017 "Tea" by Abraxas 2010-07-10
Zuko, unable to sleep, looked at the peak of the teepee. An eerie, bright moon shined through its gap. Suggestions of stars. Outlines of trees. A cool, autumn scent. All of it seeped through the fabric of the hide.
Sokka, wrapped by fur, seemed to invite an intimate and entangled union - yet he kissed the warrior and left the bed.
At the center of the hut, a fire demanded attention. While everyone slept he tended it, enlivened it, until it roared anew. Then he filled a tin with water and set it above.
Uncle could have brewed the tea asleep yet awake he struggled.
What leaves were right? What mixture was popper? At what point was the water ready? How long to brew the tea? Four cups of water were spoilt by failure. Only the fire enjoyed the experiment as it happily consumed those remains.
Sokka crawled toward Zuko. Cloaked by the fur only the head was exposed. Although the light revealed glimpses of a chest and a pair of hands clutching the skin. Exile leaned into Indian leaves of grass falling, one by one, into the kettle as his fingers lost their grip. It brewed between them, vapors rising and curling - and vanishing.
"I used to be good at tea," Zuko explained. "Uncle taught me everything..."
Sokka raised the vessel and sipped the brew.
A smile and the cup passed from hand to hand.
"Maybe he enjoyed making it more than drinking it?"
He paused while steam caressed his face. He tried but could not find that magic. He was out of practice. It had been years and years...since...they made a cup of tea together. Since Iroh disappeared.
"I let the art lapse, I neglected it - and - Uncle."
Sokka held Zuko and they gazed at the fire.
END
