Sokka stared at his reflection, one looking glumly back at him from the water.
He, in a moment of pure rage, had effectively killed his sister. It had to be done, this was doubtless; as the oldest member of the Water Tribe within several hundred miles, he was entitled to draw and pass judgment on erroneous actions.
And, as every man and woman of the Water Tribe knew, for 100 years, one nation was the Enemy. To perhaps consort with a Fire Nation citizen, maybe even after the probable death of their father and many of the village men, this he could allow.
He could shun her, but allow it.
But he knew the law, and this time he didn't disagree.
Now, he had no family; had lost his family when he had to steel himself to the broken stare of his younger sister as she gazed at the small, helpless, cold, dead body of Aang.
He had loved Aang.
He'd always wanted a brother, and here he was, a friend, a brother. Possibly more, but that could have come when he was older. (Oh, Sokka looked at men too, he was quiet about this, but he appreciated raw masculine beauty.)
And he had gotten the utmost pleasure of being marched by Zuko's soldiers—and his sister—to the Fire Nation camp, to see the dead, mutilated body of Aang swinging limply from the rope tied around his wrists.
The explanation?
"He wouldn't come quietly, and it really doesn't matter if he lives or not."
Zuko said this, calmly, while his sister's grip on him tightened.
And to have his sister confess that they had done something so vile, willing—Aang's body, swinging in the breeze; the breeze he once so flippantly controlled—how dare they desecrate such a pure being!
To fuck the man who killed him. Willingly.
Sokka looked away from the water.
He still loved his sister. He loved her. He hated her, but he loved her.
He should have killed her, made it clean and simple. But he loved her too much—or not enough, and when she had fought his decision tooth and nail, he knocked her unconscious and ran like a coward.
So now he, too, was a betrayer.
He betrayed his sister.
He should have killed her, then himself.
But he wanted to live. Wanted her to live.
What filthy beings we all are, he mused, before shattering the image of his reflection with a slap at the water.