Work Text:
Sokka has a long list of things he doesn’t like to talk about.
His mother’s face (unrecognizable in the mirror). His failure to protect Princess Yue (so proud and so sad). Being the last human to both enter and exit the greatest library in two worlds (he needed the information, he did, he was justified and bright enough and the only person who died in there is the one who chose it; the sandbenders would have come anyway, and maybe Toph wouldn’t have been able to fight them off even without the tower sinking).
How he hadn’t asked King Kuei more questions about what he’d told Suki-who-was-Azula (I’ve known about the invasion for months, with the most smug smile he’s ever seen, to this day). His first and worst public speaking experience (—and then Katara got Haru arrested and now he's grown a mustache which if you look at him in the front row you can see it—).
Going to the Boiling Rock with no plan (Last time I checked, prisons don’t have bison daycares, and it’s always the worst when Zuko is right). Taking Suki and not his dad when they had to flee (the kids needed someone who would protect them, and they never did ask Chit Sang what landed him in prison).
Losing his one-of-a-kind sword (forged with assistance from a master he didn’t want to need, the man who said he was worthy with such certainty that doubting it felt disrespectful).
It’s not a complete list, but Sokka likes to think of those as the highlights of his lowest points. He says so to Suki, who always laughs at his bad jokes even if she’s really laughing at him (with him, lovingly, because she knows him better than almost anyone in the world). She doesn’t laugh this time. She takes his drink away, then pulls him close and lets him fall asleep with his head in her lap while she strokes his hair.
Sokka hates talking about any of that. The words are tar on his tongue, sticking to his teeth and leaving behind an unsightly residue of failure. He hates talking about it, but if someone asks (Toph, Aang, Suki, Zuko, Piandao, Gran-Gran, and even Bato one time with sea prunes and nostalgia and the memory of rocks instead of ice), if they need him to open up his ribs and show them the mess he’s made, he’ll do it.
(If Katara asks—if his dad asks—)
(Sokka has a list of things he does not like to talk about.)
He’s not a particular fan of thinking about any of it either, but he’s always preferred to learn from his mistakes.
There is one thing—just one, just once, it only happened one time (don’t think about the swamp don’t think about the swamp)—that he can only think about from side angles and mirrored lenses.
Aang’s the spirit guy. He’s the bridge, the avatar, the one who does the magic things that Sokka wouldn’t touch with the far end of a boomerang toss.
But if they’re being technical (and usually Sokka loves to be technical, but he wouldn’t mind giving it up just this once), Sokka beat Aang to the Spirit World by sixty-five days.
He doesn’t like to think about it.
Katara says you were trapped in the Spirit World for twenty-four hours! and Sokka thinks yeah, I know, I was there.
Katara asks how are you feeling? and Sokka says like I seriously need to use the bathroom and walks away from his sister, who he loves, his sister, who he left, his sister, who was in a town with strangers and no brother and no Aang, and he probably shouldn’t tell anyone he knows that part until Aang mentions it on his own.
(The spirits were restless. It’s not his fault he heard them whispering about how much it itched for the avatar to only step partway into the Spirit World. He tried not to hear it, but Sokka’s never been very good at ignoring information.)
The villagers want to thank them, and getting to explain what supplies they’re low on, what lasts well in the air versus on the ground, picking out the soap that won’t make Aang sad when he realizes what it’s made of, haggling with a shopkeeper over how much salt three kids actually need when one of them is a vegetarian—it’s like a hot bath in a natural spring. It’s food for Sokka’s soul (and some for his stomach as well, which is great. Just because he can go twenty-four hours without food doesn’t mean he likes to, but he knows better than to eat spirit food, no matter how much of a growing boy he very much is).
He feels fine after a meal and some sleep. Really. Katara looks at him with a worry he doesn’t like to see on her face, but Aang distracts them very neatly with some avatar stuff that sends them flying to the actual literal Fire Nation, no matter how bad of an idea that is.
Whatever. Sokka’s not going to argue. Aang’s the guy who knows spirit stuff. Sure, he didn’t quite make it to the Spirit World proper, just disconnected from his body and made contact with another aspect of his spirit (which Sokka shouldn’t know and tries not to know and doesn’t want to know anything about, ever, in a million years).
That’s none of Sokka’s business. Sokka’s here to protect Katara and Aang and keep their little crew alive for as long as possible. If that means he gets into weird or dangerous situations sometimes (like being stuck in the Spirit World because he couldn’t bear to watch Aang face that thing alone, not when he could do something about it), that’s fine. He can roll with the punches. He’s a flexible guy.
And if he meets a girl and thinks moon when he sees her hair, that’s because her hair is literally white. If he hears her laugh and thinks push, that’s because it makes him feel unsteady to even be near someone so beautiful. If he sees her spirit and touches it like a physical thing, hears her whisper long after she’s gone, has a vision in a swamp that sounds more tangible than what the others experienced—that’s just grief. It doesn’t mean anything about him.
He almost believes that, too. Not that it matters. He’s got a whole war’s worth of distraction, after all.
Sokka doesn’t really like Zuko’s uncle.
He gets why Zuko likes the guy so much. Zuko had exactly two options for an older male role model, and Sokka’s happy to agree that Iroh’s way better than Ozai. It’s just that that’s a really, really low bar, and Sokka’s fine with trusting Toph’s judgement and also not starting a fight with Zuko for no real reason, but if he’s honest with himself? Sokka’s not wild about Iroh of the Fire Nation, firstborn of Azulon, grandson of Sozin, one-time heir to Agni’s Flame, known to all the world as the Dragon of the West.
When he lists it out like that, Sokka figures the math is pretty obvious. It’s great that Iroh changed sides, and Zuko totally needed him, but Sokka’s not that impressed by the whole ‘only giving up on the siege after his son died, nevermind how many other people’s sons he killed, both directly and from a distance’ thing.
He’s not about to stir up trouble, though, and the guy does make a good cup of tea. Sokka’s not so stuck in his own head that he’ll kick up a fuss about meeting everyone at the Jasmine Dragon or go out of his way to find a different tea place when he’s in Ba Sing Se to rummage through Long Feng’s collection. Even when Sokka goes there alone, Iroh makes a point of serving him personally, which is nice and respectful and whatever, so Sokka’s perfectly polite and makes jokes about Zuko and yeah, occasionally drops a mild jab about Iroh’s past. Iroh never flinches, always meets his gaze steady and head-on, like he really has made his peace with his mistakes and only wants to do better in the here and now.
Fine. It’s not Sokka’s problem.
It’s during one of those times when Sokka’s at the Jasmine Dragon alone that it happens. He’s reading a journal detailing attempts at mimicking the Fire Nation tanks, written by a brilliant engineer who definitely, absolutely got brainwashed by the Dai Li before he got to finish his first prototype. Kuei lets Sokka take whatever he wants from Long Feng’s horde, which is a privilege Sokka abuses shamelessly.
There’s a half-written letter to the Mechanist floating through his head when he sees his teacup get refilled out of the corner of his eye. He glances up to thank Iroh, only to find that Iroh’s sitting down across from him, all settled in with his own tea.
“Uh,” Sokka says, trying to shove all his Engineer Thoughts into boxes and yank out his scrolls on Polite Friend Of Your Nephew Who Has No Opinions About Your Past before he says something that’ll make him have to go all the way to Caldera City because Zuko’s mad and not writing to him anymore. “Hi.”
It’s not a bad start. Sokka’s definitely done worse.
“Hello.” Iroh smiles warmly and takes a long sip of tea, presumably to give Sokka time to collect himself. It’s considerate and just a little grating.
Sokka sets the journal aside and takes a big drink of tea that’s way too hot to do more than sip at. He coughs and tries to pretend he didn’t just burn his tongue, even though there’s no way he can fool a professional teamaker. “So, how’s the uh…tea stuff going?”
“It’s going wonderfully.” Iroh’s smile gets wider, and for a moment, he looks so sincerely at peace that even Sokka feels a little happy for him. “I never expected my life to turn out this way, but I am thankful to be here. We are sent on the strangest journeys sometimes, don’t you think?”
Sokka thinks about the time he went from the Earth Kingdom to the Spirit World to the Fire Nation, back to the Earth Kingdom, and finally to the North Pole over the course of about forty-seven days. “Yeah.”
“But you know all about that.” Iroh’s smile fades, and he gives Sokka a considering sort of look. It’s way better than all the smiling. “You have been to some very unusual places indeed.”
“Sure have.” Sokka shrugs. It’s another long list. Sometimes people ask him to say the strangest, and he usually goes for the swamp. He talks about eating bugs and the guy who pretended to be a vine monster and doesn’t think about Yue even a little bit at all.
“Including the Spirit World, yes?”
Sokka drops his teacup. It hits the ground and breaks, which is sort of fantastic, because he gets to scramble on the floor and pick up the pieces instead of looking at Iroh. “Sorry! Here, let me clean this up. I’m just so clumsy sometimes, you know? Especially when people say weird stuff and surprise me.” He stares at the dripping collection of broken ceramic in his palm. “Why did you say that, anyway? I mean, why would you think—you know I’m not Aang, right?”
Iroh reaches down and takes the shards from Sokka’s hand, wrapping them in a cloth. He offers Sokka a second cloth for wiping up the spilled tea, and Sokka does it without complaint. Iroh probably knows that he feels better with something to do. He’s not sure if he wants to resent that or be grateful.
“We can talk elsewhere, if you would prefer.” Iroh’s voice is so even, so steady, so perfectly calm.
Sokka takes a deep breath. The tea matches the color of the tiles almost exactly. It’s one of the things that makes this place feel so cozy, despite being high class. Sokka can tell that Iroh crafted the Jasmine Dragon with a lot of care and attention to detail. He made a place where people can feel comfortable and set down their worries for a while.
“No thanks.” His hands are still wet with tea. The cloth is too damp to dry them. He’ll need to ask for another one so he doesn’t damage the journal. “Spirit World stuff isn’t really my thing. You should really ask Aang sometime, though. I’m sure he’d love to talk about it.”
Sokka stands up and sets the damp cloth on the table, then dries his hands on his robe. Iroh sets down the dry cloth he was about to give Sokka, expression still perfectly placid.
“The solstice is tomorrow,” Iroh says. “Despite the Dai Li’s efforts, there are still spiritual centers in the city. I am sure there are people in the palace or the university who could direct an interested visitor.”
“I bet there are.” Sokka picks up the journal and grips it tightly enough to make his hands stop shaking. “Thanks for the tea.”
Iroh just nods and lets him leave without another word. Sokka stays up all night reading the words of a dead engineer and gets to the monorail station before dawn. He spends the solstice on a ferry and doesn’t look at the moon once.
One of the many things Sokka loves about Toph is her complete lack of interest in his personal life. When he shows up and asks to stay for a while, she just shrugs and waves in the general direction of the guest room he always uses when he visits. She doesn’t ask why he’s here or if he needs anything or if he wants to talk. She just assumes that he’ll take care of himself, and if he really does need her, he’ll say so.
It’s exactly what he wants right now. Sokka devours the books and scrolls he brought from Ba Sing Se, fills pages of his own journal with ideas, and sends that letter to the Mechanist. After about a week, he sends more letters. First to Suki, because she’s the easiest person to talk to in the entire world, even if she’s not actually next to him. Then to Zuko (he doesn’t mention Iroh, and hopes Iroh’s discreet enough not to mention him either), and then Aang, Katara, Gran-Gran, his dad—the words start coming easy, and by the time he’s running low on things to read, he’s feeling a lot more settled in his skin.
He doesn’t wonder if that has anything to do with the solstice being long past. That would be ridiculous.
The day after he sends the letter to his dad, Toph accosts him at dinner.
“So, what’s wrong with you?” She has her feet on the table, which Sokka knows is a huge sign of trust, but he still thinks it’s kind of gross. “You’ve been way quieter than usual, Snoozles. It’s freaking me out.”
“Nothing.” It’s an automatic response, and Toph doesn’t even acknowledge it. He must seem pretty rough if she’s actually asking, so he figures he owes her a real answer. Vulnerability for vulnerability. Neither of them like when the scales are uneven. “What do you think about spirits?”
“I don’t.” Toph picks at her teeth and flicks something away. “That stuff’s for Twinkletoes. Why would I bother thinking about it?”
Sokka laughs, just a little. “Yeah, that’s fair. I don’t like thinking about it either.”
He sees her notice the different phrasing. She slides her feet back on the floor, just like he expected she would. He’s got to be shaking enough for her to feel it. “Snoozles. Is this about that girl?”
The girl he let die. The girl in the moon. The girl who haunts him gently, until she doesn’t.
“No.” Sokka sighs and fiddles with his wolftail, undoing it and putting it back up just for something to do with his hands. “Or not really, at least. I went to the Spirit World once. An angry forest spirit grabbed me and kept me there for about a day until Aang made it happy.”
“Wow. That’s pretty weird.” Toph taps her foot, sending mild tremors through the floor. “So like, are you having freaky spirit nightmares about it or something?”
“Nah. I guess I’ve just been thinking about it lately.” Sokka looks at Toph, at her knotted up eyebrows, her open frown, the way her tapping is getting more forceful in a way he knows isn’t intentional. She’ll punch him if he says it out loud, but he really does hate to make her worry. “I’m gonna talk to somebody about it. I’ll get out of your hair soon, I promise.”
Toph sits back, crossing one leg up, expression smoothing out. “Good. You’ve gotta face your fear head-on, Snoozles.”
“I’m not an earthbender, you know.” He grumbles, though he knows she can hear the fondness.
Toph just shrugs. “It’s still good advice.”
She’s not wrong. Sokka keeps that in mind when he sits down at the desk in the room that Toph always keeps ready for him, so he can listen to her complain about her students and go with her to town and give her another target for both mockery and earthbending. She’s not the type for mushy displays, or he’d hug her for what she’s given him.
He gathers his courage, because doing anything else in the home of Toph Beifong would be just plain rude, and writes one last letter.
It’s not so rare for Sokka to be in the Fire Nation. He likes making fun of the royal council a lot. He also likes wandering through Caldera City, striking up conversation with metalworkers who can give him tips on some of his ideas before he and the Mechanist have the chance to blow themselves up.
He likes hanging out with Zuko in the royal gardens best of all. Zuko’s never more peaceful than when he’s next to the turtleduck pond, letting Sokka make him laugh and forgetting about his throne and crown and huge responsibilities for a little while.
Sokka figures he’ll do all of that later, once he’s finished with his current task. Shu Jing isn’t that close to Caldera City, but it would feel wrong to be in the Fire Nation and not at least swing by.
The place where they ate after the meteorite fell is still open, and Sokka orders some skewers to go, happy to eat while he walks. It takes a while to get up the cliff, but that’s satisfying in its own way. He’s long since finished his lunch by the time he gets to the gate, which looks just as impressive as it did the first time he came here. He uses both knockers, and when Fat opens the door, he doesn’t look surprised at all to see Sokka.
“The master was pleased to receive your letter.” Fat says, flatly enough that Sokka’s pretty sure he doesn’t share the sentiment. That’s fine. Sokka cleans up after himself, so he and Fat have a pretty steady truce these days. “He is currently in the training grounds.”
Fat doesn’t bother escorting him, which Sokka knows is both a sign of trust and an indicator of how much Fat doesn’t like his jokes. Oh well. There’s no accounting for taste.
When Sokka gets to the training grounds, he just stops to watch for a long moment. There’s something satisfying in watching any expert at work, but Sokka thinks he’ll always love watching swordplay most of all. It’s a beautiful dance, poised and sharp, lovely and deadly. Sunlight glints off the blade, adding another layer of artistry to the composition unfolding before him.
The sword slides easily into its sheath, like a bow from a performer. Sokka offers his own bow, low and respectful like he is with few people, none of them world leaders. “Master Piandao.”
“Sokka.” Piandao sounds pleased, and when Sokka unbends and meets his gaze, an easy smile greets him. “It’s been too long.”
It has, Sokka realizes. He hadn’t thought about it before, but when he accepts a practice sword and joins Piandao for a spar, he feels a sense of peace that he’d all but forgotten he ever knew. They let their blades speak for them, each clash something sacred and simple all at once.
He’s needed this badly. Sokka doesn’t doubt that Piandao recognizes it, too. He’s always been able to see right through Sokka.
Once they’re finished, Piandao’s sword at Sokka’s throat as an acknowledgement rather than a threat, Sokka feels like himself for the first time in—well, in longer than he feels like calculating.
“So,” Piandao says, once they’ve wiped themselves down and are settled for tea in the garden. “You don’t often visit me unless there’s something on your mind. Shall we get right to it, or would you rather take the winding path?”
Sokka laughs, utterly at ease. He likes the way Piandao is blunt and thoughtful at the same time. He’s never been able to explain it, but something about talking to Piandao is…not quite easy or simple, but right. A lesson and an acknowledgement. Kindness without cloying. Sharpness without pain.
“When I was traveling with Aang, I got stuck in the Spirit World for twenty-four hours.” Sokka says, tasting the truth of it like he’s never let himself do before.
Piandao raises his eyebrows, but his expression stays calm, cool, collected, in control. There is nothing Sokka can throw at this man that cannot be caught. “I see. Do you want to tell me about it?”
What a question. Sokka’s been spending the better part of a month trying to answer it.
“Yeah.” Sokka lets his throat close a little, allows his voice to crack, accepts the vulnerability and lays his honesty bare before his teacher, who believes in him, who calls him worthy with such certainty that it would be disrespectful to doubt. “I do.”
For the first time since that night, ninety-nine years after the Air Nomad genocide, on the nineteenth day of the last month of the Year of the Sheep, Sokka doesn’t push away the memories.
Instead, Sokka of the Water Tribe, son of Hakoda and Kya, brother of Master Katara of the South, who traveled with Avatar Aang and planned the Invasion on the Day of Black Sun, who broke into a prison and sank a library and let Princess Yue the Moon Spirit die—Sokka, the boy who is still learning what it means to be a man, who loves to read more than he loves to lead—Sokka, the scholar and the swordsman who kept his family safe—
Sokka faces his fear and lets himself be helped.