Well, this is just insulting.
It's one thing to be dragged away from his home by some dickbag Fire Lord for . . . reasons still unclear. It's another to let him just roam around all willy-nilly onboard the ship.
Er. Well, when he puts it like that . . . The point is, it's like the bastard can't be bothered to tie Sokka up because he knows the Water Tribe boy won't even try to escape. Granted, there's not much that Sokka can do aside from jumping ship, and things haven't gotten that drastic yet. But still.
It's insulting.
"Do you ever stop talking?" Ozai groans, rubbing his temples, eyes closed, and Sokka draws satisfaction from the pinched, sour look on the Fire Lord's face.
"What, sick o' me already?" Sokka smirks, trailing after Fire Lord Asshole, hands in pockets. "I just thought it'd be nice to get to know my captive a li'l better, can ya blame me? I mean, to take away from Your Highness's royal time and have you show up to kidnap me personally, I must be somethin' pretty special."
Ozai sends a sharp glare over his shoulder at the young tribesman. "You are not a captive."
". . . Did I miss something here? Were you or were you not there when Sparky Sparky Boom Man blew a hole into my village's igloo?"
"Sparky Spar—who? You know what, never mind, I don't care." Ozai halts in his tracks suddenly, about-facing, and Sokka almost runs into him. "Before we reach the Nativitas Academy, you need to get something very clear through that thick skull of yours."
Nativitas Academy? Isn't . . . Isn't that—
"You are not a captive, do you understand, boy?"
And then it clicks. "Oh. Ohhh. Ohhh. You don't wanna get into trouble with your councilmen or whatever, right?" Sokka feels the corners of his lips draw up into a grin. "And what if I decide to tell them anyway all about how you kidnapped me and threatened a village of innocent women and children?"
"Then your precious grandmother will have a horrible, horrible accident in the near future." Sokka's smile disappears, opting instead to take residence on Ozai's face. "We could even make it look like a natural death. She is rather old, after all—"
"Okay, okay!" Sokka shouts, looking to the side. "Okay. I get it."
He doubts that anybody would find Gran-Gran's death to be anything short of suspicious, considering what had just transpired in his tribe. But he's not taking any risks. Not with Gran-Gran.
"Good boy."
As Ozai turns and resumes his trek towards the bridge of the ship, Sokka speaks the question that's been nagging at his mind all day. "How did you know my mom?" Though what he really wants to ask is did you kill her?
The Fire Lord pauses momentarily, but doesn't look back. "She did what she had to and I did what I had to." And with that, he's gone, long, heavy robes swish-swish-swishing behind him.
But all Sokka sees is red.
"Sokka, take your sister and go find Gran-Gran."
"But—"
"Go!"
Shaken by his mother's outburst, Sokka grabs onto Katara's hand and does as he's told, glancing back every now and then to watch his mother's figure, standing tall and strong, slowly shrink away with every step he takes.
"Sokka!" Katara cries, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "We can't—We can't leave Mom like that!" she wails, forcing her words through a choked sob.
"I know, 'Tara, I know," he says, crying too as he squeezes her hand ever tighter. "But she'll be okay. Mom's strong, she'll be okay. She'll be okay." And Sokka's not sure if he's trying to convince Katara, or himself.
The little Water Tribe boy glances up at the sun and, guessing it to be around noon, takes a sharp turn and heads toward the big igloo rather than their tent. Gran-Gran would be helping out with lunch right now.
When the two burst inside, screaming for their Gran-Gran, Kanna almost drops the pot of boiling water in her hands, so startled is she. Exchanging glances with the other women, she hands the kettle over to someone else before walking towards her two grandchildren.
"What is going on with you two?" she asks, looking down at them, hands on their shoulders.
"M-Mom—in trouble!" Sokka puffs out between long, greedy gulps of air.
"Yeah!" Katara chimes in. "Told us—She told us t-to run and find you."
"Don't know—"
"Big ships coming—"
"Fire Nation—"
"So much smoke—"
"Slow down, little ones, slow down!" the elderly woman pleads.
"Fire Nation ships are here," Sokka explains, finding it much easier to breathe now. "Mom and I—"
"I was there too!"
"Mom and us," Sokka amends, shooting his little sister a look that clearly says we don't have time for this, "were jus' playin' in the snow but then—then we saw these ships and Mom got real scared and she told us t' run an' find you."
Gran-Gran blanches, color draining from her face. "No," she mutters under her breath, seemingly to herself. "I thought that once we left . . . once we left he'd stop . . . but he's . . ."
"Gran-Gran?" Katara whimpers.
The elderly woman seems to snap out of her thoughts, shaking herself. "You two are to stay in here, do you understand me?"
"Y-Yes, Gran-Gran," the siblings stutter in unison.
Gran-Gran disappears and Sokka drags his younger sister over to the fire, plopping down to wrap his arms around her and let her rest her head against his shoulder.
"I'm scared, Sokka."
"It's okay," he soothes as comfortingly as possible, trying to remember how Mom usually comforts him when he's upset, "don't be scared. Everything'll be okay, I won't let anything bad happen t' you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Kanna comes bustling in a few minutes later, the rest of the village members with her. Except Mom. Sokka rushes towards her, dragging Katara with him when she refuses to let go of his hand.
"Where's Mom?"
Gran-Gran doesn't say anything, just pulls her grandchildren into a tight hug.
The elderly woman knows she can't do anything to help Kya, that the only thing she can do is keep her grandchildren safe so that they may grow up to make their mother and father proud.
And there is absolutely no way she can know when it happens, but she does. Kanna knows the exact moment that her daughter—her young, beautiful, caring daughter—is killed. Because her heart breaks like it's never been broken before.
And so she cries. She cries into the hair of her grandchildren, the remaining legacies of her too young daughter. Parents aren't meant to outlive their children. And though Sokka and Katara will live long, full lives, Kya won't be able to watch it happen, won't be able to watch them grow up, won't be able to be there for her own mother's last moments on this earth.
And so Kanna cries.
There's a cool, calming pressure against Sokka's head when he comes to, and he wants to lean into it, let it wash over him and make him forget. Forget everything—just for a moment, he doesn't want to remember—he doesn't want to remember his name, his family, his life, anything.
He just wants to forget.
But he can't. He can't. He loves his family. To forget them would be . . . unimaginable. So he needs to stop thinking like this and open his eyes.
The room is dim, thank Spirits for that, so his vision isn't assaulted by a blinding burst of harsh light when he cracks his eyelids open. He's laying on a cot—not a very comfortable one, but it's something—and there's a person leaning over him. A man. A waterbender healer. Which explains why his head doesn't hurt quite as much as he expected it to, as well as the soothing pressure against his temples. To the side stands a medical doctor, pen scritch-scritch-scratching as she scribbles something down on her clipboard.
"What happened?" Sokka croaks, voice thick and mouth dry with thirst.
"Ah, glad to see you're back with us, young man." The woman beams at him. "I'm Dr. Yu."
"Doctor who?"
"Dr. Yu."
"Who?"
"Yu."
"Me?"
"No, Yu."
"Yeah, I know, me, what about me?"
"No, not Mi, Yu."
"Yeah, I got that part."
"Good."
Sokka's eyebrow tics, still as flummoxed and disoriented as before. He catches the healer biting down on his lip to keep from laughing.
"Now, Sokka, do you remember what happened?"
"Would I ask if I did?" he snarks, feeling just slightly bad for being so snappish. But even with the healer working him over—and WOW, does that sound wrong—he can still feel the aches and pains littering his body, like he's just one . . . big . . . bruise. "Did I get trampled on by a stampede of buffalo yaks or something? Holy fuck," he groans.
"No, not quite," Dr. . . . Whatever replies. "You tried to attack the Fire Lord and he defended himself," she explains clinically, monotonously, almost boredly.
"He defended himself?" Sokka repeats incredulously. "With what? A sledgehammer?"
"You should consider yourself lucky he didn't burn you to a crisp," the doctor says, peering at him over her glasses.
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind when I write him a thank you note." Sokka turns to address the healer, whom had been preoccupied with working his waterbender hand-glowy magic on Sokka's bare torso (still sounds wrong). "Whataya think it should say? 'Hey, thanks for not roasting me for dinner! I mean, sure, I'll probably be confined to my bed for the rest of the month due to my body being mottled with these giant boo-boos, but thanks anyway!'" Sokka finishes. "Whataya think? It sound sincere enough?"
The healer smiles, opening his mouth as if about to reply, maybe even make a joke, but promptly shuts it when he slants his eyes at the doctor. Then avoids looking at Sokka in the eye completely. The Water Tribe boy can't help but wonder if maybe he's being held here against his will too.
"Your injuries should improve within the next few days," the doctor informs him, then takes a seat at the desk set in the corner of the room. So . . . this is like a clinic? A medical cabin? Whatever.
When the doctor goes about her day, flipping through endless amounts of paperwork—what is up with that anyway? Sokka can't imagine her getting that many patients—Sokka attempts to catch the healer's eyes, but the man would only shake his head and adamantly refuses to strike up a conversation with the young tribesman.
Well, looks like Operation Jump Ship With Waterbender Healer is a no go (he really needs to come up with better names for these operations . . .).
"His Highness the Fire Lord would like me to inform you that we will be arriving at our destination in about half an hour and has ordered that you make yourself presentable within that time."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sokka grumbles, rolling over in his sleeping sack. "Tell him I'll be there or whatev'r," Sokka slurs, voice thick with sleep. The sound of retreating footsteps ensues. Sokka stretches on his back, gazing up at the still dark sky, clouds dusted with shades of pink and orange as the sun rises.
Spirits, this is way too early to be waking up.
After being released from medical care, Sokka had been assigned a spot on the floor of the mess deck to sleep (he didn't get a hammock because he didn't "deserve" one or "wasn't worthy enough" or whatever. He's sure Ozai had thrown in some insults about peasantry in there). But it's not like he cares. Give him a pillow and some blankets and he can sleep anywhere.
Plus, looking up at the twinkling sky every night isn't so bad. It's kinda pretty, actually. He can't believe he hasn't tried it before.
A fresh bundle of clothes is set neatly beside his head—Fire Nation colors, of course, go figure—and Sokka almost considers just chucking them overboard. Hell, maybe even burn them—make it poetic or something. But he doesn't really have anything else to wear. His winter coat had been tossed once they'd reached warmer waters, Fire Lord Asshole claiming something along the lines of not wanting something so filthy aboard his ship.
Sokka sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
This day is going to be interesting. Wonder what Katara will do once she spots him attending her fancy pantsy school. Wonder if . . . no, best not to think about that, Sokka tells himself. But it seems that his stomach has other ideas because it's flipping and flopping like a fish out of water.
He grabbles for the pendant laying warm and heavy—just like always—on the center of his chest, mostly out of habit, but almost instinctively.
He's done such a good job of putting that guy out of his head, what with all the excitement and hubbub that's been going on lately. But now . . .
Oh, yeah. This day is totally going to be interesting.
A/N: Sooo . . . I cried while writing that little blurb with Gran-Gran.
I just wish I had the words and the talent and the skill to convey all the feels fighting to burst out of my chest right now. But I don't. So I hope that you can just . . . I dunno, feel Kanna's pain. I mean, Sokka and Katara lost a mom, and that's terrible, but I just . . . I mean, Kanna lost a daughter, y'know? And I've always had a soft spot for sad old people.
They're the bane of my existence.
Oh, yeah. And I shamelessly ripped off that "Yu, Mi, no, you, me?" thing from Rush Hour 3. But it was just. So. Funny. In the movie, anyway. My writing, eh, not so much.
