Chapter Two: Duty
It's another late night for Chief Bei Fong and Councilman Sokka, but both manage to show up at their usual bar around two in the morning and grin at each other when they see (or sense) each other coming.
"You're late," Sokka teases.
"Like you're one to talk," Toph replies, punching his arm once they are close enough. "Come on. Drinks on me this time."
"Thank the spirits for bars," Sokka sighs, chivalrously holding the door open and motioning to the half-asleep bartender. It's surprisingly crowded for three in the morning, but quiet just the same, the hard-working factory laborers and clerks and college students in contemplative late-night-early-morning stupors.
"And thank the spirits for spirits," Toph snickers, slipping into her usual barstool and groping for her shot glass for a minute before the bartender puts it right in her hand. The first shot thrown back, they relax a little, ignoring stares at Toph's uniform and Sokka's Councilman getup.
They make stabs at small talk, but mostly drink, companionable silence their mode of communication. Usually the bar is more lively, but in the quiet Toph starts nodding off and Sokka decides it isn't his scene tonight, so they leave.
When Toph and Sokka walk side-by-side in Republic City, it causes a tremor. Criminals shake in their boots, the gossipers wink at each other, the bartenders hide their wares. They are a powerful force of nature, and to deny that would be pointless. Both enjoy the attention, both enjoy knowing that they'd helped people in their tenures as Chief of Police and Councilman respectively. When their feet fall in tandem it shakes the city to its underbelly.
When they were younger the newly-sprung-up gossip columns and tabloids liked insinuating that something was happening between them. Toph turned pink but easily denied all allegations. Sokka smiled genially but stammered his way through puttings-down of the rumors. It wouldn't work, both claimed, they were too close. Friends, just really good friends.
Tonight, however, though they are dressed for the parts, they are simply two friends who've had a little too much to drink at a sleepy bar and think themselves the funniest things on the face of the earth, nudging each other and laughing and occasionally tripping and laughing some more. Sokka's flat is first, and he bows low and sweeps his arms around outrageously.
"G'night, Toffffff," he slurs, giggling to himself as he straightens. "Yerrrrr pretty."
"'Nighty-night, Snoozles," Toph snorts. "Yerrrrrrr pretty, too."
They smile soppily at each other, and without even realizing it they both lean forward and bump mouths. It is uncomfortable, chins and teeth and noses getting in the way, but as the snap of a journalist's camera a little bit away records for posterity, it's undeniable what's just happened. To everyone but the participants, however; Sokka smiles and pats the top of her head and staggers inside, and Toph weaves her way half a block back to her own living quarters with a silly smile on her face.
The next morning a red-faced Councilman storms into a hung-over Chief of Police's office and slaps a newspaper on her desk.
"Yes?" Toph asks, voice like gravel.
"We need to talk," Sokka replies severely.
"I know," she grunts. "Gin brought it to my attention when I came in this morning."
"What are we gonna do?" Sokka asks in a low voice, seating himself in the chair across from her desk and scooting closer. "The Council's in an uproar over it."
"So what?" Toph shrugs carelessly, though her hands are shaking. "Let 'em get their pants in a twist. They do it often enough over stupider things."
"Toph, we could both lose our jobs over this," he murmurs. She doesn't freeze or sit up like he is expecting her to, but her fingers grow more frantic, weaving around each other and tapping restlessly. "You know how this looks."
"The most influential member of the Council, involved with the esteemed Police Chief? Yeah, Sokka, I know exactly how it looks," Toph snaps. "You don't need to tell me. I know. I've already been contacted by my superiors and there's going to be an investigation."
"You, too, huh?" Sokka sighs, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I don't get it. Why can't they just butt out of our personal lives? It's not like we got caught doing the deed right on my desk. It was just one drunk," he checks the picture, "pretty bad-looking kiss."
"I mean…I don't even remember it, to be honest," Toph shrugs. "They just hate us because we're awesome."
"Toph, you're nearly thirty years old. Surely 'awesome' has worn out its welcome by now," Sokka says, though his voice holds little bite.
"Never," she replies stubbornly, though she sounds more tired than incorrigible. "Sokka, what are we gonna do?"
"I don't know," he mutters, loosing another sigh. "I don't know."
Though the story causes a public stir, the investigation is small and private, and since nothing more scandalous is discovered the public loses interest within a week. Them being who they are, both offenders are given the equivalent of a slap on the wrist and a warning to keep it professional, they work together, after all.
The weekly bar meetings peter out. Chief Bei Fong is advised to work with another Councilman for her more public cases. Councilman Sokka is advised to stick to charity work and gaining the public's vote for the upcoming elections. Avatar Aang and Master Katara do a great deal of PR patch-ups for the story, but the damage to the private friendship is done.
A month or two after the incident they find themselves sitting alone in a different bar, on opposite sides of the room and both in civilian dress. It is Sokka who comes to Toph, and both nurse their drinks in silence.
"This sucks," Toph says finally.
"What else can we do, though?" Sokka shrugs, scrubbing his hand over his scalp. "I've got political rivals breathing down my neck and you've got those stupid directors keeping a close eye on you."
"I know." She empties her glass and stands, touching Sokka's wrist. "Councilman."
He takes hold of her hand and squeezes her fingers. "Chief."
She lingers a second too long, then slides her hand away and exits the bar. Sokka looks at his drink and pushes it away, tracing aimless patterns on the table and feeling something akin to homesickness as her solid footsteps fade away.
A/N: And with this chapter, I give you: ANGST.