"So how was your day, Zuzu?"
Zuko's eye twitches, but otherwise, his face remains expressionless and stony. "Why do you care?" he asks, slanting his eyes at Azula sitting adjacent to him.
"That is no way to speak to your sister, Zuko," his father reprimands from the head of the table.
Azula dons a look of hurt, but she doesn't fool Zuko. She never has. "No, Father, it's alright. Zuko's going through a rough time, I understand."
"Hn." Ozai returns to his conversation with Long Feng, Grand Secretariat of Ba Sing Se.
Zuko sets his chopsticks down, lowering the volume of his voice, but not the intensity of it. "I don't know what you're playing at, Azula, but it won't work."
The cherry in Azula's hand drops to the table as she furrows her brow, perfectly playing the role of the bewildered, vulnerable little sister. "Whatever are you talking about, Zuko? I haven't done anything wrong."
And she's right. She hasn't. But that's just the thing about Azula. You don't know what she's planning to do until long after it's too late to stop her. Yeah, well, not this time. Ever since Sokka showed up at this school she's been acting strangely, but Zuko will be damned if he lets her do anything to hurt Sokka.
"Father, may I be excused?" says Zuko, gaze only breaking from hers to address their father.
Ozai doesn't even spare his son a glance, just a cursory nod as he seamlessly carries on his discussion with Long Feng. And Zuko is foolish enough to think that he's actually going to leave his father's personal dining hall without incident, without question. Apparently, Azula has other ideas.
"Where are you going, Zuko? You've barely eaten."
The firebender grits his teeth, looking over his shoulder at his sister and her knowing smirk. Zuko likes to think that he's pretty good at hiding his emotions, his thoughts. But lying to Azula is akin to hiding from a shirshu: nearly impossible. "I'm going for a walk." Technically not untrue.
"Really?" she says, coyly twirling a strand of her hair as she lounges in her chair. Zuko wishes she would just drop the act and go back to being the cut-throat, cold-blooded human being that everybody knows her to be. "Would you like some company?"
"No," Zuko rejoinders, shoulders stiffening. "I really wouldn't."
"Oh, but Zuzu," she says, already pushing her chair back, "we spend so very little time together. A walk sounds nice, doesn't it, Father?"
Zuko bristles, the look on his father's face enough to make him want to bolt right then and there. Ozai doesn't really appreciate interruptions—Zuko should know that better than anyone—and he's already had three in no more than five minutes. But maybe this is what Azula's wanted all along.
The Fire Lord sighs softly, irritation flashing in his eyes for just a split second when they land on his son. But it's so quick, so brief, so transient, that Zuko could have completely imagined it. However, though Zuko may be many things (closed off, short-tempered, and angry—just to name a few), naive isn't one of them.
Which is why he would really like to leave right now.
"I apologize deeply, Grand Secretariat," says Ozai, nodding at Long Feng, "but please excuse my children. You know how they can be."
"Oh, no, it's quite alright," the earthbender says from his seat across from Azula. "Please, no apology is needed. Even as Fire Lord, family must come first, yes?"
". . . Indeed." Ozai dabs at his mouth with a napkin. "I won't be but a moment," he informs Long Feng as he gets to his feet.
Fuck. This won't be good. Fuck, but Zuko needs to think of something now. Father wouldn't do anything, not when they've got company, but later . . . Zuko's fingers twitch, wanting to reach up, up towards his face, towards—
BANG.
All heads pivot in the direction of the double doors that had just been swung open, a Fire Nation guard hustling in. "Your Majesty," he addresses, bowing deeply but concisely, "I have urgent matters to discuss with you."
"What is it?"
The guard eyes the royal children out of his peripheral. "It's . . . about the boy."
The tension resulting from that statement is almost palpable as it rolls off of Ozai. "Azula, Zuko, please leave the room."
Azula seems almost as if she's going to protest—and Zuko wouldn't put it past her, not even with Father in the picture—but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about that, he doesn't care about what Azula will do, he doesn't care about how his father will react.
The boy.
Maybe if his heart weren't in the process of forcing its way out of his chest, then Zuko might admit that he's being a bit presumptuous.
It's about the boy.
Maybe if not for the deafening waterfall of blood rushing through his ears, Zuko might be able to hear the voice of reason inside his head telling him that the guard could have meant anything, that he could have been talking about anybody.
The boy.
Maybe if he'd stop sprinting like a madman through the halls to the school gardens, Zuko might be able to take a moment and breathe, just breathe, and go about this in a calmer, more orderly manner.
But as it were, his heart is attempting to beat and shove and force its way out of his aching chest. His blood is whooshing and pulsing and circulating through his veins, his being, his everything. And he is running like mad to the school gardens, every thumping footfall just as erratic and unbalanced as the thump-tha-thumps in his rib cage.
It's about the boy.
It's about the boy.
It's about Sokka.
Empty. The gardens are empty. Why are they empty? Spirits, Zuko wishes he'd been wrong.
But he isn't.
Sokka's not here. Zuko wasn't wrong.
Then where is he? He wasn't with the guard—maybe somebody took him, maybe—
Could Sokka be . . . but that's not—he can't—Spirits, his thoughts are morbid. Zuko just needs to settle down and stop being so damn dramatic. There's an explanation, of course there is. There's always—
Zuko clutches at his hair, falling to his knees in the soft, green grass. "Fuck," he rasps, hands fisting the soft, green grass now. "Fuck." It's soft, the green grass. A broken sob leaves Zuko's throat and the soft, green grass surrounding him goes up in flames.
"Spirits, I swear that these damn vines are trying to eat me u—GAAAH! WHAT IS THA—oh. Ahem. Just a bug. Fuck, nobody better have—Spirits damn it, you stupid, ugly vine, let go of—er. Um. Wow." Sokka blinks as he staggers into one of the circular clearings in the gardens. "I remember this place looking much less . . . smoky. Alth—er, Zuko?"
Sokka knits his brow, taking in the sight before him. "Spirits, Zuko, the fuck happ—oomph."
"You idiot. You fucking stupid idiot."
"Hey!" Sokka exclaims, arms still hovering awkwardly away from the firebender's body. "You can't just hug me and call me an idiot at the same—"
"Shut up, Sokka."
Zuko's arms tighten around the Water Tribe boy and shutting up shouldn't be a problem at all considering how Sokka can't even breathe right n—wait. Is that—Is he—
"Zuko, are you . . . are you crying?"
In place of a verbal answer, the firebender just buries his nose into Sokka's neck and yep, those—those are definitely tears.
"Hey," Sokka soothes softly, finally returning the embrace, "hey, buddy, it's okay. Just let it out, just let it out." He rubs calming circles across Zuko's back, pillowing his cheek against the firebender's shoulder and whispering little, sweet nothings into his good ear.
Fuck, is Zuko hot.
Er, literally. He means that LITERALLY. Seriously, the guy is like a friggin' radiator. And his breath against Sokka's neck is really . . . really . . .
"You're late," Zuko says suddenly, but he doesn't release Sokka from his hold.
"Er, yeah, sorry," the Water Tribe boy chuckles with just a hint of chagrin, still rubbing large circles on the other's back and—did Zuko just moan? He did. He totally just did. Did he? No. No, that's not—Of course not. Fuck. Talk. Now. "You know me, always fashionably late. Or just late. But 'fashionably' adds a bit of flair to it, don't'cha think?"
"Actually, I don't really know you," Zuko reminds him. However, before Sokka can reply to that, the firebender goes on to say, "But I'd really like to."
Is that—Was that—Did Zuko just—
That was a line, wasn't it? That totally was. Or maybe Sokka only thinks that because Zuko said it. With a voice like that and looks like his—Spirits, this close proximity is doing absolutely zilch to bring any adequate blood flow to Sokka's brain. NOT that the blood flow is going anywhere else. At all.
Fuck.
Sokka jumps back, breaking away from the other boy and laughing nervously as he scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'd like that too," he says. Friends. Zuko obviously meant that as friends. That wasn't a line; Sokka's getting completely ahead of himself. If he starts thinking—hoping—that this is anything more, he'll just . . . he'll just get hurt.
So he needs to stop. And he will.
But then Zuko's smiling at him, face still streaked with tears—so he can cry with both eyes—and Sokka isn't sure if he can do this. If he can be Zuko's friend and see him every day and talk to him and be so happy with him yet . . . not.
But Zuko's smiling at him. And Sokka thinks that he'd rather put up with this unrequited love bullshit than ever go another day without seeing that.
So he grins right back and begins walking, bumping shoulders with Zuko when the firebender catches up to him. Except—
"Seriously, man, do you just have some personal vendetta against plant life or do all firebenders just set whole gardens on fire when the mood strikes them?"
Zuko just looks at him, unimpressed. "I thought you'd—" He stops short, turning his head away from Sokka to gaze up at the looming lamplights lining the paths of the gardens. "I wasn't . . . feeling okay."
Sokka quirks an eyebrow. "Yeah, no shit. You gonna tell me what the hell that was all about?" he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Er . . . no."
The Water Tribe boy rolls his eyes. He's about to open his mouth and pry for more information—Zuko can't throw a scene like that and expect Sokka to just ignore it or let it go—when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He doesn't stop walking though, just moves closer to Zuko.
Ever since he'd left the dining hall Sokka's been trying to shake off the feeling that he's being . . . followed, that someone's watching him. But he'd definitely heard something from behind them. One peek at Zuko confirms that the firebender heard it too.
It could just be a guard sent to keep an eye on Zuko—he is the Fire Nation Prince, after all. However, Sokka's instincts are telling him that it isn't. And his instincts haven't been wrong yet.
Sokka catches Zuko's gaze, attempting to convey his question with just his eyes. What do you think we should do?
Zuko takes on a grave expression as he covertly inspects their location. It takes Sokka a moment to realize that he's searching for a weapon. But he's got fire, why would he need—oh. Oh. The Water Tribe boy blinks to himself in surprise. Zuko's looking for a weapon for Sokka. Well, that's . . . that's actually awfully nice of him. But unless Sokka plans on running up to their stalker with a bushel of moon flowers and blowing pollen into the person's face to induce a fatal case of sneezing, he doesn't have much to work with.
Sokka lightly grabs Zuko's elbow just as they pass by a large, stone fountain. It's okay, he tries to say. I can handle myself.
Zuko is more than a little skeptical. Maybe you should just hang back, his eyes say.
Sokka frowns, determination set in the crease of his brow. Just try and stop me.
Zuko sighs, grudgingly yielding. Fine, his golden orbs accede, his eyebrows adding their own two bits of, but don't expect me to like it.
Sokka flashes him a short-lived smile, sobering instantaneously when there's another rustle from behind them.
On three? Zuko asks wordlessly with three steady blinks.
Sokka nods. On three.
One . . .
Two . . .
Then a thought occurs to Sokka. Does Zuko mean on on three or after on three? Hasn't he run across this problem before already? Fuck, this "on three" bullshit is way too open for interpretation. People should come up with a different way to count off. Sokka's about to ask Zuko what he thinks of his idea about saying "rock, paper, scissors" instead since everybody seems to know when to go then, but Zuko's not there.
Oh, FUCK. Stalker. Stalking them. Danger.
"Shit," Sokka hisses under his breath, turning on his heel just in time to see Zuko dodging a flurry of tiny, sharp icicles. A waterbender.
Sokka charges forward—fuck, but these are the times when the loss of his trusty boomerang really, truly hits him—and . . . well, fuck again. There's nothing he can do except start swinging. So he does, pulling his right fist back and putting some extra spring in his elbow as he—
"GUWAH!" Sokka thrashes around for a moment, confused as to why the hell he's suddenly stopped moving. Then he looks down. His feet are encased in ice. "Damn it!" he yells, jerking his head back up to watch Zuko engaged in battle with the waterbender, face hidden under a black bandana and a black hood to go with the rest of their all-black ensemble. But Sokka swears that . . . ugh, whatever. Doesn't matter. "Lemme go, you asshole!"
He's ignored.
The waterbender draws their power from the fountain nearby and the moon up above, sending a powerful jet of water towards Zuko. Sokka continues struggling, even going so far as to yank on one of his legs in an effort to work it free from the ice, glancing up every now and then to ensure that Zuko's okay.
. . . But what the hell is Zuko doing?
"Zuko, what are you doing?" Sokka shouts, voicing his thoughts aloud. "Stop dodging and start fighting!" Zuko doesn't acknowledge him, doesn't even seem to hear him. Why is he holding back? He should be smoking that waterbender's ass!
A large wave of water comes rushing at Zuko, overpowering him and washing over him.
"Zuko!" Sokka screams, worry gripping him hard in the chest. But then Zuko appears at the crest of the wave—coughing and spluttering and thoroughly incapacitated by the spikes of ice enshrouding him—but he's okay. He's okay, he's okay, Zuko's okay.
However, once Sokka gets free, that damn waterbender won't be quite so okay anymore. Maybe even just a little bit dead. Just a little.
The waterbender steps into the little circle of light provided by the lamplight just meters away, then slowly treads their way to stand before Zuko.
"What do you want?" the firebender growls, clenching his fists—the only parts of him that are visible, along with his head.
The waterbender says nothing, doesn't react. Just manipulates a puddle of water at their feet into an ice dagger.
Dread. So much dread manifests itself inside of Sokka. "Get away from him, you bastard!" The waterbender's blue, blue eyes flicker over to the Water Tribe boy, just momentarily. But that's all it takes. All it takes for it to hit Sokka like a punch to the gut. Those eyes. "Katara?!"
A/N: This chapter was really . . . I dunno. The first part is so blech to me. Maybe I just suck at writing Zuko.
But don't worry. I will definitely work on it.