A/N: Some descriptions of violence in this chapter. Lots of swearing. Feedback is welcomed. Thanks so much to everyone who's responded. This is heading into slightly darker territory so it would be particularly appreciated here.

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The wind was brutal out on the firing range since there was not a single damn thing to shield anyone from it. The numbing cold combined with the little whirlwinds of dirt right when you didn't need it was a swift-kick-in-the-nuts reminder that Christmas break was fucking over.

Sokka carefully brushed away the soil that had settled on his extra magazine and fit the shaped ellipse of metal into his rifle with a push and a slap. It had been a long morning since everyone had to go through their rifle qualification and they were just about done. Crawling on his belly until he reached the sandbags, he settled the butt of his M16A2 against his shoulder and tweaked the positioning of its rear sight. He glanced to his right and gave a small thumbs up to a similarly sprawled out Jenkins a few yards away, who answered with a slight nod of the head.

That Jenkins kid totally looked like the rawest of the raw. Tallish, lanky as hell and stuck with those birth control glasses that the Army made everyone wear in basic, he would have disappeared in any crowd of recruits. The guy rarely spoke but seemed nice enough. Sokka was a little surprised the kid hung out with Jeter's crowd but a lot of the quiet ones seemed to flock to the showy bastard like moths to a flame.

Big voice boomed out over the loud speaker. "Commence firing!"

Gunfire in real life sounded so different than it did in the movies but you got used to it real quick. One. Two. Little pop up targets came and went in the hills and snow covered brush, some close, some far. Fourteen. Shit, missed that. He tried not to lose count in his head, knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was fail his qualification. Not even score Marksman? Not in front of their weapons instructor, anyway. That guy was cool as hell and there was no way Sokka wanted to disappoint.

"Cease fire!"

They assembled back at the way station for their scores, freezing cold in the empty shell of a building making them huddle together like penguins. Zuko was one of the last to file into the building but still wound up edging his way the crowd to reach Sokka, getting his attention with a gentle nudge of boot. "How'd you think you did out there today?"

Sokka stamped his feet, hoping to feel his toes again soon. "Not too bad, I think. How 'bout you?"

Hands clasped to his mouth, Zuko blew a long blast of air to warm them. "Probably did okay," was the muffled reply.

"And you?" Sokka asked of Jenkins, elbowing him in the side. The lanky man simply shrugged.

"Gentlemen." There was none of Zhao's boom and bluster in Piandao's voice. There didn't need to be. His softly spoken word quieted the platoon in a heartbeat. "You all scored Sharpshooter or better. Excellent work out there today." Eager smiles spread over young faces at the simple praise.

The imposing man still looked serene as he studied his students. "Several of you reached Expert." He searched the crowd, eyes narrowing as he spotted his target. "Jeter."

Jeter's little cadre whooped it up and- ooh, shocker- the kid had a huge shit-eating grin on his face, flicking the little toothpick that he wasn't supposed to have between his teeth.

"Zuko." Sokka punched his friend in the shoulder as Zuko's show of impassivity but there was a little glint in his eye that told the truth of the matter.

"Sokka." Blinking in surprise, Sokka barely felt Zuko jostling him. He looked up at Piandao who gave him a small nod of confirmation. The grin that caused threatened to nearly split Sokka's face.

Clearing his throat to quiet the rowdy men once more, Piandao captured their attention easily. "While I'm proud of all the soldiers in this platoon, you should know that one of you managed a perfect score, something I rarely see." He held up one of the 300 meter targets, showing a tight cluster of bullet holes in the tiniest of squares. "Congratulations Jenkins. Particularly impressive at this long of a distance. You're a hell of a shot, kid."

A ferocious roar of approval echoed through the metal rafters. Jenkins hid a small smile by pressing his impossibly thick glasses to the bridge of his nose with a finger as the men around him pounded him mercilessly on the back.

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Exhausted. Desperately lonely but never alone.

That pretty much summed up how Sokka felt the entire week since they had been back. It was harder than he thought it would be, their whole… thing. There was simply no time where he and Zuko could have some private time- zero, zilch, none. There had been one bright spot where it looked like they would be handling guard duty together but Zhao unexpectedly changed their schedule around, quashing that little bit of good news.

So that left him with sitting next to Zuko during chow- close but not too close- and trying to keep his eyes from going where they wanted to go when they were in the showers.

Awesome.

They had started combatives training which was fun as hell. Sokka much preferred the pugil sticks rather than this hand to hand stuff, though. It just felt wrong to not have a weapon in your hand. He could tell the basic stuff they taught the platoon was just beginner nonsense. Crap that you could use to subdue a drunk loud mouth in a bar fight and that was about it. Maybe that was the whole point.

The best in class got to enter the all around tournament for the entire base. Everyone wanted to be the one to go, since it was probably their only chance to ever punch a superior in the face without getting a dishonorable discharge. Sokka couldn't quite decide if he was surprised that it wound up being Zuko. Holy shit, this dude had moves. It was pretty to watch, the shaolin whatever the fuck it was. There wasn't anyone who could come close to him. Maybe Jeter, but that guy was just all street and no discipline. Zuko bided his time, waited for the guy to get impatient then dropped the guy on his ass and the decision was made.


Tournament day had been a long one of quick fights with Zuko advancing easily to the final round. The arena was hot and stuffy, stands filled with rowdy soldiers eager to see someone get a beat down.

Sokka looked up at the bracket board and almost spat on the arena floor. "You have got to be shitting me!" he hissed angrily, taking Zuko's water bottle from his hands. "How the fuck is Zhao in the welterweight finals? He's got like forty pounds on you at least! "

"Doesn't matter." Zuko was grim as he flexed his fingers, cinching the Velcro tab on his grappling glove tighter around his wrist. "It'll be fine." The look on Sokka's face told him how much he thought it was not fine, but he dropped out of the ring anyway.

What was Zhao's deal? Did he want to get his jollies by humiliating some private he hated in front of the entire base? Or was it because this was the only way for Zhao to get a chance to rough Zuko up? The army didn't take kindly to superiors beating the shit out of underlings anymore. Zhao strutted into the ring like he owned it.

The ref called the two men together and bullshitted through the standard rules. Sokka marveled at the size difference between the two fighters. Wearing just boxing trunks and gloves, you could see there wasn't an inch of fat on either of them, but with Zhao- there was just a whole lot more… Zhao.

A little bell dinged and it began.

Zuko circled the ring, light on his feet. He wasn't sure what to expect, but whatever it was he knew it was going to be bad. After a few testing jabs, Zhao closed in, surprisingly fast for a man his size. He moved like a wrestler at first, luring Zuko in, heads pressed together in disturbing parody of intimacy.

"I know you, boy. You're weak." Zhao's voice was all soft and menace, making sure the ref wouldn't hear. A meaty fist landed on Zuko's ribs, driving the air out of him, once, twice and again before Zhao danced away. Damn, the son of a bitch hit fast and hit hard.

Zuko tried to initiate this time, hoping to spot an opening. Surprisingly, Zhao let him inside, allowing Zuko to get in several swift punches before the old man caught him around the neck. Warning bells went off in his head.

"Your father made a mistake. You shouldn't be here." Zhao delivered a hammer of a head butt, sending Zuko to his knees, ears ringing. The ref blasted his stupid little whistle and pulled Zhao away, giving the bastard an official warning for the illegal strike.

Struggling to his feet, Zuko saw Sokka pacing the perimeter of the ring, face twisted in anger, ready to climb the ropes. With a curt shake of the head, he turned back to his opponent, signaling to the ref that he was good to continue.

They shuffled back and forth again, Zuko keeping his distance. That wasn't going to continue for long.

The huge man lashed out with a heel kick which Zuko caught easily. Zhao grabbed him by the wrist and reeled Zuko in for another taunt. "This is war! Good men will die because you and your little boyfriend think this is some kind of game. I won't let that happen."

This time Zuko was ready. He brought up his knee, driving it low under Zhao's sternum, sending his opponent staggering back.

Spectators went nuts. The cat calls and cheers only incensed Zhao further. Using the back of his glove to wipe away the sweat on his brow, Zuko forced himself to tune them out. No distractions. The man in the ring with him wanted blood.

Zhao put his shoulder down and charged him. There was nowhere to go so Zuko had to let it happen. No way to block the arms going around his waist and he felt himself get lifted in the air. He wrapped his legs around the big man to bring him down with him as the Zhao body slammed Zuko into the ground. Jesus, fuck, breathe! No way was he going to beat the bigger man grappling on the ground, pound for pound. He knew that, knew it well but… shit! He had the flexibility if he could just... gogoplata.

His inner thigh screamed at him as he strained to get his leg around Zhao's arm. Yes! With his shin locked under Zhao's chin, Zuko grabbed the crazed man's head and pulled down hard . It must have hurt, he knew it hurt, shin bone crushing your throat, no oxygen, but the stubborn fuck wouldn't tap out. The ref was way too close, in their faces as he blew his little whistle once Zhao's eyes rolled a little as his consciousness wavered.

It was over.

Pandemonium. The crowd was stomping and hooting, eager to see one of their own take out a superior particularly one they despised. Zuko let Sokka untangle his legs from Zhao's gasping form, dragging him bodily to his corner of the ring. He watched Zhao stagger to his feet, barely acknowledging the ref speaking to him.

A fresh blossom of pain startled him. Sokka murmured his apologies as he examined the bruises on Zuko's face.

There was a shout and a crack and the sound of a body hitting the ground. The arena went deathly quiet.

The two men looked up to see Zhao watching them right back. He casually used his foot to nudge the referee cradling his broken wrist out of the way. With a roar of fury, he came at them, planting hard to deliver a high crescent kick with all of his considerable strength behind it.

No time to think.

Zuko shoved Sokka down and twisted into a low spinning sweep, taking Zhao's leg out from under him.

MP's stormed the ring and there was no more time for anything at all.

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This waiting was terrible. Sokka tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, watching the army doc finish giving Zuko the once over. The guys from the CID weren't so patient, peppering Zuko with questions in the arena locker room.

Did Zuko have any idea why Zhao made him a target? There was evidence the man had specifically altered the weigh-in record to make sure that he was assigned to Zuko's weight class. Were there any other attacks prior to this? Any threats? There had been other trainees who reported previous… incidents but none quite as visible as this one. Zhao was officially relieved of duty pending an investigation, probably facing court martial.

Good riddance.

Investigating officers, gone. Doctor, gone, leaving orders that Zuko should spend the next 24 hours on quarters.

Finally. Alone.

Except Zuko was a mess. Still in bare feet and boxers, he looked even more drained after the interrogation than after the fight with a psychopath. "Can we go back to the barracks, please?" His voice was lost, forlorn.

Hands balled tightly into fists, Sokka struggled to keep the anger from his voice. "No." Zuko looked up at him sharply. "Not yet."

Gathering up the battered man, he forced them both to move. Sokka kicked open the door to the custodial closet, carelessly shoving mop buckets out of the way. Once both men were stuffed inside, Sokka wedged the door shut with a stopper and turned, finally bringing them face to face.

"I just..." His mind was gridlocked, too many things struggling to go in too many directions. He was too used to girls and not so used to this guy thing and God, the overwhelming tang of sweat he breathed in was most definitely male. But there was a person standing in front of him that he most definitely needed to comfort even if he definitely had no fucking clue on how to do it.

His hands came up and hesitated, unsure of where he could touch without pain. "I can't…" It tore at him, this inability to do anything but knowing he had to do something. With a growl of frustration, he squatted down, industrial shelving stocked with giant bottles of bleach digging into his back.

Slowly, carefully, he lipped at the bruised line of the last rib. "I thought he was going to kill you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. He pulled at Zuko's left wrist and tongued the broad handprint that had formed there. Sokka heard a hitch in breath so he paused, his eyes flicking up in concern.

Even in the dim lighting, those crazy gold honey eyes were fever bright. "Don't... don't stop."

With a chaste kiss to the palm he still held in his hand Sokka moved on. He cradled the elbow that hung loosely by Zuko's side and mouthed a spot of purple on the bicep. "That crazy fuck doesn't get to do this, doesn't get to mark you like this." Continuing to rise, he found a defined fingerprint at the base of scalp and mouthed it hotly, sucking at it to change its shape. Strong fingers dug into his back in encouragement.

Sokka pursed his lips and blew cool air over the knot at Zuko's temple. "I want you to remember this instead." He brushed his lips over the too hot mouth that hung slightly parted, waiting for him. He took his time exploring, gently licking at the small cut he found in one corner.

The loud clatter of a broom handle falling to the floor made them both jump. Simply holding on to one another, they listened for any signs that someone might have heard, or worse, come investigate the commotion.

There was only the sound of their own haggard breaths. How long had they been in here?

They needed to be more careful.

"C'mon." Sokka took Zuko by the hand. "Let's get you cleaned up."


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