speed. Zuko stood frozen in place where he’d been left behind, perfectly still like someone had hit pause on him mid-thought, the faintest red creeping up his ears that absolutely did not match the weather.
“Oh,” Katara said slowly.
Zuko stiffened. “It is not what it looks like.”
Katara raised an eyebrow. “He kissed your forehead.”
“It was—” Zuko paused, searching for an explanation that would sound remotely reasonable. “—strategic encouragement...?”
Katara blinked once. Then she smiled in a way that suggested she was not going to argue with him, but also absolutely did not believe him for even a second. “Sure.” Zuko’s guard coughed again, louder this time, his soul was actively leaving his body from secondhand embarrassment.
Somewhere in the distance, Sokka shouted something about 'vertical lift optimization' and 'probably-not-explosive-but-possibly-explosive testing,' completely unaware that he had just left Zuko standing in the snow with an emotional aftermath more unstable than anything in his workshop.
And Zuko, still not moving, could only mutter under his breath, “…That man is going to be the end of me.”
.
.
.
- - -
The next morning came quieter.
Cold, steady, and almost peaceful in a way that didn’t match the chaos Zuko still hadn’t fully processed from the night before.
He sat across from Katara with a cup of tea warming his hands, posture composed again, expression carefully neutral. He had already decided to file everything that happened under a mental label so deeply buried in his mind it might as well have been locked away, sealed, and tucked into a folder labeled: 'not worth addressing directly.'
Katara, of course, kept glancing at him over the rim of her cup like she knew better and neither of them said anything about it. Not yet. Then the door burst open.
Sokka stumbled in like a storm: hair disheveled, face streaked with dirt and oil, sleeves unevenly rolled, and something metallic clinking faintly from his belt. He’d definitely forgotten half his tools were still attached to him and he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
“Sokka—” Katara started.
“I need him,” Sokka cut in immediately, already crossing the room.
Zuko blinked. “You—what?” But Sokka didn’t slow down. He reached out without hesitation and grabbed Zuko’s hand, fingers wrapping around his wrist with zero awareness of how abrupt it was.
Zuko went still.
“…Sokka,” he said, voice tightening slightly, “what are you doing?”
“Come on,” Sokka said, already pulling him up. “No time, this is important.”
Katara lowered her cup slowly, watching them with open curiosity now and Zuko barely had time to set his tea down before he was being dragged toward the door, still half-processing the fact that Sokka was holding his hand as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
“…You’re covered in oil,” Zuko said, because that felt like the most immediate and manageable observation.
“Yeah,” Sokka said. “That’s how you know it’s working.”
“That is not reassuring.” Sokka chuckled at his remark.
“Good.” And then they were outside.
. . .
The wind hit them hard. Sokka didn’t slow down until they reached the workshop and when Zuko stepped inside, he stopped. Because this wasn’t the finished invention.
This was the beginning.
A frame.
Bare metal bones laid out across wooden supports, uneven and experimental, more like a sketch made physical than anything functional. It looked like Sokka had tried to build motion itself and only halfway succeeded. One wheel was larger than the other, angled struts jutted out, and rope bindings held together sections that clearly hadn’t been stabilized yet.
Zuko stared at it. “…Is that a cycle?” he asked slowly. Sokka didn’t even turn around, “Yeah.”
Zuko looked closer. There was some kind of machinery attached to it that looked like a launcher of some kind, “That is not a cycle.”
“It will be,” Sokka said, then more quietly, almost like he was thinking out loud, “It has to be.” Zuko frowned slightly but stepped closer anyway, inspecting the uneven structure. “It is unstable.”
“I know,” Sokka replied.
“That is not reassuring,” Zuko said flatly, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the chaos around him. After a beat, he looked at him again, more directly this time. “Why am I here?” he asked. He was genuinely trying to understand how he had ended up in the middle of all this.
Sokka finally turned and for once, he wasn’t smiling. His hands were still moving, adjusting parts as he spoke, he was focused now. Sharper and restless in a different way than before.
“I need heat control,” Sokka simply said. “Precise and controlled. Not enough to melt it, just enough to shape it while it’s still adjustable.”
Zuko hesitated. “You built something that requires a firebender.”
“I built something that requires timing,” Sokka corrected. Then, softer, “Which you’re better at than most people.”
That made Zuko pause, his cheeks flushed pink at Sokka's words. Sokka stepped closer to the frame, pointing at a joint near the base. “Here. If I can set this right, it’ll hold weight under motion. But I can’t stabilize it without heat shaping.”
Zuko sighed, already stepping forward, “…Fine,” he said. “Show me.” Sokka immediately moved behind him.
“Here,” Sokka said, voice lower now but still fast and focused. “Just enough heat to soften it, not warp it. I need it to hold shape but still adjust under pressure.”
Zuko tried to focus. He really did. But Sokka was right behind him now, one hand still loosely around his wrist to steady it, the other braced near the structure. Their proximity closed in without warning. Sokka’s chest just barely brushing his back as he leaned in to see better, breath warm and uneven from exertion, voice dropping closer to Zuko’s ear as he adjusted his angle.
“Not too much,” Sokka murmured. “Just—there, yeah, like that—” Zuko’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. The flame in his hand flickered.
“Sokka,” Zuko said, tighter this time, “you are—too close.” Sokka didn’t move back.
“If you mess this up, it’s going to snap,” he said, as if that explained everything. “So don’t mess it up.”
“That is not helpful.”
“Focus.” Zuko tried.
“Yeah—like that—careful, sweetheart—don’t push it too fast—”
Zuko’s flame flickered again. It was difficult to focus when Sokka’s grip shifted slightly to guide his hand more precisely, fingers warm despite the cold air, when his voice dropped closer with each adjustment, and when the space between them felt smaller than it should have been. Not to mention the pet name! Zuko could feel the butterflies in his stomach. Does Sokka even know what he's doing to Zuko???
“…You’re shaking,” Sokka noted suddenly.
“I am not,” Zuko replied back.
Sokka paused, looking at the other, a little amused, “You are.”
Zuko exhaled sharply, forcing the flame to steady. “Perhaps if you were not—standing directly behind me—”
“I need to see,” Sokka said, completely unapologetic and matter-of-factly.
“That is not—” Zuko stopped himself because the metal was responding. Adjusting under the heat, just like Sokka said.
Sokka leaned in slightly more, eyes focused, attention completely locked on the mechanism like nothing else existed, “Okay, that’s good,” he said, softer now, almost to himself. “That’s really good. You're doing good, darling.” Zuko forced the flame to steady, letting it roll precisely across the metal joint as Sokka directed, ignoring the sweet names Sokka had just said yet the heat on his stomach only spread it's way to Zuko's cheeks
“There,” Sokka murmured. “That’s it. That’s perfect.”
Zuko didn’t trust his voice enough to respond. Not when Sokka was still right there, still holding his hand, still entirely unaware of what he was doing to Zuko’s ability to function properly, and after a moment, Sokka finally let go. Stepping back just enough to look at the result, a grin slowly forming. Everything had clicked into place.
“…Yeah,” he said, satisfied. “That works.”
Zuko lowered his hand carefully, extinguishing the flame with more control than he felt.
“…Next time,” Zuko said, not looking at him, “you will explain the process before grabbing me.”
Sokka glanced at him, then smiled slightly, softer than usual, but no less certain, “Next time, baby, I will ” he said.
Zuko flushed again and didn’t argue, while Sokka just smiled and turned back to his unfinished cycle like he hadn’t just completely disrupted Zuko’s entire ability to think clearly.
.
.
.
- - -
The next day came with an energy Zuko could already hear before he even reached the main hall.
Sokka was talking.
No, not just talking. Announcing, pacing, half-laughing to himself in that way he did when his thoughts were moving faster than his body could keep up. Zuko stepped inside to find him standing near the workshop entrance, practically vibrating with excitement, a partially assembled frame behind him now far more refined than before. It actually looked coherent this time. One that might genuinely move if the universe allowed it to.
“You’re going to want to see this,” Sokka said immediately, grabbing Zuko’s attention before he even properly entered. “I fixed the balance issue and the propulsion angle. Even loade the water bombs already and I might’ve overcorrected the stability thing, but in a good way.”
Zuko raised a brow. “In a good way.”
“Yes,” Sokka said confidently, then grinned. “And I named it.”
That made Zuko pause. “You named it.”
“I did.”
“What is it called?”
Sokka hesitated for half a second too long, then said a little too quickly, “Zukka Cycle.”
Sokka immediately scratched the side of his cheek, suddenly very interested in a random bolt on the table. “It’s just a combination of our names. Zuko and Sokka. Zukka. Easy.”
Zuko went still. Then, very slowly, heat crept up his neck and reached his ears far too quickly for him to stop it. Across the room, Katara, who had been showing waterbending techniques to a group of children near the hearth, lost control of a small stream of water mid-demonstration, and it splashed onto the ground with a sharp whoosh that made the children gasp in delighted surprise. Katara blinked, recovering instantly, but her attention had already shifted toward them.
Zuko, noticing, snapped too quickly, “No—no—don’t—”
It was too late. His ears were already visibly red. Sokka noticed immediately and pointed at him, amused. “Oh wow. That name did something to you.”
“It did not,” Zuko answered far too fast, and Katara made a sound like she was choking on laughter. Zuko straightened sharply, trying to recover his dignity that had already fled the room. “That name is unacceptable.”
Sokka frowned slightly. “What? Why?”
“It sounds—” Zuko paused, searching for something diplomatic and failing completely, “—personal.” Sokka blinked then shrugged because it was. “It is personal.”
That made Zuko freeze again, and he took a sharp breath. He stepped forward slightly, his voice a lot firmer now. “No. It should not be called that.”
Sokka opened his mouth, trying to argue but Zuko cut in immediately, “It was built by you,” Zuko stated, not harsh but only the truth, “designed by you, and conceptualized by you. Every part of it reflects how you think, how you fight, and how you adapt.”
Zuko’s chancellor rushed in, breathless. His formal composure gone.
“Your Majesty,” he said urgently, “we must depart immediately. Republic City requires your presence—there is an urgent matter escalating beyond expected control.”
Zuko straightened, instinct snapping back into place, “…I understand,” he said.
Then his gaze returned to Sokka, and the man tilted his head slightly, reading him without needing explanation. Without a word, he walked over to the table and picked up a carefully packed box. It was the dismantled, secured parts of the Sokka Cycle prototype. He placed the box into Zuko’s hands.
“Will you carry it for me?” Sokka uttered, as if it was already decided and he was just making it official.
Zuko looked down at the box on his hand, then back at him. “Carry it?”
“Yeah,” Sokka nodded once. “Take it with you to Republic City. I’ll follow after a few days.”
Zuko paused at his sentence. “…Why?” Sokka didn’t answer immediately. His fingers drummed lightly against the side of the box before he shrugged, trying to make the reason sound simple enough to say out loud.
“I want you to see it,” he said at last. “Properly. When it’s done. Not halfway built, not in pieces, not while I’m still arguing with myself over what works and what doesn’t.” He glanced at the frame behind him, then back at Zuko, “I want you to see it the way it’s supposed to be seen.”
Zuko studied him for a moment. “Is that why...?”
Sokka gave a small grin. “Yeah. A few days. I just need to finish things here, make sure the tribe’s set while I’m gone.” Then, with a more honest tone than before, he added, “And I want it to mean something when I show up with it. Not just ‘hey, I built a thing.’ I want it to land.”
That made Zuko go still for a second, “…You’re doing all this so I see it properly,” he said.
Sokka shrugged, but his eyes stayed on him. “Yeah.” Neither of them moved for a second. The wind shifted around them, sharper now, like it was marking the moment without asking permission, then Zuko adjusted his grip on the box, holding it a fraction tighter for a beat longer than necessary and, without looking away from Sokka just yet, he extended it toward his guard.
As if it was his cue, Sokka stepped forward and hugged him. Steady, warm, and immediate, deciding that there was no point in overthinking something so simple. His arms wrapped around Zuko because he was allowed to do so, and he didn’t need anyone's permission. Zuko reciprocated, arms tightening as he leaned in. His face pressed briefly into Sokka’s chest, and he caught his scent. Clean, sun-warmed fabric, a faint trace of leather and metal, like tools handled too often to ever truly lose their smell, and something unmistakably Sokka underneath it all: sharp, fresh air, like cold wind over open water and snow.
Zuko held on a little longer than necessary, as if his body already knew it would remember this later in a way his mind didn’t want to yet admit.
“…I’m gonna miss you,” Sokka said, voice lower now, stripped of its usual brightness. Zuko’s grip tightened just slightly. “…Me too."
Not long after, Zuko turned to Katara and gave a respectful nod, steadying himself, anchoring the moment back into something normal. Then he looked back at Sokka one last time.
Sokka lifted a hand in a casual wave, but his eyes stayed on Zuko a second too long, softer than his usual ease, memorizing the shape of the moment without meaning to. Then Zuko turned away before his mind could change and then he left.
Only after he was gone did they both move again. The silence loosened, the spell breaking slowly rather than snapping. Sokka stepped back first, rubbing the back of his neck. He needed something to do with his hands again, his usual energy returning in fragments rather than all at once.
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- - -
TIMESKIP AFTER A FEW DAYS
Republic City had fully collapsed into chaos. Smoke threaded between the tall metal buildings, sirens echoed in uneven bursts, and the streets below flickered with scattered clashes of bending and machinery gone wrong. Zuko stood at the center of it with Katara and Toph, the three of them forced back into a narrow intersection between shattered infrastructure. The Denied had them surrounded.
Not just surrounded. Cornered.
Zuko’s fire burned low and controlled in his hands, but even he could feel it now. The pressure of being cut off from every angle. Katara shifted beside him, water already forming, then thinning. Her expression tightened.
“I’m out of water,” she said, voice clipped.
Zuko’s eyes flicked to her instantly.
“No reserves?” he asked.
Katara shook her head once. “Not enough for this.” That was all it took for the situation to tilt further. Toph stamped once, reading the ground beneath them. Her expression darkened. “We’ve got problems. They’re closing around us."
Zuko exhaled slowly. Of course they were. The Denied didn’t just attack now that they had been granted the ability to bend and manipulate air. They controlled it, bending pressure itself, turning open space into something suffocating that closed in from every angle without ever needing a solid form.