Chapter Three

The Duke stood on the deck of the fishing vessel, frowning in dismay as basket after basket of dead shrimpcrab was hauled out of the hold. The pile on the dock was disturbingly large now, with little sign of reaching the bottom of the deadloss. As much as he wanted to see his captain alive and well, he did not want him to see this disaster.

Unfortunately, as the sixth basketful went over the side to the dock, Sokka strode up to the boat, Suki only a few steps behind. She'd known it was only a matter of time before her husband had to check on the boat. And sure enough, by the time Katara returned, he was dressed and ready to go out.

Suki didn't want him out of her sight, however, and enlisted her sister-in-law to watch the babies for her while she accompanied him to the harbor.

"What is going on here?" the watertribesman fairly roared as he took note of the ever-growing pile of dead crustaceans. "What happened to my catch?"

Suki gave the Duke a sympathetic look as Sokka bounded up the gangplank and on to the deck of the boat. The boat was a wreck with loose boards hanging everywhere and half its rail missing. It was a wonder they'd ridden out that storm at all, judging from the damage.

"Sokka, we sprang a leak in the holding tank during the storm," the Duke was saying. "We found it when we started unloading."

Sokka mumbled angrily under his breath, then lay down on his belly with his head hanging into the open hatch. The Duke crouched on the other side and practically hung upside down in order to point out the damaged place in the hull.

"We figure we lost half our water," the Duke explained. "If we'd unloaded earlier, it might not have been this bad. But as it was, we ended up going back out with a leaky holding tank. And honestly, until this morning no one even thought to check it."

"And why not?" Sokka demanded angrily. He pulled himself out of the hold and towered over the younger man, clearly furious. "There is nothing on this boat more important than that catch! This is a fishing boat. That catch is our livelihood! What were you thinking?"

The Duke rose and looked his captain right in the eye. "We were thinking about finding you, Sokka," he answered steadily. "When we got to the dock and you were missing, every man on this boat demanded that we go right back out and look for you. It was hopeless, but we still went."

"And do you know why?" the Duke continued. "Because you are a thousand times more important than this catch."

Suki watched as Sokka's anger dissolved and embarrassment took its place. With a sigh, he sat back on his heels and pressed his hands into his eyes wearily. Then he looked up at the Duke and said, "Thank you. Thank you for going to look for me. Thank you for getting my ship and my crew home safely."

The Duke looked at him for a moment, then reached down to give his friend a hand up. "Apology accepted." Then as the crewman in the hold handed up yet another basket of dead shrimpcrab, the Duke sighed.

Sokka reached down into the basket and pulled out a shrimpcrab, its shell a little smaller than his hand. He gazed down at it for a minute, frowning, then tossed it back onto the pile with a snort of disgust. Down in the hold, the rest of the catch was dying, both from lack of water and from the toxins released by the dead catch on top of it.

A mediocre season had just turned disastrous with a seriously damaged boat and a dead catch. What was the point in trying? Sokka wondered.

All his life, he'd struggled to be something more than he was. When the men had left to fight the Fire Nation, he'd tried to be a warrior. When he and Katara had discovered Aang in the iceberg, he'd tried to be a leader. When they'd finally reached the Fire Nation, he'd tried to be a swordsman.

And he'd come close. He'd come within shouting distance of the goal there in the bright shining conclusion of the war. But in the end, it had all slipped away. He was no warrior, no leader, no swordsman. He was just a fisherman with a dead catch and a broken boat and a load of debt he now had no way to repay.

He looked over at Suki standing on the dock, waiting for him. This boat was supposed to be their ticket to a grand future—the first of its kind. It incorporated all kinds of innovations and features, like the Fire Nation engine and the holding tank system to keep the catch alive. It was going to open up Southern Watertribe fishing to new levels.

Northern Watertribe boats were big sailing vessels, each staffed with a waterbender to keep the catch frozen and fresh until it reached market. Southern Watertribe boats were small and bound to the coasts for fast runs to port due to the serious shortage of benders in the tribe.

Sokka had wanted to create a boat that could handle the longer trips out but wouldn't be dependent on bending skills to keep the catch fresh. And he'd done it. This boat could have been the first in a fleet that would bring his people back to prosperity. That would have brought his family to a place of security.

But now his innovative tank design had failed and all his big plans were failing with it.

Suddenly he was angry. Angry at the sea for doing this to his boat, angry at the Duke for not offloading earlier, angry at himself for falling overboard and causing the delay. He was angry at life for upsetting the cabbage cart—again.

For what felt like the hundredth time he was back at square one. This time with a wife and four children to support.

"You all right, Sokka?" the Duke asked, putting one hand on his arm.

Sokka shook himself and replied, "Yeah. Never better."

"I know it looks bad," the Duke continued reasonably, "but you're alive. We all thought you were gone for sure. I've never been so happy to see somebody in my life than when you walked in that door."

Sokka looked at the young man, noticing that his eyes had gone a little misty.

"We'll get through this," the Duke stated firmly. "After all, we're Watertribe."

"Technically, you're Mudtribe—half earth, half water," Sokka teased.

"So that makes your kids Mudtribe too," the Duke smarted back with a grin, glad to see Sokka's mood lighten.

"Nope, my kids are Beachtribe—where earth and water meet," Sokka answered. "That's why we live on Kyoshi. Nice beaches." Then he looked down into the hold again, but the sight of his failing catch made him sick at his stomach. "Just do what you can."

Then Sokka looked the Duke straight in the eyes and said it again, "Thanks."

"No problem," the Duke answered. Then he asked the question he'd been wanting to ask. "How did you get home anyway?"

Sokka looked at him, his brow wrinkled in thought. "No idea," he finally answered with a shrug as he headed down the gangplank.

Back at home, Suki tried to get her husband to relax. She knew Jet was planning a big dinner for everybody—entertaining was definitely his strong suit—but Sokka was too keyed up to be good company.

Ever since they'd gotten back from the boat, he'd been distracted and anxious. She could only imagine what was running through his mind.

"Come on in here and take a good bath," she encouraged. "The kids are down for a nap, and we've got a while before dinner." Then she kissed his cheek and said, "Besides, you still taste salty."

Soon, Sokka lay soaking in the tub, trying to relax. But it was no use. He was certainly worried about the boat and the catch, but the thing bothering him most was the Duke's question. How had he gotten home? What had happened to him?

Ever since he'd woken up, he'd avoided thinking about what had happened to him. He'd just enjoyed being alive and not dead. He ought to be dead.

Now he couldn't quit wondering about it. Why was he still alive? What had happened to him?

The last thing he remembered was falling overboard. He remembered struggling in the water and finally going under. Then it all went blank. He had the vaguest recollection of walking and of water. His next real memory was of opening the door of his house to see all his friends gathered there.

He tried to turn loose of it, to let the memory come back in its own time. Relax, he kept saying to himself. But lying in the hot water of the tub, he didn't feel relaxed. He felt claustrophobic. He felt like he was being pressed on all sides by walls of water, walls he couldn't budge.

He shook himself and tried to wash his hair. He kept telling himself he was fine. He was home. But he kept feeling the water against him, pressing him, dragging him down.

And when he ducked beneath the surface to rinse, the touch of the water on his face was suddenly terrifying. He remembered the feel of the water in his lungs, drowning him. He remembered knowing without a doubt that he was going to die.

Suddenly, he panicked. The water was closing in on him. He was suffocating. He had to get out. He had to breathe. He stood up with a start of anxiety, throwing his hands out away from him in a defensive posture.

With a sudden rush every bit of water left the tub. Not splashed out into the floor, Sokka realized. Just out of the tub. He was completely dry. Even his hair was dry. The tub was dry.

Meanwhile, the water hung suspended in air, bobbing around him in globes large and small.

"Sokka, are you okay in there?" came Suki's call through the door.

Her voice broke the spell and an entire tubful of water fell to the floor of the bathing room with a splash. But even then, Sokka stayed miraculously dry.

"What on earth is going on?" he heard her call out as water ran out into the bedroom. She opened the door to see him standing there in the tub, shaking. "What happened, sweetie?"

"I don't know," he answered as he nearly fell into her arms. She helped him across the wet floor as he shook with nervousness and uncertainty. She sat him on the edge of the bed and knelt beside him with her arms around him protectively.

Then he looked up at her, his blue eyes wide. "Suki, what happened to me?" he asked fearfully. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, Sokka," it was her turn to answer. And the lock of white hair drifted through her hands as she held him.