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Izumi wakes crying from another nightmare.
“I’ve got her,” Zuko mumbles, pushing himself off the bed and trudging sleepily to her room that’s adjacent to theirs.
Sokka rolls over, yawning. He appreciates Zuko volunteering to get up, but he knows he won’t be able to fall asleep again until Izumi herself does.
Zuko comes back, carrying a crying Izumi; she’s got her face pressed into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder, and Sokka can see her little back heaving with sobs even in the dim moonlight.
“Oh, baby,” Sokka croons, his chest aching to see her like this. He sits up against the headboard as Zuko walks back towards the bed, lighting the lamp on their bedside table with a flick of his hand on his way over.
Zuko sits next to him and passes Izumi into his lap.
“Bad dream again, duckling?” He asks, pressing a kiss into her hair and rubbing her back. Izumi responds with a sob, and Sokka’s eyes flick up to meet Zuko’s. Behind his concern is something like guilt, and Sokka knows exactly what he’s thinking.
A few months ago, there’d been an assassination attempt that’d gotten too close—close enough that Zuko had been injured.
It happened at dinner, so Izumi was an unfortunate witness. Thankfully, the palace guards were able to quickly subdue the assailant, and Zuko wasn’t too gravely injured, but the incident had a lasting effect on their family. It was, after all, difficult to explain to your three-year-old why some people wanted to hurt her dad, and it was even more difficult to help her feel safe after witnessing something like that. (It’s not something they can promise won’t happen again.)
It’s been hard, the past few months, to watch their daughter struggle with separation anxiety and nightmares, and to not always know the best way to help her.
Sokka looks at his husband for a moment more, hoping the softness in his eyes is enough to comfort some of Zuko’s contrition, at least for now, before he gently peels Izumi off his chest so he can look her in the eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he prompts.
“N-no,” she sniffles, her face scrunched up and tear-streaked.
“Sometimes it helps to talk about it, sweetheart,” Zuko coaxes, reaching over to rub her back.
Izumi doesn’t respond, though, instead bringing her thumb into her mouth and laying her head back down on Sokka’s chest. Zuko sends Sokka another worried look.
“Maybe in the morning, then,” Sokka says. They sit like that for a while—Izumi boneless and limp in Sokka’s lap as Zuko rubs her back with a gently heated palm. Eventually, her sniffling subsides and her breathing begins to even out.
“Do you want a story to help you fall back asleep?” Zuko asks. Izumi shakes her head.
“Warm milk?” Sokka offers.
“No,” she replies, pushing herself up from Sokka’s chest. She looks at Zuko, eyes still wet from crying. “Daddy, make purple?”
A small smile forms on Zuko’s lips, and Izumi turns herself around so she’s sitting in Sokka’s lap still, but facing Zuko.
Zuko brings his palm up and calls a small flame—except, much to Izumi’s delight, it’s red, not purple.
“No, daddy!” She giggles. “That’s red! Purple!”
“What?” Zuko asks in mock surprise, changing the fire in his hand to green.
Izumi laughs even louder, and Sokka feels his lips pull into a wide grin.
“No, that’s green ! Make purple!”
Zuko changes the color again, this time to orange. Izumi nearly doubles over, she’s laughing so hard, and Sokka feels a warmth in his chest so profound he could almost cry.
Their game goes on for a while longer, until Zuko’s feigned his lack of knowledge of almost all the colors, and Izumi’s giggles begin to be interrupted by yawns.
“Back to bed, I think,” Zuko says. Sokka kisses her hair again and passes her back to Zuko, who carries her back to bed.
He returns a moment later, crawling into bed and snuffing out the lamp. Sokka pulls him close, so their foreheads and knees are touching, and wraps his arms around his middle.
“Sokka?” Zuko asks, voice quiet and tentative.
“Mmm?”
“Do you think she’ll be okay?”
Sokka’s heart clenches, and he pulls Zuko even closer. He worries so much—they both do—but Zuko’s been taking this all especially hard.
“Of course she will, baby.”
Zuko snakes a hand up to Sokka’s cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of his jaw. “How can you be so sure?”
Because she has you . Zuko’s so terrified of being a bad father that he often discounts how much he does for Izumi. And he gets so caught up in that anxiety sometimes. But they’re happy , they really are; it isn’t always easy, but Sokka wouldn’t change a single thing about their little family.
Sokka presses a gentle kiss to Zuko’s lips.
“Because she has you—she has us,” he says. “And we’ll keep helping her through it, just like tonight.”
“We’ll make sure she’s okay,” Zuko supplies, like a promise.
“Yes,” Sokka promises back, and it’s not hard to believe it. “We will.”