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Zuko wakes to a fire flaring to life against his ambient fire sense and a murmured “My Lord” from Senna to let him know not to set her on fire, too, as she waits a moment for him to release the hearth fire from his instinctive hold before moving on to lighting the lamps around the room, her hands efficient and subtle as she bends light into the pre-dawn darkness.
Zuko continues to blink at her, bleary even after he manages to release the fire from his control, disoriented to have her in the room so far ahead of Agni’s waking, disoriented even more to be hearing the distant murmur of waves without feeling the cool press of Sokka’s body cuddle up against Zuko’s own. Zuko can count on one hand the number of times he’s been to Ember Island without Sokka since he became Fire Lord.
But then Zuko remembers that Sokka had to leave days ago to oversee the Southern Water Tribe side of the preparations for tomorrow. And that word, tomorrow, chases away the last of Zuko’s sleepiness, hitting like a bolt of lightning from a summer storm, Zuko’s inner fire suddenly jittery and high, his stomach suddenly full of a nervous, gut-churning kind of excitement.
Only one more span of Agni across the sky, to finish preparing. One more dawn until finally, it’s time to actually be doing.
One more day until Zuko can see Sokka again.
“Breakfast is in the sitting room, my Lord,” Senna murmurs, jolting him back into the present and offering a neat bow when she notices his attention before returning to setting out his clothes for the day. A task Zuko could accomplish just as well on his own, but one he’s long given up on arguing with her over.
It’s not like Sokka lays out Zuko’s clothes for him—more gives running commentary on all of Zuko’s choices, usually while still half-buried in bed—but for whatever reasons, it’s the mornings without Sokka that are always the mornings when Senna seems to feel Zuko becomes particularly incapable of dressing himself without help.
At least she has a good eye for it.
“Will there be anything else, my Lord?”
“No, thank you, Senna,” Zuko says, clearing his throat when he hears the sleep still clinging to his voice. “That will be all.”
“My Lord,” she acknowledges, offering another bow as she backs out of the room.
One more day. Agni, Zuko better make sure tomorrow goes exactly right.
--
Uncle is already meditating on the half-covered veranda overlooking the beach when Zuko rushes in, flustered as he tries to both hurry to Uncle’s side and guiltily jot his signature on a few pieces of paper that Sei Zun holds out for him in rapid succession before they dart away. Zuko is aware that starting work on the way to morning meditation—that his secretary anticipated it and had work ready—somewhat defeats the point of starting the day and awakening the mind with meditation in the first place.
But there’s just the one day left, and there’s still so much to do.
Uncle’s smile is easy, though, his voice entirely free of judgment as he greets Zuko with a warm, “Nephew.”
“Uncle,” Zuko murmurs back, taking a deep breath and trying to exhale the too-much-to-do feeling fluttering in his chest as he settles down onto the weather- and polish-smoothed wood in a patch of rising sun, something in him automatically loosening at the familiarity of being at Uncle’s side like this.
There might be a bit more white speckling the gray of his beard these days, and he might be a shade slower to move his comfortable bulk than he used to be, but in all the ways that matter Uncle is still the same steady presence that Zuko’s grown to appreciate, an island of calm even through letters for Zuko to settle the jittery storm of his nerves against when he needs it.
And today, Zuko definitely needs it.
And normally, the even whoosh of Uncle’s breathing and the sound of the jungle in the ocean breeze just out of sight and the distant rhythm of waves against the shore would be enough to easily tug Zuko into centering his fire sense and his mind around his inner flame. And Zuko does try, inhaling lungful and lungful of salt-tinged air, feeling his inner fire expanding and contracting in time with his breaths and quietly rolling into the empty spaces inside of him.
Which…isn’t exactly what it’s supposed to be doing during quiet meditation, even if it is quiet. And after a few degrees of trying, Zuko quietly admits that he is quietly too full of nerves for quiet stillness this morning, and quietly rises to grab a pair of decorative wooden dao from the racks along the wall.
Zuko starts slow, giving his body time to warm and his mind space to sharpen before he moves into a more active meditation, his swords near-silent as they cut through the air, his bare feet padding and sliding across the wood in time to his breathing, his body moving to his will and to the rhythm of katas so familiar they don’t require conscious thought, his awareness finally centering on the pulse and rise and surge of his fire inside him.
Uncle doesn’t move, doesn’t react, but after a moment he matches his breathing to Zuko’s, to the ocean’s, to the wind’s, Zuko feels like he’s surrounded by the steady, rushing, even cadence of his own body in motion, losing himself in his inner flame until he finally feels the tug of Agni truly above the horizon now and until lets his body come to a twirling stop.
“It’s understandable to be nervous, Nephew,” Uncle comments without opening his eyes, apparently content to maintain his seat.
“I’m not nervous,” Zuko says immediately, then winces, sighing. They can both hear the lie. “There’s just so much to do.”
“A day is a long time, Nephew.”
“And what if something goes wrong?” Zuko bursts out, turning his dao restlessly in his hands. “A day is plenty of time for something to turn, and the Northern representatives have been looking for an excuse to get upset for months now, and things have finally settled down between Kyoshi and—”
“It will be fine,” Uncle cuts, voice firm, gently, his lips tucked into a fond smile.
“I don’t want it to be fine, though,” Zuko protests, with a bald honesty he knows he wouldn’t have offered in his youth. “I want it to be perfect.” There hasn’t been an event like this in centuries, not in the Fire Nation at least. There’s going to be so much attention on tomorrow, more than Zuko wants to think about, and Zuko just—needs it all to go exactly how it’s supposed to. “What if I forget something important? Or some little detail slips by me that’s actually a huge deal to someone in attendance and they make a big scene—”
“I specifically ensured that former Ambassador Leng would not be in attendance.”
“—and a day that’s supposed to be a celebration of how far we’ve all come just causes more problems!”
Uncle pauses, searching Zuko’s face. “That is a lot of pressure to put on tomorrow, Nephew,” he finally says, voice gentling. “It is just a day.”
“It’s a big day! And the closer it comes and the more I get done, the more I realize there’s still more to do,” Zuko says, shoving a frustrated hand through his hair and immediately pulling a face when he feels his topknot slide askew.
“Work often begets more work,” Uncle observes, beckoning for Zuko to kneel in front of him.
“No sayings,” Zuko grumbles, casting a warning look over his shoulder before obediently facing forward, closing his eyes as Uncle’s thick, blunt fingers gently begin to work his hair tie free.
“That was all,” Uncle says, tone openly amused as he smooths out Zuko’s hair, straightening the fall of the braids woven in amongst the loose strands before beginning to wind it all up into a new topknot. “It is not an uncommon experience, to find that once you get into the details there are always more of them to focus on.”
Zuko lets out a noise of aggravation that originates from somewhere in the vicinity of his soul, only Uncle’s hands still in his hair preventing him from folding forward to bang his head against the floor.
“Hm.” Oh, that hum. Zuko can fucking tell that Uncle would be about to offer calming tea if they were back on the Wani. “One might say that this is what delegates are for.”
Zuko glowers out over the sand and trusts that Uncle will be able to read the look through the set of Zuko’s shoulders and the quality of his silence.
“Just an observation.”
“I don’t want to delegate this,” Zuko bursts out, twisting around as he feels Uncle wrap the last of his hair into place. “If this isn’t important enough to be worth the attention of the Fire Lord, what kind of messages does that send?”
Uncle raises his eyebrows. “That the Fire Lord is incredibly busy? Which, I might add, he is?”
Zuko glowers more. Uncle isn’t wrong, Zuko just—ugh. He just wants to do this. He just—he feels like he’s supposed to do this.
“Come, Nephew,” Uncle says after a moment, rising easily to his feet and gently raising Zuko with him. “I have a new jasmine blend I think you will need. And maybe you can tell me about your upcoming morning, and maybe we can find some of your normal duties that you would not mind delegating for just a day.”
“I don’t want calming tea,” Zuko says, giving Uncle a sideways glance as he falls into step beside him.
“It’s focusing tea,” Uncle says, shooting Zuko a dry look of his own. “I would never dare to suggest that now of all times is a moment for calm.”
--
Zuko strides into the room to a chorus of “Fire Lord”s, checking his pace at the last second so he’s not hurrying, just walking with a purpose into this very impromptu meeting that he absolutely doesn’t have time for, given tomorrow’s events, and that he absolutely cannot afford to ignore, given tomorrow’s events.
Though Zuko’s more than a little annoyed to see his favorite breakfast room, the one with the tall glass-paneled doors and the view of the ocean and the edge of the forest, being repurposed for this.
“Fire Lord,” Lord Resha says, bobbing his head into an approximation of a bow. “We greatly appreciate you extending us the grace of your presence on this day before the most momentous occasion of—”
Agni’s tits, Zuko does not have the patience for this right now.
He fixes an attentive expression on his face, his mind drifting toward his to-do list for the afternoon, long experience numbing him to the flowery language the Earth Kingdom delegates are always prone to as he waits for the substance of what’s being said.
“—and of course, we understand that some voices have raised questions about whether there will be…implications, for future trade relations between our nations, and we thought it best to—”
There it is. Even if Zuko couldn’t pick it out on his own, the sudden focus around the tabling and the delicate pause would give it away.
“Lord Resha,” Zuko says when the man finally takes a breath, keeping his voice direct, with a thread of warmth. Approachable, but not too friendly, as he casts his eyes around the assembled table so no one feels too singled out. “We hear your concerns, but the Fire Nation assures you that it remains uninterested in handing out favored nation status—”
Sei Zun sucks in a sharp breath beside him, and Zuko plays back his own words to himself. Oh—fuck.
“It seems interesting that the Fire Nation isn’t,” Representative Torun cuts in, tone withering and sharp as Representative Sakod immediately leaps in with his own sour observations, the Earth Kingdom delegates sputtering and drawing themselves up in quivering outrage.
Zuko represses a sigh, and mentally rearranges his afternoon. Sei Zun doesn’t repress a sigh and jots a quick note that they slip into the hand of a waiting servant. Probably to track down yet another etiquette guide…
Agni’s balls, Zuko hasn’t messed up like that in a long time. And the sting of making a misstep like that now is almost as sharp as the fact that Sei Zun feels the need to slip a sheet of paper under Zuko’s elbow with a triple-underlined reminder to avoid language like ‘favored’ and ‘preferred’ and ‘close trading partners’ when the Northern Water Tribe is in the room. As if Zuko doesn’t know. Even if he did just forget…And even if he did forget, what should it matter! The whole thing is stupid to need to dance around at this point!
“—one must admit that it does raise a question of whether certain procedures must be put into place—”
“Everything in life doesn’t need a procedure!”
Still, Zuko isn’t trying to make Sei Zun’s life harder, or his own, so he suppresses a flash of annoyance and breathes some calm into his inner flame and obediently reads over the next sheet of paper slipped under his elbow—approved phrases Zuko can say to communicate the exact same things.
“—Ba Sing Se is not, you will find, the only available partner to—"
“—remarkable, considering the way you still seem to suck at the—”
“Honored representatives,” Zuko cuts in before this truly jumps the fire break, adding a bit of bite to his voice. “I believe today’s discussion was intended for a purpose, correct? One other than—” He casts a pointed look around the table, channeling Uncle at his most disappointed. “—this?”
“Fire Lord,” the table choruses in response with varying levels of irritability, and Zuko keeps his face firmly neutral as all eyes suddenly shift back to him again. Agni, maybe he preferred when they were squabbling with each other instead of focusing on him…
Zuko does try to focus—
“I am sure you can understand that the Fire Nation is quite satisfied with the current tariffs negotiated on the export of pottery—”
“Yeah, because it’s thievery,” Torun grumbles, and Zuko does him the favor of pretending not to hear it.
—he really does. But it becomes harder and harder the longer the list of to-dos he’s jotting in the margin of Sei Zun’s approved phrases becomes. There are questions that still need answers, details that need wrangling, last-minute seating arrangements that need to be fixed in light of the fact that Lord Meitow just informed Representative Sakod, politely, that he personally would be deeply saddened to similarly bring shame on his ancestors and family name through his own stupidity.
“Lord Meitow,” Zuko cuts in, inner fire sparking with aggravation. “Tomorrow will certainly not be the first contract signed without your name on the signatories’ line. I suggest you recall your prior experiences with such situations, if you are finding it so difficult to comprehend today—”
Representative Kasrak snorts. “A contract.”
“—and I suggest,” Zuko continues, letting his temper light a crackle of fire in the back of his voice, “That you contemplate why it is you have such an issue being excluded from this one, as most would say it’s rather late to start pleading your case.”
Sei Zun makes a choked noise and Kasrak actually drops his charcoal pencil as Meitow goes nearly purple, spluttering, other faces around the table going white or crimson by turn as Zuko continues to glare, his anger well and truly burning now over his time fucking wasted like Zuko has nothing better to do, today, the day before tomorrow, than to sit here and listen to them talk.
“Refreshments!” Sei Zun says, coughing and making a sharp gesture toward the door. “Bring in the refreshments!”
Zuko transfers his glare to them, then sits back with a huff to pin his gaze out the window instead, taking a deep breath, then another, Sei Zun’s unusual discomposure enough to check Zuko into trying to rein his temper back in.
Fuck. Regardless of how this waste of an afternoon is going, this isn’t the mood Zuko wants for this day. This isn’t the mood Zuko wants to bring into all that tomorrow is supposed to be.
Though Zuko isn’t sure whether his attempt to find calm is going to be helped or hurt by the fact that the refreshments arrive along with Suki, which normally would be enough to put Zuko in a better mood, except that her stride is brisk and efficient and Zuko recognizes from long experience that it’s just this side of an outright run.
“I don’t need that,” Zuko says as he finally rises from the table to meet Suki and redirect them toward the windows, because what he needs is distance from this fucking ridiculous conversation he’s been dragged into.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Suki says, giving him a cool, professional smile. “Maybe I just wanted to visit.”
Zuko gives her a flat look. Like he doesn’t see her fucking beckoning one of the servers over, sharp and urgent, the servant immediately wheeling on her heel to rush over.
“Look,” Suki says, all wide-eyed surprise—her acting isn’t nearly as good out of makeup as in. “Spiced buns! Your favorite!”
“I’m not Sokka, I’m not cranky because I—” The rest of Zuko’s words are muffled by the bun Suki neatly pops into his mouth with the deftness of practice, both of them ignoring the alarmed squeak of the servant as Zuko glowers but obediently finishes the bite, because he does like spiced buns, and he did have a light breakfast, and he is feeling rather irritable…
“What if we had some more buns,” Suki suggests, tilting her head vaguely toward the balcony beyond the windows, “And you can catch your breath and tell me why you are cranky, then.” Like she doesn’t fucking know why.
Except Suki does fucking know why, and Zuko narrows his eyes, inner fire curling at the edges with wariness as he searches her face. “Why are you stalling,” he asks, grabbing the entire platter of buns off the offered tray. The servant squeaks and that too, and Zuko gives her a quick, searching look, too. Is she okay?
“Who said anything about stalling,” Suki says, eyes just a little too wide to nail guileless.
Zuko snorts around a mouthful, nodding his thanks to the servant—which earns another squeak. She must be new. “You think I don’t know when Sei Zun is trying to buy time?” Zuko asks, gesturing vaguely toward the room where a truly unnecessary volume of refreshments is circulating. Agni’s balls, this better not be taking from tomorrow’s food…
“I’m sure they’re just—”
“You think I don’t know that the two of you still know how to work together?” Zuko cuts in, raising his eyebrow and pointedly sticking a bun into Suki’s mouth in retaliation when she opens her mouth to reply and nothing comes out.
“What would we be buying time for?” Suki finally says, the words half-muffled as she chews, which is not at all a denial.
“Calming tea?” Zuko tosses out, scowling at her. “Or to get Uncle, or Sei Zun’s assistant, or—”
“Or a big stick to beat some stubborn old men over the head with?” Suki suggests, and Zuko fucking knew it. He knew Sei Zun somehow managed to tell her what was happening. “Or—”
“—or Azula, Agni, please tell me you didn’t send someone to find Azula? She just got in late last night.”
Suki pauses, looking surprised. “Azula’s in already?” She asks, then immediately waves the question away. “Why’d I have to call for anyone? Maybe it’s just a good idea for people to cool off a bit.”
“So you are stalling,” Zuko says, leaping on the admission.
“Why call it stalling,” Suki says, eyes flicking over Zuko’s shoulder toward the door. “Why not call it—”
“Fire Lord and crew!” The heavy wood double doors bounce off the walls hard enough to make Meitow bobble his overly-sauced bun right onto his tunic. “Thank you all for joining me,” Toph calls out, the crowd spilling back ahead of her as she strides toward Zuko without a pause. “Truly, so kind.”
“—preparing for an entrance,” Suki finishes, her hazel eyes dancing when Zuko cuts her a look.
“Toph shouldn’t have to deal with this during her vacation,” Zuko protests, somewhere between touched and reluctant and trying to keep the laughter from showing in his voice, because laughing won’t do future-Zuko any favors when he needs to sit across from Meitow again.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” Suki huffs, exasperated.
“But I do this all the time,” Zuko points out. Too often, some might say, which is exactly Suki’s point, so Zuko is going to keep that thought in his head.
“But,” Toph says, making her way unerringly toward the platter in Zuko’s hands, “Do you do it all the time when you have less than—” She shoves a bun in her mouth and makes a show of looking at her nonexistent pocket watch. Zuko wondered who showed her that. “—half a day before the big show.”
Zuko groans, low enough just for Toph and Suki to hear. “This is part of the big show, though.”
Toph snorts. “This is summarizing trade deals and soothing people that their world isn’t going to change.” She cracks her knuckles before grabbing another bun. “I can do that just as well as you.”
Zuko hesitates over the rather aggressive tone she just used for the idea of soothing people. Far be it from Zuko to deny that Toph can do anything, but…
“Don’t give me whatever look is going along with that heartbeat,” Toph orders, leveling a finger in his general direction. “You think a Beifong can’t hold her own at the negotiating table?”
“It’s not negotiating,” Zuko says. It’s just a ‘quick, informal conversation around mutual interests’ that he fucking knew wasn’t going to stay on schedule.
“Everything is negotiating,” Toph says, rolling her eyes.
“It really seems like negotiating,” Suki agrees.
Zuko sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He’s really not in the mindset for negotiating today, and certainly not now. Agni, he hasn’t slipped up on ‘favored nation’ in front of the Northern Water Tribe in years.
“Look, your Fire Lordliness,” Toph says, leveling a finger in his general direction. “I can stick around and handle this so you can leave, I can sit here with you and divert attention, I can open up a pit in the floor—”
“Please don’t. I like this floor.”
“—and cause general mayhem so now one even wants to talk anymore they just want to flee—”
“Not that one. Please.”
“—or I can just leave after having some buns with my friend. I’m here to help out,” she finishes, her tone going serious. “So tell me how you need me.”
Zuko hesitates.
“Tell us what you want,” Suki corrects, searching his face. “Is this really what you want to be doing right now?”
“…No,” Zuko admits, casting a longing look through the glass to the bright, sunlit day outside.
“Then let’s get you out of here,” Toph says, giving him a gentle nudge. “I think you can delegate this one thing, right?”
…Zuko wants to say yes, but Agni, he doesn’t want anyone to think he’s shirking his responsibilities…
“Let me point out,” Suki says, tugging the platter from his hands. “That maybe you should delegate this one thing. Because I’m pretty sure that list of yours that Sei Zun just stole off the table—”
“Hey!” Zuko exclaims, whirling around.
“—is full of a lot of things you can’t give to someone else.”
“Go,” Toph says, giving Zuko a push for emphasis that he barely needs as he grabs a last bun and takes off after Sei Zun. “The Fire Lord doesn’t need to be here. Lady Beifong’s got this.”
--
“It’s going to be okay, Sifu Hotman,” Aang says from the far side of the painted screen, voice pitched to soothe.
Zuko makes a mostly-not-strangled sound of acknowledgment and continues to fret, shifting to look at the fabric from different angles. These layers of robes had seemed perfect back in Caldera, and the purple sash with its handstitched gold embroidery had seemed perfect when he ordered it. But now Zuko’s second-guessing seeing it all together in the late afternoon light. Is it too presumptuous? Too bold? Should he have asked Katara to help him design it instead of going off the clothes in Sokka’s wardrobe? Is it implying too much? Or is it implying just enough, but the wrong people will read it the wrong way?
Fuck, Zuko should have brought more options. Is there still time to send Sei Zun to Caldera to bring back…Zuko’s entire wardrobe?
“Turn off your brain, Sifu,” Mai calls, her eyeroll audible.
Zuko huffs but obediently begins actually pulling on the clothing instead of standing in his underwear behind the dressing screen staring at it. “You try turning off your brain at a time like this!”
“I’m pretty sure you turn yours off plenty,” Mai snipes right back without any real heat. “You should be familiar with the procedure by now.”
Zuko pops his head out from behind the screen just to glower before ducking back to finish tying his pants. “I see you smiling, Aang.”
“I was just, ah—” Aang clears his throat and replaces the conspicuous edge of laughter in his voice with something more serious. “It’s perfectly normal to be stressed, you know,” he says. “Really, when you think about it, so many things could go wrong tomorrow, so it’s totally understandable if you’re—”
Zuko lets out a groan, his hands involuntarily jerking as the tries to tie the sash and pulling it overly tight, the air wheezing out of him in time to the muffled sound of someone getting solidly smacked on the other side of the screen.
“Ow,” Aang says, before hastily adding on, “But no one will judge you if you ask for help tomorrow morning, you know. If this is stressing you out, it’s okay to not do it all yourself. I’d be more than happy to help, and I bet so would Mai.”
Mai is conspicuously silent, which is what Zuko would expect from someone volunteering her time before dawn.
“It’s not a Fire Nation tradition for you to dress yourself on your own, after all,” Aang says reasonably. “And you’re, well—”
“The Fire Nation?” Mai finishes, voice dry.
“That’s the problem, though,” Zuko says, shrugging into his outer robe and jumping a bit to try to settle all the layers of fabric. “The whole point of tomorrow is to not just be the walking, talking embodiment of the entire Nation.” He considers that for a moment. “Not that I stop being that, of course, it’s just that I’m also trying to be…” He trails off in favor of bending over to scrape his hair into a top knot, forcing his fingers to gentle and slow as he carefully smooths strands and arranges braids to sit exactly where he wants them to. He doesn’t really need to finish, anyway. Mai and Aang know what he’s trying to be.
“No one would hold it against you for not following this one particular tradition, is what I’m saying,” Aang says. “Especially when Fire Nation clothes have…a bit more going on.”
“Especially these days,” Mai mutters, loud enough to make sure Zuko hears.
“I’m not the one setting fashions,” Zuko calls back, tying off his hair with a simple, braided leather cord and giving it all a shake to make sure it won’t immediately fall out again.
“Yes, that’s why the entire capital doesn’t scramble to dress like you,” Mai scoffs. “Because you’re not the one—”
“I just put on what my tailor gives me!”
“Do you never talk to the woman? You certainly spend enough time with her!”
“Sokka talks to her! She’s Sokka’s tailor too!”
“What I’m saying,” Aang repeats, to the sound of another smack and an exasperated breath from Mai. “Is that you don’t have to do it this way, tomorrow. It would be totally reasonable if you needed help. It’s totally fine if you need help.”
“No,” Zuko says immediately, even as his inner fire swirls in appreciation for the sentiment. “Tomorrow is supposed to be about blending. About balance.”
“It’s important to respect other traditions,” Mai adds, her voice going serious, teasing set aside. “Especially when it would be easy to cheat.”
“Exactly,” Zuko says, settling his hairpiece into place. “If you only care about the visible stuff, what does that say about how much you really respect it all?”
Aang’s silence is telling—not that Zuko isn’t more than familiar with Aang’s views on that particular topic when it comes to his own person, anyway—but regardless, Zuko doesn’t wait for an answer. Not when something much more urgent needs all their undivided focus.
Zuko takes a deep breath, smoothing his robes down one last time, and finally steps out from behind the screen and places themselves under their judgment, holding his arms out wide and immediately self-conscious of the unfamiliar weight of the wide leather cuffs around his forearms. “What, uh—what do you think?”
Mai hums, toneless, her face expressionless beneath the blunt line of her bangs as her eyes flit over him, fingers not pausing even for a breath as they play a shuriken around her knuckles. Zuko is more focused on Aang’s reaction, though. Aang, who’s been thinking about this stuff nearly as much as Zuko has. Aang, who’s going to have to do it too, who understands the importance of the effort, not just the end result. Who knows what it means to get these kinds of things right on an international stage.
Agni’s tits, not just an international stage. This stage.
The shuriken Aang has been spinning between his hands come to stop, hanging in the air as Aang gives him a careful, critical once over, his lanky body for once not in motion, his eyes Avatar-serious as he looks Zuko over head to toe and then back again. Zuko wants to fidget, wants to move, wants to say something—Agni, is this what Sokka feels like all the time?—but he forces himself to bite his tongue and let the Avatar take in the message Zuko is trying to convey tomorrow.
“I think,” Aang finally says, and Zuko braces himself, “That your collar is a bit—” He makes a wobbly gesture with his hand, the shuriken wobbly along with it.
Zuko blinks. That—okay, that’s rather specific, but he reaches up, tugging and straightening, because these things do matter. “Better?”
“Still a bit—”
Zuko tries again.
“It might actually be one of the under robes—” Aang tries miming with his own one-shouldered robes.
Zuko tries to tug it straight without taking off his over robe.
“Nope, that didn’t quite—maybe a bit more to the left?”
Zuko tugs harder.
“Hm, maybe a little too much…”
Zuko hesitates, trying to figure out which way he’s supposed to tug to undo what he just did. Mai pinches the bridge of her nose.
“There!” Aang finally says, beaming. “That did it, I think. Though your top knot—"
“Oh, for the love of Agni’s blessed tits,” Mai breaks in, shoving off the bed and disappearing her shuriken somewhere up her sleeves to free her hands. “Stop doing whatever you’re about to do and just—hold still.”
Zuko obediently freezes, as Mai strides forward to tweak Zuko’s headpiece and adjust his collar, her fingers gentle and efficient as she settles his sleeveless robes so the layers show the right way at the shoulder, the familiarity of it all suddenly throwing back Zuko back to too many last-second pre-lesson and post-mayhem—and more recently pre-meeting—check overs for Zuko to count.
Mai’s hands hover over his waist, waiting, and Zuko holds his arms up without a word, making space for Mai to undo his sash and reach under his over robe to settle the belt of fabric a bit higher around his waist, gentle with the embroidered fabric as she smooths it flat over his back and stomach before retying it with a different knot, one that Zuko isn’t familiar with, but he likes the decorative intricacy of it—at least what he can see from this angle.
Zuko turns to get a look at himself in the full-body mirror across from the bed, the anxious edge of his inner flame finally easing as he takes himself in. Seeing tomorrow’s outfit all together, seeing himself in it, the way it sits on his body instead of draped over a screen—yes, this is what Zuko wanted for himself tomorrow.
And the knot Mai tied really ties it all together, Zuko thinks, smirking to himself and making a note to share that with Sokka tomorrow. Maybe when Sokka’s about to take a sip of sparkling plum wine, so Zuko can see if he can make Sokka snort purple out his nose again.
Hm. Sake, maybe. Sake won’t stain the way wine will.
“You’re going to need to show me how to tie this myself,” Zuko points out to Mai as he turns to take himself in from behind, craning to make sure the view works from all angles.
“Where are your sashes?” Mai is already heading toward the wardrobe where Sokka keeps them neatly hung. “We have time.”
“We have as much time as you need,” Aang assures him, eyes warm in the mirror over Zuko’s shoulder.
“It’s not too Fire Nation?” Zuko asks the Avatar, inner flame suddenly fluttering in his throat again. “But still Fire Nation enough? I want it to be Fire Nation, but not too too much, you know? But also not totally ignoring it, I’m not trying to make a statement—I mean, I am, but—I want people to understand—”
“I think you could show up in a full Kyoshi uniform tomorrow and no one except us would remember to comment on it,” Aang says, and Zuko briefly reconsiders his decision not to wear any face paint. “Clothes aren’t going to be what anyone will be focusing on.”
“You are rather central to events,” Mai says, voice dry as she comes back over, hands full of…way more sashes than Zuko hopes he’s going to need. “It’s not like they’re going to not know who you are just because you’re wearing something other than shades of red and gold, Hotman.”
--
Zuko has half a filled vegetable pancake in his mouth as he jots off a quick note for Senna to pass to Sei Zun, trusting his secretary’s experience in interpreting Zuko’s half-legible on-the-go scrawls and opting for speed rather than neatness.
“And make sure you tell him—”
“I remember, My Lord,” Senna bows, kindly ignoring Zuko speaking around his food as he waves the scrap of paper through the air and risks a beat of heat to dry the ink so he can flip it to add one last note. All the work Zuko would normally be doing during the day doesn’t just disappear because he’s hosting and preparing and gathering representatives from all the nations and wrangling last-minute details and needing tomorrow to be perfect and—
“Are you trying to drown yourself in work, Zuzu?” Azula calls, snapping an impatient ring of torches to life around the practice ground to seize his attention. “Because I assure you, the ocean is quite close by, and I would be happy to re-enact our wayward youth if you’re that desperate not to show up tomorrow.”
Zuko glares, pressing his last note into Senna’s hands, regretting that his mouth is too full of food for him to shout back.
“Or maybe you’re trying to choke yourself,” Azula muses as she takes in his predicament, tapping a finger against her chin. “That full of second thoughts, hm?”
“No,” Zuko snaps, hastily swallowing the last of his scrounged-up dinner.
“You’re certainly putting on a good show of it with the way you’re fretting. And please,” she adds, raising a hand before he can defend himself. “Don’t tell me how much there is to do, Zuzu. There is always something to do. I’m sure the schoolhouse down at the tip of Hing Wa Island would love your input on the color of their paint, too.”
Zuko makes a considering noise as he steps onto the practice ground. “What are the options?”
Azula turns toward him, sharp, an insult clearly poised on her tongue before she catches the smile Zuko is trying to bite back. “What you need is a distraction,” she says, eyes narrowing as she flicks an annoyed spark at him for the teasing.
Zuko brushes it away. “I’m pretty sure what I need is help.”
“Oh, you’re finally ready to delegate?” She asks with saccharine sweetness. “At the three-hundred and fiftieth degree? I’m shocked, Zuzu, with the way you’ve been running around, what could there possibly be left?”
“Plenty,” Zuko says feelingly, tugging his to-do list out of his pocket—reclaimed from Sei Zun, and somehow continuing to expand rather than shrink.
She raises an eyebrow. “You really think anyone tomorrow is going to care about—” She glances down, reading his handwriting upside with the ease of long practice. “—the number of flowers in the bouquets flanking the walkways?” She tilts her head, frowning. “Is that another one of your jokes?”
“No! Tradition in the Fire Nation would say multiples of three, but seven is lucky in the Tribes. Except the Earth Kingdom doesn’t like sevens, so I figured we could go with six instead, since the Tribes do like pairs. Except Kyoshi is all about fives and I don’t want to leave them out—"
“Zuzu.”
Zuko clamps his mouth shut.
“No one is going to be counting flowers tomorrow,” Azula says, biting the words out with painfully slow annunciation. “And if they are, you can always blame it on the florist and tell them you’ll banish him.”
“Too soon,” Zuko glowers. “Definitely still too soon.”
“It’s always too soon for you,” Azula huffs, rolling her eyes. “Come on.”
“What?” Zuko blinks, glancing around. They’re already in the training ring, as much as there is one on the beach.
“Let’s go,” Azula repeats, flapping a hand at him.
“I’m not done with my list,” Zuko protests. “Aren’t you going to help?”
“You should be done,” Azula says, exasperated. “It’s already nightfall. Let your secretary deal with—” she glances down at the list again. “—how many spoons to have at each table setting? Really, Zuzu, of all the—burn that right now.”
“It matters! There are going to be a lot of broth-based foods tomorrow, and—”
“No,” Azula cuts in, implacable. “It doesn’t matter to you, Zuzu. Not tonight.”
Zuko considers that a moment, eyeing her warily. “And what does matter then?”
Azula smirks, snapping a jagged little crack of lightning across her fingertips. “Care for some practice?”
“I’m not sure if that kind of bending is what I need to practice for tomorrow,” Zuko says, even as he lets his fire begin to pool in his hands.
“I’m pretty sure this kind of bending will let you burn through whatever it is that’s making you think you need to spend your energy on spoons.”
That’s…not wrong.
“Most of the guests have beach-view rooms,” Zuko cautions, even as he lets his fire finally spark to life. “We don’t need to start any more rumors.”
“Zuzu,” Azula says, smile sharp. “I would never.” A ball of blue flame suddenly engulfs her hand. “That’s what the jungle is for.”
They do manage to make it to the tree line before Azula really cuts free, and Zuko can admit that focusing on his fire and on keeping up with Azula’s always-relentless pace does, in fact, do wonders for clearing his head of all the fiddly details, of anything except for his bending and his body and the landscape around him.
And in that clarity, Zuko actually finds himself grinning, a warm kind of familiarity chasing behind them, the game reminiscent of all those nights on Ember Island all those years ago when he and Azula would slip away from the not-so-watchful eye of their guardian of the day and find their way onto the beach or into the jungle to play.
It’s different now than it was close to two decades ago, of course. There’s less all-out running and hollering and more tightly controlled flipping and lunging, the necessity of reining in her usual lightning and recent flair for visually dramatic bending meaning that Azula just pushes even harder with her punches and kicks and acrobatics, the game just as much about hand-to-hand as anything to do with bending even as fire erupts inches from their faces.
Zuko’s heart is pounding, his adrenaline singing an inner fire dancing and oh, he wishes Sokka were here to see this. He wishes Sokka were here to join this, to be laying clever traps between the trees and offering quick ripostes to Azula’s verbal jabs and tangling just as easily with one sibling as the other as they make their way back to the shoreline.
Though maybe Sokka doesn’t need to be here to see Azula unceremoniously dump Zuko over her hip and into the waves. Even if Zuko is aware, as he comes up sputtering and scowling and clawing wet hair back from his face, that Sokka would very much appreciate the opportunity to laugh over it.
“Good effort, Zuzu,” Azula says, skipping back a beat too late when he gives his head a vigorous shake, water flying off the long strands of his hair to splatter over her. “Ugh, really? Was that necessary?”
Zuko raises his eyebrow—like he can’t see the amusement sitting around her lips—pulling his wet tunic away from himself and letting it slap back down against his chest. “Was this?”
Though the warm water is rather nice after all that running around, his inner fire burning well-used and easy, the rhythm of the waves over his ribs gentle and familiar after so many days of it in the background of his life.
“You don’t seem particularly bothered by it,” Azula rolls her eyes as Zuko leans back, making himself comfortable in the water, nearly missing the moment he flings a sopping boot off his feet in her direction. “What, are you planning to sleep out here?” She huffs, neatly catching the second boot as it flies toward her. “I was joking about there being easier ways to get out of tomorrow than drowning yourself.”
“I’m not going to sleep out here,” Zuko shrugs, though he doesn’t make any move to get up, either.
Azula hums, skeptical. “Are you going to sleep at all?”
Zuko offers a rueful smile. “Probably not.”
She eyes him a moment. “Want to?”
“…I don’t want you to hit me on the head.”
“One time,” Azula huffs. “Years ago. And you made it clear not to do it again.”
Zuko just raises his eyebrow.
“Fine,” she mutters, making a show of straightening her tunic. “I give my word that I’m not suggesting hitting you on the head, or having anyone else do it, or any kind of physical attack on your person to render you unconscious so you will fucking sleep tonight, Zuzu, because you know you won’t otherwise, you’ll just stay up all night fretting over numerology and be a mess tomorrow.”
Zuko would protest if he wasn’t aware of the seven books on numerology currently on his bedside table. And Agni, he does want to be well-rested for tomorrow. He wants to be able to appreciate every bit of what’s been so long coming. “What did you have in mind?”
Zuko barely has the question out before Azula has a silver flask in her hand from somewhere on her person, dangling it in the moonlight a moment before she tosses it over with admiral trust in his depth perception when he’s this tired and it’s this dark.
“What is it?” Zuko asks, catching the flask with one hand and hefting its weight, the surprisingly sparse contents sloshing inside.
“One dose,” she says, tawny eyes careful on his face. “For sleeping.”
Zuko hesitates with the cap halfway off. “It’s not cactus juice, right?”
Azula pauses for far longer than is strictly comfortable before reaching into her tunic and pulling out a worryingly identical flask. “…This is definitely the cactus juice.”
“Azula.”
“Don’t worry, Zuzu,” she says, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Like I’d waste that on you before tomorrow.”
“Azula.”
“And really,” she adds with mock thoughtfulness, “Like I’d waste it on just you.”
Zuko rolls his eyes, making a mental note to ask Sei Zun to have an extra set of eyes posted over the beverages tomorrow before bracing himself and slugging back the contents of the flask, pleasantly surprised to find it basil minty and a little bit sweet and all-around shockingly inoffensive compared to Zuko’s prior experience with sleeping draughts. “Are you sure this is actually—” Zuko nearly drops the flask as it suddenly hits him. “Whoa.”
“I’m sure,” Azula smirks, openly amused now, her boots already neatly toed off as she steps lightly through the water to ease the flask from his grip and put a bracing hand behind his back.
“I need to wake up tomorrow,” Zuko glowers, already feeling himself going fuzzy at the edges. Fuck, but he’s going to need to remember to talk to her about why she’s walking around with a sleeping tincture this strong in her training clothes.
“It’ll wear off before then,” Azula says with all the bravado of her youth, grunting a little as she heaves him upright and braces his weight as he immediately lists sideways.
Zuko reaches for some reply as she guides them out of the water and finds only gentle darkness creeping in from the edges of his mind. He distantly registers her calling for…a guard, it sounds like, or one of her household to come help her carry him to bed, or—oh, that sounded like ‘one of those Kyoshi dolls that’s always around,’ except Suki doesn’t work for him anymore, and Zuko can definitely find the dexterity to articulate that if he really focuses and concentrates. Definitely.
“Sleep,” Azula says as she sets him onto dry sand, openly exasperated when she notices his eyes still open. “Agni’s breath, always so stubborn.”
Then she’s easing him down and brushing the damp hair from his face, the last thing he registers before he slides down into soft unconsciousness is the sound of familiar approaching voices and Azula smirking down at him, smile sharp. “Sweet dreams, Zuzu. We’ve got it.”
--
Zuko wakes before the dawn—easily, without any lingering fogginess. And in bed, his clothes from the night before singed around nearly all the seams and edges in a way that says Azula attempted to dry them.
He feels alert and focused from the first flaring of the hearth fire to life against his ambient fire sense and the murmured “My Lord” that Senna offers, her face neutral as always but her tone full of smiles, restrained excitement in her hands as she lays out a simple breakfast and flits around Zuko’s outfit, hovering and straightening and neatening before finally forming the Eternal Flame over her heart and bowing her way out.
Zuko gets dressed in all his layers and jewelry and finery without issue, the intricate knot on his sash coming easy after spending so much time on it with Mai yesterday. He looks at himself in the mirror, brightening the fires around the room so he can take himself in closer to how he will look in the dawn light. The firelight reflects off the high polish on his boots and gleams off his stylized headpiece, settling warmly on every part in between, and his inner fire gives a happy, eager flutter. Perfect.
Uncle is already waiting in the sitting area when Zuko exits the bedroom, done up in his own finery and looking contemplatively out over the water. But he turns immediately at the sound of the door, his face creasing into a smile as he catches sight of Zuko.
“Nephew,” Uncle says, voice hoarse with what could be the early hour. “Let me have a look at you, hm?”
Zuko obediently pauses, holding his arms out a little, and he smiles, bemused, when Uncle hurries forward instead of standing back to look, Uncle’s hands broad and gentle and careful not to muss as he takes Zuko by the shoulders.
“Wonderful,” Uncle breathes, yellow eyes gleaming wet as he smiles into Zuko’s face. “Just wonderful. Well done. Well done, Nephew,” Uncle says, barely even looking at Zuko’s clothes. “I am so proud of you. Every day, but today especially.”
“Of me getting dressed?” Zuko asks, a little bit wobbly, aiming for levity and feeling his own eyes start to sting a little. Shit.
“Of everything. Of everything you have done to bring yourself here,” Uncle says, serious and heartfelt. “I might have dreamed and hoped of something like this for you one day, but I am sure you are experiencing yourself that imagining is not the same as living. And I cannot describe the pride it fills me with, to be standing here with you today.”
Zuko clears his suddenly clogged throat, battling to get out a ‘thanks’ and taking deep, even breaths as he stares out the window, tugging up a thread of his inner flame to try to center himself. Then Sei Zun is popping their head through the door to remind them of the time, and Uncle is digging out a handkerchief that is definitely a napkin from the Jasmine Dragon, and Zuko is being gently ushered into the hall, and almost before he realizes it, they’re stepping out onto the sand together.
They make their way to the pavilion where Zuko’s people are gathering, passing through a sleepy parade of “Fire Lord”s from the arriving guests as Zuko goes by, Zuko barely remembering to tilt his head in distracted acknowledgment, eagerness—definitely eagerness, not nerves, no matter how his inner fire is beginning to flicker—beginning to lend extra length to his stride.
Zuko hasn’t seen the pavilion yet—another Water Tribe tradition—and he can’t help a snort of laughter as he gets close enough to finally take it in: sturdy wood that bears Toph’s distinctive artistic hand—which means Sokka must have gotten her to create a model to work off of—with latticed sides that will let in the sun while still providing privacy, all decorated with cheerful carvings of smiling suns that bear Sokka’s distinctively less-artistic style and linework flames picked out with a meticulousness that could only be done by Katara.
And somehow the whole pavilion has an overall shape that gives the impression of a hot air balloon.
It's ridiculous and shouldn’t work together at all, but somehow it does, and oh, Zuko wishes he could see Sokka’s face when Sokka realizes that the inside of the pavilion Zuko worked on with Uncle and Ty Lee and Mai and Suki has one of Sokka’s inventions etched onto every panel, with the hot air balloon centered above the doorway.
“It looks good from the inside too, Sifu Hotman,” Aang says, the layers of woven necklaces across his chest bouncing in time with his eagerness as he pokes his head out to beckon Zuko inside. “And it’ll still be here when we’re done.”
“It definitely isn’t coming down,” Ty Lee confirms, giving the wood a solid thunk to demonstrate, as if anything Sokka built would be anything less than enduring.
“Ours still looks better,” Mai sniffs as she comes up to tweak Zuko’s already perfect sash to lie in exactly the same place, giving him a careful once-over before pressing a folded paper into his hands. “From Azula.”
“What’s this?” Zuko asks, shooting her a questioning look, but she’s already turning to get Aang’s opinion on her makeup, so Zuko shrugs and unfolds the tight origami to see his sister’s small, sharp characters: Don’t worry, Zuzu, I promise I won’t put cactus juice in all the soups. Just some of them.
“Mai,” Zuko says, inner fire flaring, already having flashbacks of when Azula and Sokka disappeared with Toph as their minder for four fucking days. It was years ago and the memory is still just as fresh and sharp as when it happened, and Agni’s leaking tits, they do not have time for that in any capacity.
But before Zuko can find words, before his alarm can really take root, Ty Lee is darting over and immediately pressing another piece of paper into his hands, muttering a quick apology and something about still working on her sense of humor.
Zuzu, this one says when Zuko fumbles it open, I wish you all the happiness you have ever deserved and more. –Lala
“Oh,” Zuko dumbly, staring at the words. Unciphered and plain and no other way to read them, his throat suddenly thick again. “Oh.”
“Oh no, none of that,” Mai says, her head whipping around and eyes narrowing on his face, clear alarm in her tone. “You’ll mess yourself up, and we don’t have time for that, so you aren’t going to do it,” she orders, voice brisk.
“I’m not wearing any makeup,” Zuko points out, voice dangerously wet, carefully smoothing Azula’s note against his palm.
“Well, you always look like a drowned blotchy viper rat when you cry,” Ty Lee points out, “So there’s no need for any makeup to ruin."
Zuko glares, his rush of emotion running up against sharp annoyance, and she just gives him a bright grin, daring him to disagree.
“Really,” Mai huffs, folding her arms “After all the agony you put into your outfit and your hair and your nails—”
Zuko glances down, alarmed. He just got a basic manicure at the start of the week. Shit, should he have done something more?
“—You’d think you wouldn’t want to risk ruining it all at the last possible second when nothing about it could be fixed,” Ty Lee finished.
“Thank you for your support,” Zuko grits out, effectively knocked back from the verge of sentimental tears under their combined teasing even if his inner fire isn’t nearly as sharp with annoyance—more looping with giddiness—as he’d like it to be to back up the words.
Ty Lee’s expression softens, her smile turning genuine and maybe on the verge of sappiness herself. “Always, Zuzu.”
Any nerves Zuko might have been feeling are well and truly gone after that—fuck, Azula knows him too well—and there’s no time for them to come back, because Zuko feels like he barely has time to exhale and tuck Azula’s notes into his robes before Aang is beckoning Zuko furiously forward and the soft, clear chime that’s his signal is ringing out, and then Zuko’s walking out into the first light of dawn, pacing across the sand toward the alter where Suki is already waiting to officiate.
Zuko is vaguely aware of the guests already seated, of murmuring as he comes into sight, of Uncle behind him along with Mai and Ty Lee and Aang, of Katara and Hakoda and Bato similarly arrayed at Sokka’s back. But for all the thousands of details that have been crowding his brain for days—weeks, months—Zuko finds that in this moment? He doesn’t have attention for anything except the sight of Sokka pacing toward him from his own pavilion.
Sokka looks—well. Sokka always looks—but today he—in the early-dawn light, Sokka—
Agni’s balls, Zuko better regain his ability to form a coherent thought by the time he actually needs to speak.
It’s just that Sokka, who looks some kind of stunning even when he’s all bedhead and crusty eyes and refusing-to-admit-he-definitely-drools, and who quite literally turns heads when he decides to put even a hint of effort into his appearance—
Well. Sokka put in more than a hint of effort, today.
His colors are Southern Water Tribe, but the clothes are distinctly Fire Nation in cut and fabric. Sokka’s hair is pulled back into a wolf tail, braided for love and family and friendship and dotted with beads in red and gold and a single strand of jet black to mirror the onyx beads in Zuko’s hair that are the only color Sokka ever gives him. His matte black betrothal necklace gleams in the hollow of his throat, and Zuko feels his lips curving into a goofy smile to see leather bracelets on Sokka’s forearms nearly identical to Zuko’s own.
Zuko can only hope that his own outfit did even half as well at blending Southern Water Tribe and Fire Nation together, because what Sokka has on is…perfect. And Agni, Sokka is looking at him like Zuko might have managed to come close. Fuck, Sokka is looking at him like he’s everything there could ever be to look at, and Zuko can feel himself looking back in the exact same way.
Their steps are synchronized just like they practiced as they move toward the alter, both of them hurrying up and rushing like they didn’t practice when the walk starts to feel too long—Agni, why did they set the pavilions so far apart? Why did they agree to the traditional procession at all?
Zuko hears muffled snickers behind him and catches Suki indulgently rolling her eyes, distantly registering the amusement from the audience, but he’s mostly focused on Sokka's grin. It’s wide and bright and only a little bit self-deprecating, and Zuko can feel his own cheek staining pink, but any self-consciousness isn’t enough for either of them to slow down, not when they’re finally close enough for Zuko to reach out and grab Sokka’s outstretched hand, Zuko’s inner fire leaping in welcome as Sokka’s cool fingers interlace with his own after too many days apart.
“Sokka,” Zuko breaths out, grinning down at him and laughing a little for no clear reason other than the delighted flip of his inner flame in his chest. He can feel himself getting more than a little enamored by the thin line of gold paint highlighting the deep blue of Sokka’s eyes, just visible in the dawn light, and oh, Zuko could look at Sokka like this forever.
“Zuko,” Sokka smiles back, saying Zuko’s name like he always does. Like it’s a gift, a prayer, a precious thing. Like there’s no sweeter word in the world and Agni, it lights Zuko up every time to hear Sokka say it like no one else does.
Suki clears her throat, giving them both a pointed look when she captures a fraction of their attention, amusement tucked in the corner of her lips as she says, dry, “You were supposed to wait for my signal for that part.”
Except Zuko finds that he can’t be bothered to care that they just skipped eight steps of the formal ceremony that they both agreed to in consultation with more advisers than Zuko cared to count, not when Sokka’s grinning at him like this and twining their hands together even closer. So Zuko just shrugs, unbothered, and squeezes back as they finally turn to face Suki.
“I’m allowed to touch my husband,” Sokka says, sounding practically giddy to be saying it.
Suki’s voice is even dryer. “You’re supposed to wait for my signal for that, too.”
Agni is rising clear and strong, the dawn blessing the day and all that it contains, and things are already happening out of order, and Zuko feels nothing but clear, crystalline happiness in the face of that imperfection. All Zuko’s fretting and worries and stress over spoons and flowers and who might take offense to what falls away as he drinks in Sokka’s smile and feels himself grinning back, Suki finally pitching her voice to carry and starting the ceremony—at the beginning, as if Sokka and Zuko aren’t already happily rushing to the end.
“Friends, family, and beloved—We are gathered here under Agni’s dawn to witness the union of Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. Son of Chief Hakoda, Brother to Master Katara, Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe, Wolf of the South, Blade of Winter—” Suki’s lips quirk, usually a dangerous thing. “—holder of at least two degrees that should be three if you get a drink in him and bring up the subject, inventor of the life-changing boomer-dao—” Zuko snorts a surprised laugh. “—recently published poet under a pen name he refuses to admit to, and innovator in the field of interpretive portraiture.”
“Hey,” Sokka says without heat. “You told me you thought it looked great.”
“Interesting,” Katara murmurs from her place off to Suki’s side, her face twitching with restrained laughter. “The word was ‘interesting.’”
“—We are gathered here to witness the union of this man of many talents to Zuko of the Fire Nation. Nephew of Iroh, Brother of Master Azula—” Suki’s eyes flash up, bright with mischief. “—and amateur jewelry maker.”
Suki makes a production of turning to the next page of her speech, taking a sip of water, apparently done with titles, and Sokka bursts into laughter, Suki waiting for his giggles to die down—and for Zuko to roll his eyes—before actually continuing.
“Fire Lord and Keeper of the Eternal Flame, Protector of the Peace, Agni’s Will Upon the Earth—” Mai is already flicking open a fan to conceal her amusement, not that Zuko needs the warning at this point. “—Sifu Hotman, Beloved Zuzu, he of the strongest legs, the guardian of the turtle duck pond, most passionate theater critic in all the nations, and the Jasmine Dragon’s third-best employee for seven years running.”
“There are only two employees,” Uncle observes serenely as Sokka breaks into another fit of giggles, infectious and dragging Zuko down with him this time, and it’s not at all what they practiced, not in any way, shape, or form and it’s absolutely exactly how it should be. Shared laughter and bright happiness and Sokka’s hand in his as Suki finally gets the ceremony underway.
“You’re second-best employee in my heart,” Sokka murmurs, nearly sending himself into another fit of laughter again, and Agni, Zuko wants nothing more than to press his lips to that smile and swallow down Sokka’s laughter. And in that moment, Zuko doesn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t, so he does, feeling Sokka’s breath hitch in surprise before Sokka sways into him, Sokka’s hand coming up to cradle Zuko’s jaw, the curve of his lips sweet and familiar, both of them more pressing their smiles together and muffling laughter against each other’s lips than managing a true kiss.
“Why am I even here,” Suki huffs, Azula’s voice coming unexpectedly from the audience as she answers, “For the jokes,” and Sokka’s chest is shaking with silent laughter as he pulls back to grin into Zuko’s eyes, pressed forehead to forehead like he wants to put distance between them as little as Zuko does.
“Are you ready now?” Suki asks, brandishing the ornate folio that contains the ceremony. “For real?”
“You started it,” Sokka murmurs, finally stepping back into an approximation of where he’s supposed to be standing.
“We’re ready,” Zuko says without taking his gaze away from Sokka’s eyes. For all the titles he already has, all the things people already call him, for how much he loves the way Sokka says his name, Zuko doesn’t want to wait a single second longer to add ‘husband’ to the list. “For real.”