Chapter 25: The Words Unsaid
Sound by thread,
And beats by hour.
The words unsaid,
Have all the power.
It was barely light. The moon still bobbed peacefully in the sky, the stars twinkling faintly beside it. At the edge of the horizon, a sliver of sun sent streaks of golds and oranges through the clouds. The two celestial orbs hung silently over the city, distant guardians overseeing both the sleeping and the awake.
He had been here before - many times before. But today was different. Zuko flexed his toes, standing barefoot on the stone of the training ground. Seven days. One week. It had been one week since he’d been crowned, and he couldn’t believe how far he felt he’d fallen.
Zuko stepped forwards with purpose, with pride, and delivered a kick that sent flames scorching the air over twenty meters away before it dissipated. He spun and kicked again, letting the momentum of his turn trigger the roar of fire once more. Hard, fast, he kicked, landed, and kicked again, finishing on the other side of the yard.
He would remember that day for the rest of his life. The cheering. The cries. The feeling of oneness as his nation and his people and the representatives of his world rolled towards him like a wave with their chants. He would remember the words that had come from his stomach - his centre of power - through his heart and finally through his throat to reach the air in front of him. He would forever remember the magical, miraculous feeling of hope and redemption that had seized him and refused to let go.
But he would also remember Azula’s bier, the assassin behind him and the difficult confrontation with Sheng afterwards. Zuko’s breath steamed in the cool air as he turned and began the same series of kicks in the opposite direction - forceful, powerful, strong. It had been one week since that day... and so much had changed.
He tried to keep his mind clear. Tried to push everything away, like he’d done so often in his quiet times, in his too few times of meditation and peace. But today, the shadows wouldn’t budge. They just lurked around in his mind, following him, costing him an ounce of precision here, an inch of strength there. Zuko scowled darkly, twisted, began combining his punches and kicks, and spewed forth frustrated fire into the air.
It was going to be a big day. The straggling drips and drabs of refugees had increased, until the capitol was opening her gates to almost a hundred new people a day. And while he agreed with Hui’s idea of the barracks, others didn’t. The Ministers had called for an emergency meeting today, likely egged on by their noble lackeys who were worried about congestion and housing and the spoiling of pretty scenery. Zuko scowled again and unleashed a wave of flame that roared out of his throat from the very tips of his toes.
And it wasn’t just that, either. The soldiers he had managed to recall were beginning to drift into the capitol as well, jobless and unhappy. He couldn’t blame them. After all, it was they who had been fed the lies and propaganda of the Fire Nation most of all - and it was them who had perpetrated many of the atrocities. The pressure of situations like that was enough to drive many men to drink, or even madness. As it was, the combination of pigheaded, armed and trained nationalist soldiers with unruly nobles who still had the epithet of ‘the traitor prince’ burned into their lips and Ministers who didn’t tell him everything and were almost openly subordinate was enough to make Zuko want to scream.
Instead, he sighed, and smoke came out of his nostrils with the exhalation. He was panting lightly now, sweat beginning to glisten in the dawning light. He span, twisted, ducked and leapt across the training ground, swirls of fire trailing beautifully in his wake.
Zuko was no idiot. He knew that there were, there could be solutions to his problems. He remembered his travels too well - from the moment he’d set foot in the little Earth Kingdom town so many months ago, he’d realised that soldiers left to their own devices could get nasty. The solution had called to him even then - either put them to war, or retrain them for honest work. And he wanted to, he did. But money only stretched so far and so thin - he’d received word from Uncle Iroh that the nobles in Ba Sing Se wanted reparations. Many, reparations. And while he hadn’t heard from Chief Arnook since he’d sent Sokka off, he had a sinking feeling that the tribes there would want reparations only in lieu of blood. Not to mention the towns and villages in the Earth Kingdom where his people had settled...
That alone was enough to give him a headache. After all, it wasn’t as if they didn’t have money. Oh no. They had controlled a number of resources throughout the war, the only problem was that those resources were now in the form of marching soldiers, their metal armour, their spewing factories and their hulking battleships.
Zuko gritted his teeth, and delivered a spin kick and twist combo powerful enough to level a small building. If things had been different, he would have immediately sent for the soldiers to be retrained as farmers and the armour to be melted down to ploughs and scythes to get their agriculture up again. As it was, though, such an operation could only be limited. The most fertile ground in all of the Fire Nation lay in the heart of the Weiji province. And of course, what he suspected might be the largest rebel army in the history of his people seemed to have chosen that as his base.
Zuko abruptly cut his katas off and stopped to clench his fists. He was not going to send out his people to die, not until he was certain of what was going on. His heart clenched at the thought, and at the implications. Even though his world was currently revolving around surviving the Ministerial meetings every two days, ploughing through the paperwork of proposals, confirmations, declarations and diplomacy, and trying to connect to his country again, in the end he always found his thoughts drawn back to the army and what it meant. The image of the red statuettes on the floor of his office seemed burned into his brain. And now that he knew Katara and Mai were out there as well...
You’re a terrible person, you know that? Always following us, hunting the Avatar, trying to capture the world’s last hope for peace!
... aren’t you cold?
But what do you care? You’re the Fire Lord’s son!
... I just asked if you were cold. I didn’t ask for your whole life story.
Spreading war and violence and hatred is in your blood!
... stop worrying.
You and I both know you’ve struggled with doing the right thing in the past.
... I don’t hate you.
Because I’ll make sure your destiny ends, right then and there. Permanently.
... Zuko, what is wrong with you?!
I was the first person to trust you. And you turned around and betrayed me.
... it’s over, Zuko. We’re done.
But I am ready to forgive you...
Why would I turn against everything I know? Perhaps because I care.
I think I’m the one who should be thanking you...
But what I do know is that you’re the Fire Lord, and I’m a warrior of the Fire Nation.
You know, I meant what I said last night.... when I told you that you’d make a good Fire Lord...
We agree that we don’t want to do this. You help save the world, and I... I try to find a place in it.
Yes. We have a future...
I will follow you.
Zuko sighed, dropped to the ground, and began stretching. His muscles shifted easily with him, his movements smooth and silky as he tried to contain his own thoughts once more. It was becoming more difficult with each passing day. He exhaled again and slid his wrists past his toes. He’d known it would be difficult, had known things would be hard, but Agni...
Zuko closed his eyes. Three days ago, I promised my uncle that I would restore the honour of the Fire Nation. And in front of you now, I promise you that I will fight and struggle until the last drop of my blood...
Yes. We have a future...
I promise...
“My Lord?”
Zuko’s eyes snapped open, wide and alert. Before him, one of his guards was uneasily shifting from foot to foot, as if unsure of what he was doing. Zuko raised his eyebrow.
“What is it?” he asked curtly, standing up.
“It’s the waterbender, my Lord,” the guard said, and for a moment Zuko’s world reeled with the impossibility and the hope. “She’s been watching you for a while now, and just then she asked me if she could talk to you.”
Zuko blinked. That didn’t sound right. He turned to the edge of the training ground and sighed when his thoughts were confirmed.
“Very well, Ping,” he said aloud. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Zuko didn’t see the guard smile and bow in astonishment that his Lord had remembered his name. Instead, he walked purposefully towards the edge of the yard and the old waterbender waiting for him, flanked on either side by another two guards.
Oddly enough, she seemed more uncertain than fearful when he approached. The sight was enough to bring an unconscious, weary curve to the Fire Lord’s lips. After all she’d been through, he would have thought she’d still be petrified and hate-filled, like her sister. He’d never have thought she’d just be uncomfortable, let alone strong enough to actually seek him out.
Ah yes, strength. It wasn’t that long ago you thought that all waterbenders were weak, was it? Katara certainly showed you...
“Lady Kama,” he nodded his head respectfully. “What brings you here? I hope everything is well?”
Again, Zuko didn’t notice the pleasant surprise of someone who didn’t expect their name to be remembered, let alone spoken preceded by an honorific. “Oh, um, I was just thinking. It’s been two days since.... since my sister left, and the room you’ve given us is awfully big for one old woman. Perhaps I could move to a single room instead? If that’s all right?”
Zuko gave her a blank look. Normally, he knew that guests brought their matters to the Palace Steward. Then again, she was under his protection, and perhaps she didn’t know who else to turn to...
She misread his look. “Oh, I see. That’s probably too much trouble. Well, I just thought it might free up some space for you, but...”
Zuko blinked. “What? No!”
She gave him a quizzical look, and even as he hastened to explain, he couldn’t believe how different this was from the few days prior when her sister had been standing in her place. “I mean, of course it’s no trouble. I apologise, I should have thought of it earlier.”
He tried to picture the guest wing in his mind for the most appropriate relocation, and as such he missed the amazed look on her face again. The Fire Lord. Apologising. “Well... there is a room in the same wing for you, Lady Kama. I’ll ask the servants to move your things there today,” he smiled, slightly. “From memory, I think it also has its own private fountain.”
Surprise again, for his consideration, but again he didn’t notice it because the sudden smile on her face was too bright for its smallness. “T-thank you, Fire Lord,” she bowed her head.
But Zuko could feel his own surprise. “You’re welcome,” he said dumbly as she curtsied to him and the guards escorted her away. She’s thanking me. Such a simple thing, and after all she’s gone through, she, the prisoner of war, is thanking me.
He looked after her, long after her familiar blue vanished from his sight. Such a simple problem, such a simple solution, and such a simple beauty in the gratitude at the end.
Zuko sighed, and thought of his timetable. If only everything else were so easy.
8 8 8
Aang made his way down the Temple sides much slower than he had made his way up, his grey eyes still slightly glazed and unseeing. The world seemed different from how he’d left it, in a subtle way that he couldn’t quite place. The trees that sprawled overgrown over the temple ruins looked greener, the stones at his feet no longer as hard and grey. The very air that he loved seemed to buzz with life, and in the glowing sunset that now adorned the horizon, everything was stained with rose-coloured hues and the serenity of the twilight mountains. Combined with the thoughts whirling in his head, it was almost overwhelming.
And so it was almost by instinct that Aang squeezed his eyes shut and began stepping by feet alone, blocking out the visuals from intruding into his already confused mind and trusting the vibrations in the earth that had saved his life on the day of the comet. It took a few moments to adjust, to be true - that special, silent place in him that was drawn towards the earth instead of the air he rode. But when he did, the surety of it rippled through his bones and muscles, positioning him on the dirt and rock so that he neither slipped nor faltered all the way down, even when pebbles skittered out from under his footing.
When he reached the bottom, back where he’d left Appa, Momo and Toph, he paused for a moment and opened his eyes. The old courtyard stretched out empty and worn before him, and somehow he wasn’t surprised. Judging by the sun, he’d been up on the temple top with the Guru for longer than it had felt.
Comfortably, reassuringly, Aang closed his eyes again and listened to the earth again. This time, it wasn’t long before his other senses picked up the heavy vibrations of his animal companion. He raised his eyebrow a little when he felt nothing else, or rather, no other human vibrations to accompany it. After all, that could only mean one thing.
He began walking towards the sound, patiently tracking it with his feet and letting the simplicity of the task gently push the rest of his conflict into the back of his mind. And it wasn’t long before he caught sight of his beloved animal companion walking amongst the overgrown orchards of the temple, Toph reclining on his back and Momo perched on his head.
“Hey guys, I’m back,” Aang spun a small whirl of wind to carry him up to the saddle, and then cocked his head to the side as he realised something. “Uh, Toph? How come you’re still on Appa? I thought you would be, I don’t know, getting back in touch with your earth again.”
“Well, once you’re used to him, the old furball’s comfortable” she said casually, as if she’d been expecting both him and the question. “How’d the talk go?”
That was enough to bring everything rushing back, and Aang wasn’t sure whether to scowl or thank her. He didn’t want to deal with all of it now. He just wanted to rest, like the Guru had said...
No, the Guru told you to think it over. That means you face it head-on with the time you have.
... and yet he also knew that it had to be done. With a deep sigh, Aang dropped to his seat on Appa’s saddle.
“Better than the first time, I guess,” he said truthfully. “I mean, last time felt so rushed. I just got here, and he told me about the chakras, and then we started opening them. It was so intense. But this time, it was just sitting down and talking.”
Which was possibly just as intense, but hey...
“That so?” Toph raised her eyebrow. “Then how come you sound like you’ve been put through a fight with a hog monkey and come out the wrong end?”
Aang winced. “I guess we talked about some stuff I’d rather not have.”
She nodded. “But did it help?”
This time, he squirmed. Help? Yeah, I guess. But it also opened up a can of spider-worms I really don’t want to deal with. “I guess? I don’t know, he told me to think about it tonight and come back tomorrow.”
Perhaps it was his words, perhaps it was something in his voice, or perhaps it was just her - just her uncanny senses and her limitless perception. But Toph suddenly sat up with a frown, her casual manner melting away from her like a falling cloak. The change made him look at her, properly. In the dimming sunset, the dying light caught the jade of her sightless eyes and held up a rose against her cheek. “Aang?” she asked, her voice suddenly serious. “What’s wrong?”
He squirmed again. “N-nothing, it’s just I need to think over what the Guru said and...”
“Don’t lie to me, Twinkletoes.” The flatness of her voice cut through the dying syllables on his lips. “There’s more to this ‘still having stuff to learn’ thing than you’ve told either me or Iroh, isn’t there?”
The air whooshed from his lungs. “Yeah.”
She hmmphed, and suddenly seemed a little more at ease again. “I thought so,” she muttered, leaning back again. A strand of hair dropped from behind her ears and dangled down her neck, and she flicked it away. “So, what is it?”
Aang blinked. Nothing. No-one. Everything. Everyone. He thought about saying that it was complicated and just leaving it at that, but one look at Toph’s resolute face and he knew that that just wouldn’t cut it. And in the twilight serenity of the Eastern Air Temple, with just him and her, Momo and Appa, he suddenly found that he didn’t mind. That he could say something without having Sokka make a joke out of it, Zuko angsting, or even Katara telling him that everything would be all right.
Because he didn’t want to hear that everything would be all right. Not now. He just wanted to figure it out. To know the truth. And in his heart, he knew that the blind girl in front of him was the perfect one to aid him in that.
Taking a deep breath, he started. “The Guru said that I needed to find balance in myself,” he said quietly. “And I think he’s right. After I got control of the Avatar State, I’ve been feeling strange. Sometimes, I feel like I’m the fully realised Avatar; powerful, calm, in control. And then at other times I’m so unsure. I don’t think I can do everything I’m supposed to. Sometimes I’m...”
The other words had come out in a rush, almost like a stream of consciousness as thoughts that had broiled deep inside him for too long came bubbling out. But now... now he paused. His mouth opened and tried to shape a sound, a syllable, but there was a great pain in his throat blocking it.
He tried desperately to get past it. If there was anyone in the world he didn’t want to show weakness to, it was Toph, because there was something about her that cut past all of that, that made him feel like he was stronger. And not only that, he was afraid she’d jump in and say something comforting, say that he shouldn’t worry and that he could do it. He was afraid that she’d brush it off, treat him as the invincible Avatar that he didn’t always feel like, and in that way, leave him alone.
But she didn’t. Against the reddening sky, her sightless eyes were calm as she waited for him to continue, and there was such a solidity and reassurance in her form that Aang suddenly felt calmer himself. This was Toph. She had never expected anything of him - never put some great hope or the world itself on his shoulders. She had just always been there. Teaching, guiding, playing, advising. It struck him that even though she could sometimes be the wild child that Katara accused her of, she was also one of the wisest people he knew.
He settled, took a deep breath of his element, and this time felt the words come. “Sometimes I’m just so afraid,” he whispered, hating himself. He saw a glint in her eye, knew that she was about to reassert her badass position on fear, and hastened to continue spilling the words that had never left his mouth before. “Not so much of what is to come, but of failing to meet what is to come. Because then, if I do...”
He took another gulp of breath, felt headiness flood his system, and then let the words rush out of his mouth like an anguished prayer. “I’ll fail everyone and they’ll leave me.”
There was a pause, a moment of blessed stillness. Around them, the mountains were quiet and alive, the sunset glowing like rime against their edges. Aang felt the wind press against his cheek, his scalp, and couldn’t believe what he’d said. There it was. One of the darkest secrets that had tormented him for what seemed like years, and he’d just let it out. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. He’d been bottling it up for so long; he’d pushed it to the back of his mind before his fight with Ozai, because he knew that if he failed there, he wouldn’t be around to be alone. But now things were different. Now there were a million little battles he had to fight each day, and each one seemed to hinge with a toxic weight that might or might not be important in the future. And it scared him that he might make the wrong move one day, make the wrong decision, and have everyone leave him.
Because then he’d be alone.
Forever alone.
Somewhere deep, deep inside him, a thought stirred and connected with what the Guru had mentioned. That’s why you cling. That’s why you won’t let go. That’s why you try to possess, because what’s yours can’t leave you.
And, even deeper, and while you place happiness in such a one-sided bond, you will never be happy.
“This is to do with Katara, isn’t it?”
Aang blinked, and promptly shoved away the uncomfortable thought to the back of his mind, forgotten. In the stillness, the sunset had gone, and now darkness swallowed Toph’s features in a gentle embrace. He turned to her and tried to process what she’d said.
“Yes,” he blurted out, and then, “No. Maybe. I mean, it seemed so clear before, but now it’s so confusing.” Now I can understand why she was confused. He shook his head and dropped it into the comforting cradle of his palms. Suddenly, he felt so inexplicably, inextricably drained. “I just don’t want the future to be so unsteady. I don’t want to be afraid every time I make a decision that I’ll fail and ruin everything. I don’t want to disappoint anyone and have them leave...”
Aang shut his eyes at the memory. At the memories. Because there were so many of them - the first when everything had been too much and he’d run away only to wake up and find his race dead and gone because of him. And then again, when he’d realised the extent of the war that had raged on in his absence and the old fisherman who had called him on it. And then once more, when the City of Ba Sing Se fell while he was there. While he was right there. Aang had never felt so terrible, so powerless. All the other times, the failures had occurred because of his absence. But this time, he’d been there. I’m the Avatar, I’m supposed to stop those things. I failed. I have to regain my honour. And although his friends had followed him that time, what if he did something else that couldn’t be forgiven? What if he already had? He remembered the balcony on Ember Island; the coldness, aloofness, unpreparedness. I’m going inside. And he squeezed his eyes shut even more at his own stupidity...
Only to open them again in the next moment when he felt something brush against him. Aang gaped as Toph snickered and settled herself down by his side, the accompanying punch to his arm almost gentle. “Hey, you,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He blinked, and she grinned at him with all the bravado her small lungs could muster. “Seriously. Even if you do something cataclysmic-ally stupid, I’m not going anywhere. Because if you manage to screw up so badly while I’m around, how much worse off would the world be if I wasn’t kicking in with some damage control?”
He kept staring, his mind unable to exactly contemplate what she was saying. Everything she was saying was Toph. The bravado, the awesomeness, the pure cheek and strength. He should have expected it, and yet he hadn’t. Because even despite the shred of trust that he had in her, the shred which had allowed him to tell her things he couldn’t have told anyone else, the rest of him was still dreading the inevitable response; the blithe dismissal, or even scorn. He wouldn’t have blamed her, she was always so strong everyone else looked weak next to her. But even worse, he was dreading what might happen instead, what had always happened: the pat on the head, the smile that gave him too much responsibility for his narrow shoulders, and the assurance that everything would be all right because he was the Avatar.
He must have lost track of the seconds, because the next moment she was punching him again, a little harder. “What’s wrong? Tiger-cat got your tongue? I just said I’m not going anywhere, Twinkletoes.” She smirked, with all the self-assurance that he envied and the truth that he desired. “You need me.”
And Aang thought of the Guru, thought of love as an energy that could change and evolve, thought of friends and family and another he could trust to cup his heart in their hands. He thought of the earth, of the air, of the fire and water in and around him - both their beauty and their ugliness, their dance and their destruction. And of course, he thought of Katara. Of blue folds of cloth, of grace and beauty and kindness, of the promise to take care of him wherever he went, whatever he did. And before he could stop it, the same old feelings began welling up - the possessiveness, the ownership, the desperation. Aang frowned as he tried to push them away, as he tried to get to the pure font of love underneath it all, the cosmic energy Pathik had spoken about. He grabbed the feeling of it and turned it back, ran it alongside the tracks of his memory to look for the point that it had begun to go wrong...
And arrived at the moment where he opened his eyes after a century-long sleep.
Unbidden, Aang’s frown deepened. A voice welled up inside him, one that he recognised as his own.
From the very beginning... I loved her.
Oddly, the thought didn’t bring him the comfort it should have. Aang squirmed in his seat, trying to think, trying to reason. And that was when he remembered the other girl next to him, the one whose eyelids were drooping shut even as she gazed at him sightlessly for an answer.
What had she said? He couldn’t remember. But he shook himself from the blackness of his mood and laid a friendly hand on her shoulder.
“Thanks Toph,” he said with a fake, cheery grin, hoping that it was appropriate. “But you know what? I think we should get some sleep now. We’re both tired and all.”
He watched as she tilted her neck quizzically, and then shrugged. “Sure, sure,” she said, her voice oddly flat. “Well, goodnight then.”
Turning away from him, she snuggled down into the crook of her arm. He smiled quietly at the sight, and then lay down too on the bison saddle beneath the stars. In the position he was in, curled against the sides, he could see her small form across from him, solid and real. And the familiar sight of it reminded him of everything - the memories, the contrasts, the struggle.
I’m going inside. How much had that moment haunted him? How much had he regretted it? I’m going inside. I’m going inside. I’m going...
I’m not going anywhere, Twinkletoes. You need me.
The power of the newly awakened memory hit him, and it took away his own breath as he stared. She was small, yes. But he knew that form - knew that it moved with her own deadly grace and loyalty and strength. Love is energy. It can be shaped. Lover. Friend. Family.
From her light breaths, he wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or not. But the words came to his mouth anyway, and demanded to be said.
I’m not going anywhere, Twinkletoes. You need me.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I do.”
8 8 8
“Sokka. There’s something you’re not telling me...”
On the first day, against the clear blue of the sky and the receding Fire Nation shore behind them, Sokka told her about the city. He spoke of the majestic ice domes, the sun glinting white off the snow, the canals built for dignity, formality, and sensuously swaying boats. But he did not mention specifics, and he did not mention people, and he did not mention that the canals seemed also built for lovers.
It was too soon for that.
On the second day, after they had picked up Hama and Sokka had recovered from their staring match, he told her about the culture. He told her how Katara had faced up to everyone with so much righteous indignation, how she’d held her own for a few minutes, untrained, against the greatest Waterbending Master of the North Pole. How even that wasn’t enough to grant her a place, but then when Pakku realised how much his own chauvinism had injured himself, he had relented.
He did not need to mention what Suki should expect. He saw the warrior’s intelligence in her eyes, the flicker of her lashes as he spoke that told him she was assimilating, assessing, planning. He saw the curve of her dangerous lips, saw it widen in approval at his story of Katara’s fight, and knew that the North Pole wouldn’t know what hit it.
He was counting on that, because his own warrior’s mind was moving too.
On the third day, after their morning practice and early lunch, he settled down in the sun on the deck and told her about his explorations of the city during Aang and Katara’s days of training. He told her about how he got to know the city, as intimately as one can in two frenzied weeks before the storm. He told her of the great buildings shielding cosy lodges, of the Healers’ hospices dotting the corners at strategically placed locations, of the bars and taverns beneath and above the ice where warriors and hunters retired after a long day’s work before they went home. And he told her how, when night fell, the great canals became a poor friend to the small and winding alleyways connecting bar to bar, between house to house - the paths that smiled upon the shadowed and those with darker business.
She nodded in silent appreciation at his scouting. He felt a small surge of real pride seep around his heart and hold him warm. The woman in front of him knew what he was talking about. She knew the benefits of knowing her environment, of learning it so intimately you could use it as a weapon or defence.
After all, she’d been the one to teach him.
On the fourth day, as the battleship charged through colder waters at a remarkable rate, he told her more against the spray of the ocean and the lick of the wind. Both sent her short brown strands flying past her ears, clearing her face and smile to his perception. He told himself that she seemed less beautiful, more pretty under the harsh sea light because he was distracted, even while he took the next faltering step and told her about the political system. How the Chieftain, Arnook, was treated rank-wise as a King, how he had his own Council of Advisers (all old men, of course), and the way the warriors were organised underneath that in a strict hierarchical structure he’d never seen in the South. It was a short conversation, because he didn’t feel like talking too much. When he stopped, he saw the look in her eyes expecting more, and he turned away from it with a quick explanation which was a lie.
Because his over-full stomach had nothing to do with his tiredness. His exhaustion came from the burden of the memory of a white-haired princess who looked down on him at night.
On the fifth day, the day he had prepared himself mentally to tell her, they hit a storm at sea. And there was no time or place to talk, because the world was the lash of the wind and the sailors’ cries and the driving rain and swell. And even though they were in no real danger, on Zuko’s monstrous battleship, Sokka watched Suki climb, leap, and twist through the ropes with breathtaking grace, doing her own bit in the battle against the elements.
She had never looked so magnificent, hair plastered to her face and water dripping from her smile. But Sokka knew that the water was getting even colder around them, and the frost of that knowledge somehow clouded his vision.
And then, finally, on the sixth day, he told her.
It was hard, and yet easy. The words halted in the roof of his mouth, and then spilled out with surprising speed. He told her about the feast and how he’d first seen her as she was presented as the Chieftain’s daughter, how the moonlight had touched her hair and made her seem all the more ethereally beautiful. He told her about his clumsy attempts to talk to her, leaving bites of self-inflicted mockery trailing on his words. He told her about their meetings, about how they were always circling around each other in their thoughts and their world - never touching but almost touching like the koi fish in the pond, until that fateful day where she kissed him and told him she was engaged to another.
He stopped at that. He was feeling cold inside, a little empty and metallic, and his blue eyes searched hers to see how she was taking it. Surprisingly, there was nothing there. No hint of weakness, no nothing. For someone who had such an expressive face, Suki was still and unreadable, and Sokka felt a shiver of worry run through him as she merely nodded at him to go on.
Suddenly he was worried whether the brutal honesty approach was too much. And yet, as he looked into her unwavering eyes, he knew that it was what she deserved, and so he kept on going. Past his sign-up to a suicide mission, past his reappointment, and all the way up to the part where she died in his arms and then vanished into the sky.
And then he stopped.
Part of him wanted to say more, wanted to explain that after things had changed. But he stayed silent, because he knew she needed to think. There was an oddly calculating look in her eyes, as if she was weighing up everything he was telling her and trying to balance it against the scales of his heart - trying to slot it in to her position in the world and make sense of it all. But soon that look faded, and when it did, he opened his mouth to say something first. To pre-empt her questions, her concern, her insecurity. Because he could see it now in her eyes, as her anxiety cracked away at the mask around her face. And his heart quickened, because he knew that they were cracks that spoke of the death of their relationship and the trust and respect that had blossomed between them.
But luckily, he also knew exactly what to say to quell the fears. Sokka leaned back against his chair on the deck and sighed. It was stupid, he knew. She and him had never had a vocal agreement, an outright sound to seal what they both knew was there. Perhaps it would have been different if he’d never met Yue at the North Pole. But he had, and since then he had guarded his heart and the wounds on it all the more closely, and while he held the three words close to his chest, he knew that she also would not say it for the fear of it being unreturned.
But he could tell her now.
Now was the right time.
He knew it was.
And so Sokka gazed into Suki’s cracking eyes, reached out a hand to clasp her fingers, readied himself to say “I love you...”
And then they came.
