Chapter Text
The Fire Nation had fallen months ago.
In the aftermath, leadership had shifted into uneasy hands. Zuko’s uncle, Iroh, had stepped in as interim Fire Lord, stabilizing what remained of the nation while refusing to let it fracture completely in the wake of the war. It was a temporary arrangement, meant only to hold things together until Zuko was older, steadier, and...ideally...less likely to start international incidents.
It had been Iroh himself who proposed the compromise.
After long discussions with the Avatar and his companions, he had decided that Zuko would travel with the Gaang. Not as a prisoner or as an exile, but as part of their efforts to help people, rebuild trust between nations and to give him a chance at something resembling a reputation that wasn’t defined by war, anger and old mistakes.
Zuko still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.
The future Fire Lord, now, inconveniently, part of the Avatar’s traveling group, sat stiffly by the campfire, scowling into the flames.
Around him, the rest of the Gaang debated their next move, voices carrying over the crackling fire.
“This place is a disaster waiting to happen,” Katara said, folding her arms. “The storage rooms are packed with lamp oil and blasting jelly, stacked in sealed barrels, but not exactly handled carefully. If any fire gets near…” She made a small explosion gesture with her hands. “Boom. Mission over before it even starts.”
Zuko blinked, unconsciously straightening his posture. “I am perfectly aware of the dangers of fire in enclosed spaces,” he said. His tone suggested that anyone doubting him was committing a capital offense.
Aang nodded. “Yeah, but we need you to actually not use firebending,” he said carefully. “Even sparks could set off...well, you know…”
Toph rolled her eyes. “Even you, Sparky, can’t just flex and make fire magically not burn anything.”
Zuko’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need to use fire,” he said. “I’ve trained in close combat before. I know what I’m doing.”
Sokka stepped forward, unimpressed. “Great. Then you won’t mind proving it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Because you’re going into a cramped storage facility packed with flammable chemicals. Fire’s not an option. If a guard gets close, you either handle it quietly, or you don’t handle it at all.”
“I am fully capable,” Zuko said. “I’ve faced armies, I’ve-”
“Nearly burned down half the village last week just by sneezing near the firewood,” Toph cut in, smirking. “Not exactly stealth material.”
Zuko’s face darkened, but he ignored it. “I will not lose control,” he said sharply. “I know what’s at stake.”
Aang tilted his head. “We’re not saying you will,” he said gently. “But… just in case, it’s better to be prepared. Training without fire is smart.”
Katara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You do understand this isn’t optional, right?” she said, her tone calm but leaving no room for argument.
Zuko waved a hand dismissively. “I am fully aware. This is merely...superfluous practice.”
Sokka leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Superfluous or not, someone has to teach you. And that someone is me. You’re going to learn how to survive without bending, whether you like it or not.”
Zuko’s expression tightened. Sure, he was aware that it had been some time since he had seriously practiced close-quarters combat, as he had simply chosen not to focus on it when firebending had always been faster, cleaner and much more decisive. But that did not change the fact that he had survived battles, war zones and trained soldiers.
Sokka, on the other hand, was just...
“I highly doubt anyone can teach me anything about combat,” he said flatly.
Sokka let out a short breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said lightly, stepping forward. “That’s usually what people say right before they get thrown into the dirt.”
The room went silent for a beat, the tension hanging sharp and unresolved between them.
Then Toph laughed.
“Ohhh, this is going to be good.”
Zuko glared at her, but it had little effect, given she couldn’t see it, but Toph still tilted her head slightly as if she felt the weight of it anyway, and grinned wider.
Aang raised a hand, smiling nervously as he tried to ease the tension. “Maybe start with a little sparring?” he suggested. “Sokka can show you some moves, and you can just… see how it goes?”
Zuko’s chest puffed slightly as he straightened. “Fine,” he said, voice edged with irritation. “If beating up a non-bender will make you all happy, why not?”
Sokka smirked. “Perfect. Then let’s find a clearing outside the camp. You’ll need the space.” He turned on his heel like it was already decided, gesturing for Zuko to follow along.
***
They walked over to a small clearing not far from their camp, just beyond the treeline. The ground there was mostly flat, worn down by wind and frequent use, with patches of dry grass and scattered stones breaking up the open space. It was far enough from the fire that no stray sparks would be a problem, but close enough that they could still see the faint glow of the camp through the trees.
“You do realise I’m a trained warrior, Sokka,” Zuko said as they came to a stop and turned to face each other. His arms folded loosely, posture straightening as if that alone reinforced his point. “I’ve been in real battles. I know how to handle myself. I don’t see how this is meant to improve anything I can already do.”
Sokka raised an eyebrow, his smirk sharpening just a little as he shifted his stance casually. “Sure,” he said. “But then you used fire. And yeah, I get it, you’ve trained, you’ve fought, all that.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he hit the point cleanly. “But when was the last time you actually did close combat without your fire? Properly. No bending, no backup plan...just you?”
Zuko’s expression tightened at that, the words landing a little too precisely for comfort. For a brief moment, his confidence faltered, but he recovered quickly, lifting his chin as if that alone could restore control.
“That is irrelevant,” he said evenly. “The principles do not change. Combat is combat.”
Sokka let out a short breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head slightly. “Yeah,” he said, tone calm but pointed. “That’s not how this works.”
He stepped a little closer, not quite crowding him, but enough that Zuko had to stay aware of him. “You can know every principle in the world, but different nations fight differently. Fire Nation close combat is all strikes and momentum, clean lines and distance control. Earth Kingdom fighters? They’ll outroot you, make you deal with pressure you can’t just push through. Water Tribe style is all grappling, balance breaks and using your opponent’s weight against them.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as his tone shifted, quieter but more pointed. “And you? If you’re not used to someone actually grabbing you, pulling you off balance and getting in your space…” His gaze flicked over Zuko briefly. “You’re going to hesitate.”
Zuko’s brows furrowed, a sharp edge of pride cutting through his restraint as he looked at Sokka. “That does not mean I am unprepared,” he said, voice steady but firm. “I understand adaptation. I understand pressure. I have fought in worse conditions than this.”
He was going to show him exactly how easy this would be, He thought. Sokka could talk about styles and nations all he wanted, but it wouldn’t matter once Zuko actually moved.
Zuko lunged forward, pivoting into what would have been, under normal circumstances, a devastating strike.
Under normal circumstances… it would have landed cleanly.
“Too open,” Sokka said lazily, like he was commenting on the weather, before he, with infuriating ease, caught Zuko’s wrist mid-strike and redirected the momentum just enough to throw Zuko slightly off balance.
Zuko froze for half a second, genuinely thrown by how quickly Sokka had read and caught the strike, and that hesitation became his first mistake as he instinctively tried to yank his wrist free.
Sokka stepped in instead of back, and with a quick, efficient motion, Zuko felt his balance vanish as his arm was turned just enough to break his stance. The next thing he knew, the ground rushed up to meet him, and he hit it hard, the air knocked cleanly from his lungs.
“You do know that I’m trained in combat too, right?” Sokka said lightly, glancing down at him with infuriating calm.
There was a beat of silence as the words settled, echoing in Zuko’s ears. Zuko stared up at the sky, blinking slowly as if the impact of being thrown hadn’t quite fully registered yet.
Sokka rocked back on his heels, watching him for a moment before shrugging slightly. “What?” he said, tone light. “You thought I was just the guy who yells at people and makes plans?”
Zuko pushed himself up onto one elbow, his expression tightening as he finally refocused on Sokka. “No,” he said flatly, though the edge in his voice suggested otherwise. “I thought you were predictable.”
Sokka let out a short laugh at that, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s kind of your problem right now.”
Zuko narrowed his eyes at Sokka, irritation sharp despite still being half-dusted with dirt. “You got lucky,” he said coldly, brushing at his sleeve as if the outcome itself was a personal insult. “Do not mistake that for skill.”
“…Again,” Sokka said, like this was completely reasonable.
Zuko pushed himself up further, getting back on his feet again. “However, you can’t just… grab me like that,” his voice was calmer now, though the irritation was still clearly there.
“I can,” Sokka said, his hands settling on his hips as if he were explaining something painfully obvious to a child who had missed the point entirely. “I just did.”
“That’s not-” Zuko stopped mid-sentence, visibly recalibrating as he forced himself to steady his tone. “That’s not proper combat.”
“It is when you can’t use fire,” Sokka replied, already circling him again. “Which, reminder, is the entire point of this mission.” He tilted his head slightly, watching Zuko like he was assessing stance and reaction at the same time. “And before you argue, it is a proper combat style. As I’ve already said, Southern Water Tribe close-quarters fighting is built around grapples, throws and using momentum against your opponent. You just don’t like it because you can’t burn your way out of it.”
Zuko bristled, the restraint he had just managed snapping at the edges again. “I don’t need-”
Sokka grabbed his wrist again, fast and precise, cutting straight through Zuko’s momentum.
Zuko didn’t even get the rest of the words out before his balance shifted and the argument died on his tongue.
But this time he twisted immediately, trying to counter, and for a brief, electric moment he almost had it. His footing adjusted, his grip tightened, his weight shifted exactly the way it was supposed to, he was sure he had it, sure he could reverse it, sure Sokka had finally miscalculated...
But then Sokka’s hand slid from his wrist to his forearm, grip tightening just enough to control the motion instead of stopping it outright, and Zuko’s thoughts did something deeply unhelpful and entirely unrelated to combat.
Why is his grip like that? Zuko thought for a second. It was too steady and sure, strong in a way that didn’t rely on bending or heat or anything Zuko could counter with force alone. Just grip and leverage and the uncomfortable fact that Sokka clearly knew exactly how much pressure to apply without overcommitting.
Zuko’s focus flickered for half a heartbeat before he got shoved back, not too harshly, but just enough to break his balance and force him to stumble a step. It wasn’t a strike or a throw, nothing dramatic enough to blame on brute strength alone, just perfectly timed pressure against his movement, like Sokka had been waiting for that exact opening.
Zuko stumbled back and ended up dropping into a seated position again, catching himself too late to recover cleanly. He sat there for a beat, breath slightly uneven, before lifting his gaze.
Sokka was standing over him, and he was… smiling.
“Better,” Sokka said, tilting his head slightly as if assessing the result. “You lasted like, half a second longer.”
Zuko’s eye twitched.
“I am not a practice dummy,” he said flatly, each word clipped.
“Good,” Sokka said cheerfully. “Because you’re way more stubborn than one.”
Zuko surged to his feet again, irritation finally breaking through the controlled surface of his expression. This time there was no warning, no setup, no restraint, just a sharp, angry burst of motion as he attacked. Fast, direct and clearly intended to shut the whole conversation down before Sokka could say another word.
Sokka didn’t even look surprised. He barely shifted his stance, as if Zuko rushing him like that was exactly within the range of outcomes he had already accounted for.
They collided, closer this time, and for one brief, terrible moment Zuko thought he actually had the advantage. His momentum carried through, his strike aligning cleanly, everything snapping into place the way it should have.
And then Sokka shifted slightly, his weight dropped, his stance changed, and his leg hooked cleanly behind Zuko’s before Zuko could correct for it. The leverage vanished instantly, like the ground itself had been taken away, and everything flipped.
Zuko hit the ground on his back again, but this time the fall didn’t break the contact between them. His grip didn’t loosen, instead, his hands had clamped onto Sokka’s tunic, instinctively holding on as if letting go would mean losing the entire exchange.
Sokka followed him down with controlled balance, landing in a stable position above him rather than off to the side, close enough that the advantage was maintained.
He was pinned to the ground, and through his first instinctive attempt to free himself, Zuko realised he was actually pinned properly, with very little room to manoeuvre. Every shift he tried was checked immediately, his movement controlled before it could build into anything useful.
The man on top of him was strong. Stronger than Zuko had expected when this training match had started. Not in a brute, overwhelming way, but in a steady, practiced kind of strength, balanced, efficient and completely in control of the space between them.
Zuko felt his body go very still, the instinct to struggle fading as his mind caught up to the reality of the position he was in.
Sokka’s hand was braced near his shoulder, the other keeping his arm in place. It didn't feel painful or anything, but it held him there with a quiet, infuriating ease, like Zuko’s strength simply wasn’t the deciding factor in whether he could move or not.
“Okay,” Sokka said, a little more focused now, as if the fact that Zuko was pinned beneath him had fully transitioned into something instructional. “If someone gets you like this, you don’t panic. You shift your hips-”
Zuko did not move.
“…Zuko?” Sokka said, his tone shifting slightly as he paused mid-explanation, finally noticing the stillness beneath him.
Zuko was staring at him, his mind entirely elsewhere, as if the fight had stopped being the point of the moment. He wasn’t angry anymore, and he wasn’t panicking either, just stuck, uncharacteristically still, looking up into Sokka’s way too blue eyes.
Sokka frowned slightly, his focus breaking from instruction into concern. “You good?”
This was unacceptable.
This was deeply unacceptable.
Zuko was a firebending master, a prince, a trained combatant who had survived wars and duels and everything in between.
And yet he was currently pinned to the ground by a Water Tribe warrior who was explaining combat technique in a completely normal, practical tone while being this close...close enough that Zuko could feel the steady pressure of his grip, see the focus in his expression, and very much not ignore the fact that Sokka seemed entirely unaware of how this looked from literally any other perspective.
“…You’re not even trying to get out,” Sokka said, his frown deepening slightly as he studied Zuko’s stillness, his grip easing just a fraction like he was reassessing whether this was training failure or something else entirely.
Zuko swallowed sharply, the motion more noticeable than he would have liked, his throat suddenly dry as he forced his attention back into something resembling composure.
“I am,” he said, but he knew it was a lie. His whole body remained completely still, not a single muscle responding the way it should have been if he were actually trying to escape.
Sokka tilted his head, studying him for a second longer than necessary, his grip still steady but no longer actively adjusting.
“…Huh,” he said, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that wasn’t behaving the way it was supposed to.
Zuko’s brain helpfully supplied, completely uninvited: he can definitely feel your heartbeat.
Zuko immediately tried to buck him off, the sudden movement sharp and instinctive as whatever control he had been clinging to finally cracked under the pressure of his own thoughts.
It did not work.
Sokka barely shifted with it, adjusting his weight with annoyingly ease as if Zuko’s attempt had been expected, accounted for and dismissed all at once.
“Okay, yeah, don’t do that,” Sokka said. “That just makes it easier.”
Zuko stopped moving again, and there was a long pause.
Sokka didn’t let go of him, but he wasn’t mocking him either or plastering on that ridiculous smirk he so often liked wearing.
Instead, he just stayed there, steady and grounded, like a constant pressure waiting for Zuko to either act or reset.
Zuko’s internal crisis escalated to new levels at this point, his thoughts turning unhelpfully loud and disorganized as he tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on literally anything other than the fact that Sokka was still there, still close, still holding him down like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Why wasn’t he letting go, why wasn’t he making fun of him like usual, and why did that somehow make this so much worse?
“…You gonna try again?” Sokka asked, his tone even, not teasing or pressing, just waiting to see what Zuko would do next like it was still a training exercise and not whatever it had quietly become in Zuko’s head.
Zuko stared at him for one more long, terrible second, completely still, as if any movement at all might confirm something he was not prepared to deal with.
“…Yes,” he said eventually, the word coming out a little quieter than he intended.
He absolutely was not ready, but he couldn’t keep staying in this position. Something about it made him far too aware of Sokka’s body heat pressing down on him, the steady, grounded weight of him pinning Zuko in place without strain, and the unsettling fact that his own body seemed to be reacting to it with entirely unhelpful speed.
Perhaps he was starting to panic, Zuko thought for a second as he flailed, his movements losing some of their precision as instinct briefly overtook strategy. Sokka’s grip loosened slightly in response, not letting go entirely but adjusting rather than resisting, and that small shift was just enough space for Zuko to twist his shoulders and turn around with a heavy struggle.
It wasn’t any better though, he realised a little too late, as he was now face first into the grass, the scent of earth and crushed blades filling his senses, with Sokka still on top of him, steady and unmoved, maintaining control of the position like Zuko’s attempt to escape had simply been redirected rather than stopped.
He wanted to press his palms into the grass and push himself off the ground, to shake Sokka off with raw strength if nothing else, but when he tried, nothing came of it. His arms strained, his shoulders engaged, and still he only managed the faintest lift before settling back down again as if the effort had simply been absorbed.
For a brief, absurd moment, his mind supplied the unhelpful possibility that Sokka had somehow learned a kind of “heaviness” technique. There was no reason he should not be able to push himself up, even with someone of Sokka’s size on top of him, yet it just didn’t happen.
“Well… okay, I guess you’re doing something…” Sokka said slowly, sounding more thoughtful than impressed, as if he was trying to diagnose exactly where Zuko’s movement was breaking down rather than react to it.
Zuko felt something in him finally give up at the tone above him, that calm, mildly disappointed assessment landing harder than any throw had. With a short, defeated exhale, he let his strength drop out entirely and faceplanted back into the grass.
“You’re just freakishly heavy!” Zuko yelled into the grass with the little strength he had left, the words muffled and frustrated, before forcing himself to stop struggling entirely and focus instead on his breathing, as if that alone could restore some sense of control.
He was tired. Properly, annoyingly tired, and it had only been minutes since they started. His muscles already felt worked, his breathing uneven, not from exhaustion alone but from the constant effort of trying to adapt to something that refused to behave like any fight he was used to.
“You do realise that you’re most likely to meet opponents way heavier than me, right?” Sokka said above him, tone matter-of-fact, like this was the most obvious conclusion in the world rather than something he was just now pointing out.
Zuko just grumbled into the grass, the sound low and frustrated, as he could almost taste the dirt beneath him, the reality of his situation settling in with every breath.
“I’m just saying…” Sokka sighed, like he was already mentally filing this under expected outcomes, before continuing, “being turned around like this is only going to worsen your chances of winning. This is good though, now you know how you’ll react, and we can work on correcting it.”
Zuko groaned into the dirt, the sound more exhausted than angry now, the fight finally bleeding out of his voice.
“I hate this training.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that,” Sokka said, his tone dry but with a hint of amusement. There was a subtle shift of weight above him, and then one of Sokka’s hands settled between Zuko’s shoulder blades, firm enough to guide but not pin harder than necessary.
“Alright, listen,” he continued, like they were still firmly in lesson mode. “Stop trying to push straight up. You’re just fighting my weight like that.”
“I am fighting your weight,” Zuko snapped, his voice muffled by the grass, irritation bleeding back into him despite how thoroughly he was currently being held in place.
“No, you’re losing to it,” Sokka corrected easily, as if he were pointing out a simple fact rather than poking at Zuko’s pride. “There’s a difference.”
Zuko made a noise that could not be classified as language. It was some sort of frustrated, indignant sound that got lost halfway between a groan and a protest, muffled further by the grass and the fact that he was still very much pinned in place.
“Here,” Sokka continued, entirely unbothered, like Zuko wasn’t one second away from combusting purely out of spite. “Tuck your arm in-no, your other arm-”
His hand shifted again, lightly adjusting Zuko’s position with precise, practiced ease, guiding the movement rather than forcing it, as if Zuko were just another part of the mechanics he was trying to fix.
A hand closed around Zuko’s wrist again, steady and sure, and before he could properly register it, Sokka had already started guiding his arm into position like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Zuko’s entire body went rigid, every muscle locking at once as the contact registered properly this time, his focus snapping back into sharp, startled awareness beneath Sokka’s steady grip.
This was becoming a problem.
Not the training itself, Zuko could handle training. Pain, failure, correction, repetition...those were familiar, manageable things. What was becoming a problem was the fact that his body was no longer responding to any of it in a straightforward way.
Because Sokka was still there, still holding him, still adjusting his arm with calm precision like this was just another step in a lesson. And Zuko, despite every instinct telling him to focus, to push, to win, was suddenly far too aware of every point of contact between them.
“Relax,” Sokka said, completely oblivious, as if Zuko’s entire internal situation was not currently on the verge of collapse. He shifted Zuko’s arm inward again, guiding it with steady pressure that made the adjustment feel annoyingly effortless. “If you leave it out like that, it’s basically an invitation.”
Zuko stared very hard at the ground, as if sheer willpower could make the situation make sense again.
An invitation to what?
“Now,” Sokka went on, still firmly in teaching mode, “shift your hips to the side...no, not like-hang on-”
And then… Sokka adjusted him. Not his arm this time, but his hips, shifting him with infuriating precision and calm, like Zuko’s body was just another problem to align properly rather than a person currently having a very real and very loud internal crisis.
Zuko’s brain stopped working, like every coherent thought had simply decided this was no longer its problem and left all at once.
There was a brief, horrifying moment where Zuko became too aware of everything at once, the weight of Sokka over him, the heat of his body so close, and the way his grip tightened just slightly to keep him in place, steady and certain without being harsh.
And then Sokka said, “Yeah, like that,” in a tone that was far too approving, and Zuko immediately lost all progress he had made.
He collapsed back into the ground.
“Nope,” he said flatly, his voice completely drained of argument or pride. “I’m done.”
“What? No, you had it!” Sokka said, sounding genuinely offended, like Zuko had just abandoned an important scientific breakthrough. “You were this close.”
“I refuse.”
“That’s not how training works,” Sokka said immediately, as if this were the most unacceptable development of the entire session, his tone shifting back into firm instructor mode despite everything that had just happened.
“It is now,” Zuko said, still completely unmoving, as if declaring it so might retroactively make it true and end the entire conversation.
Sokka huffed out a laugh, and Zuko felt it before he even properly registered it, the small shift of Sokka’s weight and movement above him making everything entirely too real again in a way that was somehow worse than the training itself.
“You’re impossible,” Sokka said, though there was no real frustration in it, more like resigned amusement as he stayed where he was, still hovering in that too-close space above Zuko.
“And yet,” Zuko muttered into the grass, voice low and slightly muffled, “you’re still straddling me.”
There was a pause.
Zuko froze, suddenly very aware of what he had just said.
That had...
That had not sounded...
He shut his eyes.
Sokka, to his credit, did not react to it immediately or acknowledge it in any way.
“…You know,” he said slowly, as if continuing a conversation that had never deviated in the first place, “most people would be trying harder to get out of this.”
Zuko opened one eye, glaring sideways as much as his position allowed, though the tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction when Sokka didn’t comment on what he had said earlier. Whether he hadn’t noticed or had the grace not to acknowledge it, Zuko didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to question it. “Most people aren’t dealing with you.”
“Wow,” Sokka said, drawing the word out in mock offense, though his tone stayed light. “Rude. I’m a great training partner.”
“You are an aggressive training partner,” Zuko said flatly.
“Effective,” Sokka corrected, like there was no debate to be had about it, his tone slipping back into that annoyingly confident instructor cadence.
Zuko made a noncommittal noise, something halfway between agreement and refusal, and turned his head slightly into the grass as if that alone could end the conversation.
There was another pause stretching out between them, the kind that made everything feel a little too aware of itself, and then Sokka spoke again, his tone still steady but slightly more focused as he said, “You’re doing it again.”
Zuko stiffened, the brief calm snapping back into tension as he turned his head just enough to glare. “Doing what.”
“Not trying,” Sokka said simply.
“I am trying,” Zuko said immediately, sharper than before, the words coming out like an automatic correction even though his body still hadn’t moved much at all from the grass.
“You’re really not,” Sokka said, almost thoughtful now, like he was trying to figure it out more than argue it. “It’s like… you struggle for a second, and then you just…stop.”
Zuko’s ears burned as he forced the words out through clenched pride, “I’m conserving energy,” said stiffly.
Sokka hummed in a way that made it very clear he was unconvinced, the sound brief and thoughtful as he stayed where he was, still steady and unrelenting above Zuko.
“Alright,” he said after a moment, still sounding unconvinced but willing to move on for now, “new rule.”
Zuko did not like the sound of that, not at all, and the way Sokka said it so casually only made it worse.
“If you don’t try to get out,” Sokka continued, shifting slightly so his weight adjusted in a way that somehow felt closer without actually changing much, “I’m not letting you up.”
“You can’t just—” Zuko started, sharp with immediate protest, but the words died halfway through when Sokka, without missing a beat, adjusted his grip again, pinning him more securely.
“…You were saying?” Sokka prompted, entirely patient, like Zuko hadn’t just been cut off mid-protest by his own lack of argument and the fact that moving any further was currently not an option.
This was a nightmare.
Zuko inhaled sharply, bracing himself as if he could force his thoughts back into order through sheer discipline alone, even while still pinned in place beneath Sokka.
“Fine,” he snapped, the word coming out sharper than intended as he tried to reclaim some control of the situation. “Get off so I can reset.”
“Nope,” Sokka said immediately, flat and unbothered, as if the request had been entirely unreasonable rather than a basic expectation of personal space.
Zuko blinked, his expression cracking slightly in confusion as he processed the refusal. “What?”
“You get out,” Sokka said simply, like it was the most obvious rule in the world. “That’s the point.”
Zuko stared at the ground again for a long moment, then, with all the dignity he could muster while face-down in the grass, he tried to move...
It went… poorly.
There was effort, genuine effort, a twist and a shift as Zuko tried to apply the leverage Sokka had shown him, attempting to turn his body in just the right way to slip free, but every time he got even close, Sokka countered it effortlessly, adjusting just enough to keep him exactly where he was without ever needing to force it.
It was infuriating.
It was exhausting.
It was...
“Okay, that was better,” Sokka said suddenly, a hint of approval in his voice.
Zuko froze mid-struggle, the movement cutting off abruptly as his focus snagged on the words before he could stop himself. “…It was?” he asked, quieter than he meant it to be, the question slipping out on instinct more than intention.
“Yeah,” Sokka said, matter-of-fact again, like it was obvious once pointed out. “You almost had space there. If you’d just followed through...”
Zuko hesitated, still half pinned, then muttered, “I did follow through,” though it came out less certain than he intended, like he was already replaying it in his head and not liking what he found.
“…Again,” Sokka said firmly, like he was marking a repeat in a lesson plan rather than a failure, his weight still steady and controlled above Zuko as he waited for him to try once more.
Zuko exhaled slowly, forcing his focus back into something structured, then tried again, shifting with more intent this time, then again, adjusting his angle with growing frustration, and again, pushing harder against the familiar resistance that Sokka met every time with effortless correction.
Until eventually, after another attempt failed to go anywhere and his strength started to feel less useful than it should have, Zuko stopped trying and let the words slip out before he could stop them, quieter than he intended, “I can’t.”
Sokka stilled, not loosening his grip or pulling away, just pausing where he was as if he was actually listening now instead of guiding, the steady pressure of him remaining in place while the moment shifted slightly in tone.
Zuko’s chest rose and fell against the ground, his breathing a little heavier now, his arms still trembling faintly from the repeated effort, the strain finally catching up to him in a way he could no longer push through with sheer stubbornness alone.
For a moment, neither of them moved, the only sound between them Zuko’s uneven breathing and the quiet rustle of grass beneath them, as if the entire training had finally narrowed down to this single pause where neither correction nor resistance had the upper hand.
Then Sokka shifted, just enough to ease some of the pressure without fully releasing him, the change subtle but intentional, like he was adjusting the exercise rather than ending it, keeping Zuko grounded while giving him a fraction more room to breathe.
“That’s fine,” he said, his tone more grounded now, steadier in a way that made it feel less like judgment and more like instruction. “That’s where we start from.”
Zuko swallowed, the motion tight and a little unsteady, something about that, about the lack of teasing and the steady, matter of fact tone, was doing something strange to his chest that he did not have a name for and did not particularly want to examine while still face down in the grass.
“…You’re not even going to make fun of me?” Zuko muttered, like he didn’t quite trust the absence of it, the words rough around the edges and slightly defensive, as if he was already prepared to take the hit if it came.
Sokka snorted softly, the sound more amused than dismissive. “What, and ruin my progress? No way,” he said, like the idea itself was unreasonable. “This is the most cooperative you’ve been all day.”
“I am not cooperative,” Zuko said immediately, the protest automatic, like rejecting the label was the only part of the situation he could still properly control.
“Mm,” Sokka said, a faint teasing note slipping into his voice now, like he was humouring Zuko more than agreeing with him. “Sure.”
Zuko closed his eyes, the tension finally giving him no useful place to go, and lay still for a moment as the full weight of the situation settled in again, because this was unbearable in a way that had nothing to do with pain or training and everything to do with Sokka’s tone and the fact that he could not predict what came next.
“Wow.”
Both of them froze at once.
Toph’s voice cut through the moment like a verdict, calm and unimpressed, carrying that particular edge of someone who wasn’t reacting to what she saw, but to what she felt through the ground beneath them, the weight, the positions, the stillness, all of it already mapped out in her mind.
“Either this is training,” she continued casually, her tone completely unbothered as she was reading the scene through the subtle shifts in the ground beneath them, “or I’m interrupting something way more interesting.”
Zuko’s soul left his body, or at least it felt like it did, because every coherent thought he had been clinging to evaporated all at once and left him lying there completely still, acutely aware of how absolutely unexplainable this must look from any outside perspective.
Sokka lifted his head slightly, still completely composed despite the situation, and answered, “It’s training,” as if that alone should clear up any misunderstanding about what she was sensing.
Then, realizing she couldn’t see them and might be interpreting the tension through the ground in a way that sounded far more serious than it was, he added quickly, “Like actual training, not a fight. We’re working on grappling control and getting out of pins.”
“Uh-huh,” Toph said flatly, unimpressed in a way that made it very clear she was not taking his explanation at face value, the faint shift of her stance suggesting she was still taking in everything through the ground and drawing her own conclusions anyway.
Zuko did not move or breathe, staying completely rigid in place as if any sign of life would somehow make the situation worse, panic and embarrassment locking him so thoroughly that even the idea of speaking felt impossible.
Toph took a few steps closer, her head tilting slightly as she focused on the subtle shifts in the ground beneath them, clearly trying to get a better read on what exactly she had just walked in on.
“Y’know,” she said, a grin spreading across her face as she felt the situation more clearly through the ground beneath them, “from down there, it really doesn’t look like he’s winning.”
“I am not—” Zuko started, sharp and immediate on instinct, before the reality of his current position caught up with him mid-sentence and he abruptly stopped talking, jaw snapping shut as the rest of the argument died before it could fully form.
Sokka, traitor that he was, laughed, the sound slipping out before he could stop it, entirely unhelpful in every possible way and making Zuko’s already fragile dignity crumble just a little further.
“He’s learning,” Sokka said, still clearly trying to sound serious, though the amusement was very much still in his voice as he glanced down at Zuko like this was all just another step in the process.
“Feels like he’s getting pinned,” Toph said immediately, matter-of-fact and far too satisfied with her own observation, her grin widening as she tilted her head again to feel the scene more clearly through the ground.
“I am not getting-” Zuko started sharply, then cut himself off again mid-protest as the rest of the sentence refused to survive contact with reality, because arguing required dignity and he currently had none left to work with, especially when he was very aware that, technically, he was still pinned exactly where Sokka had put him.
Toph snorted, clearly delighted by the entire situation in a way that did nothing for Zuko’s already collapsing composure.
“Well, keep going,” she said, grinning, “This is great.”
Zuko made a small, strangled sound and very deliberately did not move, clinging to the one fragile consolation he had left, which was that at least Toph could not actually see them and was only inferring everything through the ground rather than witnessing the full extent of his humiliation directly.
Then, in the brief pause that followed, a new voice cut in with a simple, almost curious “Oh,” that immediately made everything feel worse.
Everything inside Zuko died instantly, an immediate collapse of whatever remaining composure, dignity, and hope he had been clinging to just a moment before, as if his entire internal structure had simply given up at the sound of that voice.
Katara popped up behind Toph, taking in the scene in a single blink, her expression shifting almost immediately into a mix of confusion, concern and the slow dawning realization that whatever this was, it was already going to be very hard to explain.
Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, as if refusing to see the situation could somehow make it stop existing, even though every other sense he had was still painfully aware of exactly where he was and who was watching.
He did not need to look to feel the shift in the air, the sudden, very present awareness settling in around them like a weight of its own, making it painfully obvious exactly how this looked from the outside.
“…What exactly is happening here?” Katara asked, her tone careful in a way that suggested she was trying very hard not to assume anything, while also clearly seeing the compromising position in front of her.
There was a pause before Sokka, still very much sitting on top of Zuko as if this were the most normal place to be, finally answered, “Training.”
Zuko seriously considered simply passing away on the spot, not out of injury or defeat, but from the sheer indignity of his current situation and the realization that this was apparently his life now.
Katara did not sound convinced at all, drawing the word out as if testing it for hidden meanings before finally settling on, “…Right,” in a slow, sceptical tone that made it very clear she was filing this under “I will be revisiting this later.”
Toph’s grin only widened, as she leaned into the chaos and added, “Yeah, very hands-on training,” in a tone that suggested she found the entire thing absolutely hilarious.
Zuko made a strangled, broken noise that might generously have been interpreted as a plea for death, or at the very least a sincere request for the universe to stop observing him for a few minutes.
Sokka finally, finally shifted his weight back and got off him, moving with the reluctant air of someone who had only just been convinced that staying on top of Zuko was no longer a necessary part of “training.”
Zuko immediately rolled over and sat up, dragging a hand down his face as if he could physically wipe away the last several minutes of his life and pretend they had never happened.
He did not look at Katara, or at Sokka, or at Toph. He very deliberately looked at absolutely nothing in particular, as though committing to the belief that if he never acknowledged any of them again, he could eventually reset the entire universe to a point where none of this had ever happened, and ideally, where he had also never learned the word “training” in this context.
“Well,” Sokka said, completely unfazed, “we’re making progress.”
Zuko buried his face in his hands. This was the worst day of his life, and, distantly, terribly, with the kind of certainty that felt more like a curse than a thought, he knew it was going to happen again tomorrow.
***
The fire in the middle of their camp crackled quietly between them, filling the space where conversation should have been but wasn’t. It was late enough in the day that Katara had decided to start dinner, and Zuko had wordlessly followed her to help, because that was what he did now, even if neither of them had really acknowledged how normal that had become.
Aang had wandered off not long after the others had come back to camp, chasing something that had caught his attention in the distance, while Toph had gone with him, declaring she wasn’t sticking around to help with dinner when she could be doing literally anything else. Sokka had followed soon after, loudly insisting he was going to “supervise,” which left the camp quieter than usual, and left Zuko and Katara alone with the fire, the food, and everything that hadn’t been said.
Katara stirred the pot a little more than necessary, while Zuko chopped the vegetables with far too much focus for a task that should not have required that level of concentration.
For a while, neither of them spoke, the quiet stretching out just a little too long to be comfortable, until Katara finally cleared her throat and broke it with a tentative, “So.”
Zuko didn’t look up, his focus fixed very deliberately on what he was doing as if that alone could carry him through the moment. “No.”
Katara paused mid-stir, then glanced over at him, her expression shifting into mild disbelief. “That’s not how conversations work.”
Zuko’s knife didn’t even slow as he answered, still refusing to look up. “It is if I don’t participate.”
Katara let out a quiet, disbelieving huff and went back to stirring, though her eyes stayed on him for a moment longer than necessary. “You are participating. You just said something.”
Zuko paused just long enough to register that, then resumed cutting with the same stubborn focus. “That didn’t count.”
Katara let the silence sit for a moment, then spoke again with careful casualness, as if she hadn’t been thinking about it at all since earlier. “So… what do you think about Sokka’s training style?”
Zuko hesitated for only a fraction of a second too long, then answered with the same careful flatness he used whenever he was trying not to say something that would become a problem later. “It’s… effective.”
Another pause stretched between them, the spoon tapping lightly against the side of the pot as Katara stirred a little more slowly, her tone turning more careful as she added, “…You were pinned.”
Zuko’s knife stopped, then resumed with slightly more force than necessary as he answered, “…We were training,” the words coming out flat and final, like that alone should have been the end of the discussion.
Katara let that sit for a moment, then tilted her head slightly. “Okay,” she said slowly, not quite buying how final he was trying to make it sound, “but you still didn’t answer the question. If it was training… why didn’t you manage to get him off of you? He didn’t look like he was going anywhere.”
Zuko hesitated just long enough to make it obvious he was choosing his words carefully, then said dryly, “…Because your brother is very heavy,” as if that alone should logically explain everything that had happened.
That did it. Katara made a small sound that might have been a laugh, quickly hidden behind her hand as she turned slightly away from him like she was trying to regain control of her expression, though the amusement was still evident in her eyes.
Zuko finally looked up at that, immediately narrowing his eyes at her. “Don’t,” he said, short and warning, like he could still salvage whatever dignity was left if she just stopped right there.
Katara cleared her throat, still very much fighting a smile as she went back to stirring the pot with exaggerated seriousness. “I’m not doing anything,” she said, far too innocently for it to be convincing, the corners of her mouth still twitching like she was one second away from laughing again.
Zuko stared at her for a long moment, expression flat in a way that suggested he did not believe a single word of that, then returned his attention to the vegetables and muttered, “You’re thinking it.”
Katara didn’t look up from the pot, but the faint smile in her voice gave her away as she replied, “I’m cooking,” like that somehow absolved her of every thought she was absolutely still having.
Zuko let out a quiet, exasperated breath through his nose, “You’re thinking it while cooking.”
Katara raised an eyebrow at that, stirring the pot a little more deliberately as she said, “I’m allowed to think while cooking,” with the kind of calm certainty that suggested she considered the matter settled.
Zuko paused just long enough to acknowledge that he had no winning response to that, then went back to chopping with quiet stubbornness. “This is worse than fighting,” he muttered.
Katara smiled, the expression softening her otherwise focused look as she stirred the pot and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. At his muttered comment, she let out a quiet chuckle before turning back to the food.