Everything's happening too much, too fast. Why can't—Why can't the world just stop for a minute? Just—Just a minute. Sokka just wants a minute to himself, to try to understand and make sense of and process everything that's been happening, what he's feeling—everything. All of it.
"Did you hear me, boy? I said, come."
Sokka stands his ground, fists clenched at his side. "I am not your fucking lapdog, Ozai. I won't just bow down and kiss your feet and do everything you tell me to just 'cause you're the fucking Fire Lord. Because you're not my ruler. So either tell me what the fuck is going on or I'm leaving."
Ozai's face remains impassive and expressionless as he slowly strides towards Sokka, every step deliberate and calculated, as if he were stalking prey. But Sokka doesn't back down, doesn't look away. The Fire Lord comes to a stop just within touching distance of the Water Tribe boy.
Then he slaps Sokka clear across the face.
Sokka's head jerks to the side with the force of it and rage boils up inside him. "You fucking ba—" Sokka doesn't finish the insult, doesn't go through with punching Ozai in the face, doesn't breathe. Because he can't. He can't because it's like there's an iron fist clamped around his heart that's squeezing it and crushing it and he falls to his knees, hands scrabbling desperately at his chest to—to do something, anything, to alleviate the pain.
Meanwhile, Ozai stands before him, apathy gradually morphing into exhilaration. "It works," he breathes, eyes shining with exuberance. "It works."
Sokka gasps, curling up on his side now as an ache explodes in his head, like the sensation of a sword being run right through it and out the other side. Fuck, but it hurts, everything hurts—red spots begin dotting his vision as his lungs scream for air, for oxygen. His heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of his chest while simultaneously not doing anything at all and just letting him die, wither away into nothing. Sokka can only pray for unconsciousness to come drag him under.
And thank fuck when it does.
What is the meaning of this, Ozai?
You said you needed a human vessel. What does it matter whose body it is?
That was not the deal, you double-crossing fool!
Oh, yes, I'm so sorry. Please, pardon me for my strong attachment to my soul, as well as my desire to keep it.
So you would sacrifice your own son for your own selfish gain?
. . . His life is inconsequential. And as it is, his abilities would be better utilized by someone like you rather than be left to waste away.
. . . Your soul is truly a canvas of darkness, Ozai. I can honestly say that it is a shame I will not be having myself a taste of it.
Does that mean you agree to this change in plans?
. . . Is this why you brought the Water Tribe boy here?
Yes. I'm genuinely surprised you didn't figure it out sooner.
. . . Very well. I accept. But do not cross me again, Ozai. Not if you want to live to see the day that all your hard efforts come to fruition.
I wouldn't dream of it.
". . . can't do . . . haven't seen . . . doesn't recognize . . ."
Sokka can hear a voice talking—a nice voice, a raspy, soothing sort of voice—but he can't make out the words. They keep swimming in and out of coherency, and trying to decipher them only magnifies his raging headache, so he puts a swift stop to that.
Instead, he just lets the soft voice wash over him and fill his head with warm, easy thoughts of happiness and contentment and waking up every morning with a strong arm wrapped around his waist—d'uh, wait—
"Yes . . . Good night, Uncle."
Silence supervenes and Sokka is quietly debating whether he should open his eyes and announce to Smooth Voice that he's awake or just try to go back to sleep. Maybe the latter. After today, sleep sounds—oh, wait, there goes his stomach. Spirits, how long has it been since he's eaten? This morning? That's a good . . . er, well, Sokka doesn't really know how long ago that is considering how he has no idea what time it is now. Still. Anytime is a good time to eat. You can never go wrong with food, after—
"You can stop pretending to be asleep now."
Sokka bristles, both embarrassed and startled at having been caught. He experimentally cracks a single eyelid open to survey his surroundings. He's still in Ozai's chambers, but it's strangely . . . cozier now. Definitely cozy. There's a fire crackling and blazing in the fireplace across from where he seems to be situated on a very plush sofa, wrapped up in a cocoon of velvety soft blankets. There's a glass coffee table separating the couch and the fireplace but Sokka's a lot more interested in what's on the table. He sniffs. Is that—No. No, it can't be. Sniff sniff.
It is! It's a bacon and tuna sandwich!
Sokka jolts upright, but the damned blankets get all tangled up in his limbs and—fuck, where did his hand—wait, is that his foot or his hand?—Spirits, these blankets are really intent on sucking him back down into the couch cushions, aren't they?
There's a soft chuckling at his feet and his head whips around to find—who else?—Zuko sitting there.
Sokka spares a second to bemoan the utter unfairness of the universe. Can't a guy catch a break for once?
"Do you need help?" Zuko asks from his spot on the couch, voice a lot softer and a lot less harsher than their previous recent encounters.
"No," Sokka grumbles petulantly, managing to free at least one hand from the clutches of the comforters. Whatever. He only needs the one to eat anyway. He digs happily into the delicious, delicious sandwich, taking large, greedy bites and barely granting enough time to swallow before he's taking another chomp out of it. He moans in delight, much too elated to even consider feeling embarrassed or abashed.
"I see you still eat like a vacuum hose."
Sokka almost chokes on his meal, turning to his left to finally really look at Zuko. And maybe that's a mistake. Because all these emotions are whirling around inside of him, warring to dominate his visage, and he can feel the muscles in his face twitch and jerk as they shift to accommodate each one that rises to the surface.
Zuko's own face colors and he averts his gaze, apparently preferring to stare into the fireplace instead. "S-Sorry," he mumbles.
"N-No," Sokka says, turning to study the fire as well. "It's okay, that just . . . surprised me. Is all."
Aaaaand now it's awkward. Sokka busies himself with chewing, just slightly afraid that if he doesn't occupy his mouth somehow, he's going to say something stupid.
"Why'uh you doin' thiff?" Damn it! Katara always did say that he should break that habit of talking with his mouth full . . .
Zuko startles, only allowing himself a brief peek at Sokka. "I . . . I just . . . Father called me in. And told me to stay with you until you woke up." Zuko clears his throat, eyes still staunchly focused on the pit of flames across from them. "I could, um, leave. Now. If you—"
"No!" Sokka says just a little too quickly. "I—I mean, you don't, um, have to. Go, I mean. Or stay! You don't have to. Do that. Either one of those things. Um." With every uncouth utterance that tumbles out of Sokka's mouth like some awful case of word vomit, Zuko's eyebrows inch ever closer towards his hairline. But there's this slight quirk to his lips too. So Sokka's going to count that as a win.
"I'll . . . stay then. If that's . . . okay?"
Sokka only nods, not trusting his stupid mouth to actually say something not stupid should he open it. He goes back to devouring his sandwich, feeling much better now that there's food in his belly and the quietude isn't quite so tense or uneasy.
It's nice, he realizes. To just sit here. With—With Zuko. Despite all these questions rattling around inside of his skull—the main one being WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED WITH OZAI EARLIER?—Sokka is content to just sit here. Just sit here and enjoy Zuko's presence.
Except now that he's finished with his sandwich, his mouth is much more inclined to speak. So maybe he should just excuse himself and leave. Now. Before he makes even more of a fool of himself.
"Did you like it?"
It takes Sokka way too long to realize that Zuko's talking about the sandwich. "Um, yeah. It was—great. It's my favorite, actually."
"Yeah," Zuko says, voice almost inaudible and impossible to read. "I know. I remember."
"Oh. R-Right."
With the lull in conversation—if that little blundering exchange can even be called a conversation—Sokka begins sifting through his brain to try to come up with something to say. And ends up with diddly squat.
Just . . . something simple. Something simple. "Um, so who were you talking to earlier?"
"My uncle."
Oh, yeah. Sokka remembers that guy. Really nice, really friendly—drank tea every day that he and Zuko visited Sokka in the hospital. "Is he here right now?" Sokka twists his head around to search the dim room for a jolly, tea-drinking man.
"No, I, uh, I called him."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Sooo . . . where's Fire Lord Assh—ahem, I mean, your dad?"
"He's . . . out."
"Will he be back soon?" Sokka asks worriedly, though trying very hard to pass it off as casual indifference.
"No. Probably not."
"Oh. Okay." This time, he doesn't even bother hiding the relief coloring his tone.
"Yeah."
Spirits, but this is uncomfortable. Maybe he really should just go. Plus, he still has no idea what time it is and Katara could be on a waterbending rampage right now looking for him—
"I've really—"
Sokka is pulled out of his thoughts by Zuko's voice, and he waits expectantly for him to finish what he was going to say.
But he doesn't. He just shakes his head slightly, a deprecating smirk on his lips. "Never mind."
He still won't look at Sokka. And that bugs him. Until the Water Tribe boy realizes that it's not because Zuko doesn't want to look at Sokka, but because . . . because he's trying to hide his scar.
"Hey," Sokka whispers, nudging the firebender with a toe. "Don't do that."
Zuko slants his eyes at him, confused. "Do what?"
"Don't . . . Don't hide."
The firebender tenses abruptly, voice taking on a hard edge. "I'm not hiding."
"Yeah," Sokka says, sitting up to slide closer to the other boy, "you are." He reaches out hesitantly, tentatively, and, when no protest comes, lightly grabs Zuko's chin to turn his head towards him. They're so close—so, so close—that Sokka can feel the firebender's warm breath mingling with his.
His eyes trace the large blemish on the left side of Zuko's face, fingers itching to do the very same but holding back because that would be crossing the line. And the questions. So. Many. Questions.
Does it hurt? How did it happen? Was it a firebending accident? When did it happen? Can he still see out of that eye? Can he just touch it anyway even though he knows he shouldn't?
Sokka's gaze then roams over Zuko's cheekbones, along the curve of his jaw, and—Spirits, it must be the lighting in the room or something—the guy is a firebender, it's only natural that he'd look absolutely amazing in the firelight. And those lips. If he just . . . If he just leans in a little closer, he can . . .
"Sokka," Zuko murmurs softly, his own golden eyes locked on the other's lips. The sound sends shivers down Sokka's spine. The good kind. The really, really good kind. Fuck, just . . . just a little— "I think you should leave."
Wait. Wait, what?
Sokka jerks back, just a tad bit confused. "Wha—Why?"
"It's . . . You don't—" Zuko pulls away with a noise of frustration, getting to his feet and stepping away from Sokka as if being near him right now is absolutely unbearable. "Just go, Sokka."
Okay, now Sokka's a lot confused. Because were they or were they not totally about to kiss just now? Did he—Maybe he misread the signals or something. Fuck. Spirits, what is he doing trying to kiss the Fire Nation Prince anyway? When did sanity suddenly decide to ditch him?
"Fine. Whatever." It's not like he hasn't already been considering leaving.
So why does his chest hurt so bad?
Actually, y'know what, it's probably just an aftereffect of his little . . . fiasco with Ozai. Probably. He extricates himself from the swath of blankets and grabs his shoes laying neatly on the ground beside the couch. "Thanks. For . . . everything." And without bothering to even put his shoes on, Sokka is vanishing through the enormous wooden doors of Ozai's room, unable to get away from Zuko fast enough.
Inside the room the Water Tribe boy had just so hastily vacated, a fire flares.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Sokka trudges through the academy, paying very little mind to where he's going. Stupid. This whole damn thing is stupid. Obviously, whatever Ozai had done to Sokka earlier that day was messing with his brain or something. As if he'd be attracted to that jerkbender. A fleeting thought zips through Sokka's mind—throw that necklace away, why do you still wear it? It's ridiculous, you're ridiculous, hanging onto something that isn't there anymore, toss it, just toss it, you'll feel much b—
"Oof!" Sokka collides into someone, sending himself flying back and onto the ground. His ass is getting really sick and tired of having to repeatedly reacquaint itself with the ground. And he doesn't know how he'll live with himself knowing that he got knocked to the ground by a little girl yet she seems perfectly fine. It figures that she's an earthbender, Sokka thinks to himself as he takes notice of her green and yellow uniform.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, would ya?"
He knows he's in the wrong here. He's the one throwing a temper tantrum and stomping through the hallways of this gargantuan, confusing school, after all. But he's just so angry. "Why don't you watch where you're going, shortstack?" he retorts.
"Can't," the little girl says, waving a hand in front of her unseeing eyes. "I'm kinda blind, if you haven't noticed."
"O-Oh." Shit. Of course. Of course he runs into a blind girl and decides to be a prick to her. "Sorry."
"Eh," she shrugs. "I do okay."
Feeling his anger and frustration ebbing away, Sokka cocks his head to the side, curious. "You earthbend?"
"Yeah," she replies proudly. "My feet tell me everything I need to know," she informs him, punctuating her statement with a wiggle of her bare toes.
"Your . . . feet?" Sokka parrots, not quite following.
"Yep. I can feel stuff. Y'know, vibrations."
The Water Tribe boy's eyebrows rise, impressed. "That's actually really cool," he says, surprised but sincere. Then something occurs to him. "I can get how you can earthbend and stuff. But what about your other classes? Y'know, the—"
"Boring ones?" she finishes for him.
"Yeah," he says, huffing a small laugh.
"Eh. I don't actually do anything in those classes. They only make me go 'cause they don't know what else to do with me. And I'm only here for the earthbending."
"Rrrrright. So . . . there's no special braille-only class for you?"
"Nope." She beams at him.
"Great. Lucky you."
"Aw, do I sense some bitterness in that tone?" she asks teasingly.
Sokka rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I need to go."
"Where ya headin'?" the girl asks as he's retrieving the shoes that'd flown out of his hands and getting to his feet.
"Er, the waterbender wing."
The girl snorts a laugh. "Well, this definitely isn't it," she points out oh, so helpfully.
"Really? I hadn't noticed," Sokka drawls.
"Are ya lost?"
"Pfft. No."
"I know you're lying, y'know."
"Well, that's kind of unfair."
"I think it's totally fair."
"Yeah, but you're completely biased!"
"Look, do ya want my help or not?"
"Grrr . . . fine."
"Great!" She grabs Sokka's elbow and begins dragging him in the opposite direction of where he'd been heading. "I'm Toph."
"Sokka—hey, ow!"
"Sokkaheyow?" Toph echoes amusedly. "That's one helluva name ya got there."
"My name is Sokka and would ya stop crushing my elbow? Spirits, for a little girl, you're tough."
"Hey! Who you callin' a little girl?"
"Well, I don't see anybody else around here, do you?"
"No, I don't see anybody," Toph snickers.
"Oh, haha, very funny."
"Sokka? Sokka! Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? I've been worried sick about y—"
"Whoa, whoa, hey, calm down there, Madame Fussy Britches," Toph interrupts, hands held up in a placating manner. "What're you doin' out here so late, Sugar Queen? Isn't it past your bedtime?"
"Wait, you two know each oth—actually, y'know what, the hell am I saying, of course you two know each other."
"Well, how do you know Sugar Queen over here?"
"Stay out of this, Toph!"
"Oh, yeah, no, don't thank the blind girl who found your missing Sokka for you or whatever, that's fine."
"I am not her Sokka! What does that even mean?"
A door opens across the hall from Katara's room. "What the hell is going on out here?"
All three of them turn on the unsuspecting waterbender, shouting as one. "SHUT UP!"