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“Mr. Prime Minister, Mr. Prime Minister!” Sokka hears voices, followed by a flurry of footsteps along the narrow corridor, echoing against the walls. Reluctantly, he turns to face the onslaught of people, dreading the news.
“The reports?” He beckons for them to slow down, holding out an arm for the stack of files.
“Not good, sir. The violence has spread to the countryside –”
“-- Not here,” Sokka interrupts. “I will look over them, thank you.” He dismisses them with a wave of his hand, scanning the first page as he opens the door to his office. The office of the Prime Minister of the Water Tribes.
“You’re not the Prime Minister yet,” a voice says from inside, and Sokka looks up, startled. Zuko sits loose-limbed on his chair, legs crossed over the table like he owns it. Sokka winces at the mess he’s making of the paperwork.
“Neither are you,” Sokka replies evenly, “get up.”
“No.” Zuko smirks, but he gets his legs off the table.
“Why are there track marks on my military orders?” Sokka tidies the desk, trying to brush off the dirt from Zuko’s shoes that have left imprints on his files. His classified files, he thinks irritatedly.
“How did you get in here?”
“You left your spare set of keys at ho – at my home, last night.” Sokka tries to ignore the tiny spark in his chest at Zuko’s slip.
“You’re not making this easy for me,” Sokka says, instead. “So much violence, so much destruction; if you would just –”
“If I would just, what, call off the movement? I don’t control them.”
“Don’t you dare. You represent them. You instigated the attack in August. You started the riot in Caldera City. You wanted this. And now it has grown and grown and grown so far out of proportion and I cannot control this anymore.” Sokka sits on the visitor’s chair opposite Zuko, leaning forward and burying his head in his hands.
“I did not want this,” Zuko snarls, incensed. ‘“I only –”
“This federation is burning. It is burning, and it is your fault.”
“Countries,” Zuko corrects, and if that doesn’t perfectly sum up the crux of the issue then Sokka doesn’t know what does. “I want for my people what is rightfully ours. We could never live together, our customs, gods, traditions, we are too different, too –”
“You are living proof that that is not the case,” Sokka returns. “We have been over this.”
“It’s no use,” Zuko says, after a beat. His voice is closer and alarmingly gentle. Sokka looks up to see him perched precariously on the armrest of the chair. “We will never understand each other.”
“But we do,” Sokka protests, pulling Zuko onto his lap. He comes willingly. “I understand you.”
Zuko turns around, so he’s sitting facing Sokka. “No,” he murmurs, “and that is the problem.”
When Zuko kisses him, it feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a knife, hurtling towards something close to desperation. Sokka takes all of his agony and he pours it into the kiss, trying to convey what he can’t bring himself to say with words. He undoes the buttons of Zuko’s robe, watching the hypnotic rise and fall of his flushed chest. Zuko knots his fingers into Sokka’s hair, freeing it from it’s bun, fingers on his scalp burning.
“Sokka,” Zuko whispers. “Stop trying to fight it.”
Sokka is momentarily confused. “I can’t; you know I can’t. This isn’t what I fought for.”
“But this is exactly what I fought for.”
“You promised me,” Sokka says.
“A promise that was built on the idealism of youth. I thought the Water Tribes and the Fire Nation could live together in peace. Live side by side. I was wrong.”
Slowly, Sokka swipes a thumb across Zuko’s cheekbone. “When did you become like this?”
Zuko pushes off Sokka; Sokka lets go reluctantly. “Look around you,” Zuko says. “Is this not proof enough?”
Sokka closes his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of people screaming, elements roaring. “You shouldn’t be here,” Sokka says, instead. “You’re not particularly welcome, this side of the federation.”
“I’ll be sure to return the sentiment when you come to my bed tonight,” Zuko says. Sokka feels himself turn red, despite himself.
“I’m guessing you’ve read the files?” Sokka asks, making a mental note to reconfigure deployment of the emergency military services.
“Don’t leave your keys lying around,” is all Zuko says, before he exits the door silently, like he was never there.
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“How could you let this happen?” Sokka shouts angrily, “I trusted you.” He paces up and down the conference room, reports strewn all over the desk. His advisors all wear identical expressions of awkward confusion.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Unalaq says, demeanour frustratingly unapologetic. “They attacked, we had to retaliate.”
“If they attack,” Sokka says, struggling to rein in his temper, “you defend, and you hold. You await further instructions.”
“We had no choice, sir.”
“Like hell you did not! Those people were innocent.”
Tonraq looks at him like he’s grown a third head. “Those people were Fire Nation,” he spits. “And with all due respect, sir, you don’t know what it’s like on the front lines. Sometimes, we have to take hard decisions –”
“Get out,” Sokka says, voice deadly quiet. The atmosphere in the room shifts, and his ministers turn to stare at him apprehensively.
“Sir, I - I don’t -” Unalaq’s eyes widen in incomprehension.
“You are hereby stripped of your title and rank. Please hand over your weapons to the guard stationed out front as you exit. Commander Tonraq shall take your place. Suitable arrangements will be made to brief him. Your dismissal is effective immediately.” Sokka stares at Unalaq, daring him to retaliate.
Blessedly, Unalaq chooses to acquiesce. He straightens his spine, performs a perfunctory salute, and stomps out of the room without a word. That one will be trouble, Sokka thinks, but files it away to deal with later. He has more pressing concerns at the moment.
He stalks to the centre of the room, placing his palms facedown on the table in front of him, leaning forward. “The Fire Nation and The Water Tribes’ mutual struggle for freedom from our Earth Kingdom overlords have spanned half a decade.” He stops, staring each military commander in the eye. “At ten years old, I spied for the WFC. At fifteen, I was in and out of jail for sedition. At twenty, I was shot for protesting the Bhumi Act. At twenty-five, I jointly organised the movement to provide for the peaceful exit of Omashu and Ba Sing Se from our borders. At twenty seven, I am your Prime Minister.”
He pauses, watching the people sitting around him squirm in their seats, avoiding eye contact. “There is not one person in this room below the age of fifty. And yet, when my comrades and I were being shot and jailed and killed in the Massacre of P’Li, each of you were breaking bread with Omashu royalty, or Ba Sing Se politicians.” This time, he sees a flash of anger pass through their eyes, but he continues.
“You are here by virtue of your wealth, your ancestral titles, and my pleasure. I am your Prime Minister,” Sokka repeats, “and the day anyone can equal what I have sacrificed for this federation, I will step down. But until then, you answer to me. I did not struggle for peace with Omashu and Ba Sing Se for us to turn around and fight with ourselves.” He stops to take a breath, collecting himself. “The Fire Nation and the Water Tribes have lived together for two hundred years under Earth Kingdom rule, why do we have to engage in unnecessary conflict now? When we are free? If my own ministers and my own commanders cannot put aside their differences, how can we hope our people will?”
Nobody speaks for a few moments. “You’re right, sir,” Commander Pakku says, an older man who lobbied for the federation’s freedom in Ba Sing Se’s parliament. One of the few men Sokka trusts. “Forgive us for acting rashly, many of us overstepped. It will not happen again. Our first duty is to the Federation of Fire and Water, to you.”
“Thank you, Commander Pakku,” Sokka says, nodding his head. “Now, you are excused. I require reports on personnel, infrastructural damage, troop deployment, and supply lines. We’ll chart a course of action based on the worst-hit areas. Commander Suki, with me.”
Sokka doesn’t have to look up to see his men exchanging glances with each other at that. There is no substance to the rumours, of course, but it irks him nevertheless, undermines his authority. Still, some days it’s unavoidable. Suki is his most trusted commander. He waits for the rest to leave before slumping in his seat, Suki by his side.
“Hey,” she says, a hand placed gently on his shoulder.
Sokka sighs, no time to waste. “Status update?” he asks.
Suki pulls out a chair to sit beside him. “Fighting in Agna Q’ela, P’Li, the Spirit Oasis, Bhanti, and Ember Islands,” she says, counting them off on her fingers. “Bhanti and the Ember Islands have currently been taken over by Fire Nation people. They’ve driven out all the Water Tribe natives because of the fighting in Agna Q’ela and P’Li. There’s a temporary truce in the Spirit Oasis.”
“Temporary truce?”
“You sent Aang there,” Suki reminds him.
“Oh, of course. Would that we had a thousand Aangs.”
“You’ve put other measures in place, give it some time Sokka, have some faith in yourself.” Suki squeezes his arm. Sokka stares half-heartedly at the pages scattered across the desk in front of him.
“How is the Boundary Force faring?” Sokka asks.
Suki winces. “Badly. Fire Nation natives from Agna Q’ela and P’Li are trying desperately to escape the violence and reach their strongholds in Bhanti and Ember Islands. Water Tribe natives are escaping in the opposite direction, to Agna Q’ela and P’Li. It’s a two-way exodus that’s created a bottleneck at the border. There are too many people and too much tension. The death toll continues to rise.”
“What are you implying?” Sokka asks.
“Sokka,” Suki begins softly, “I think partitioning the federation is the only option.”
“Not you too,” Sokka says, dejected.
“Maybe it was possible for us to live together in peace, once, but that option is long gone now. Zuko’s made sure of it. This is what the people want.”
“This is what the people have been manipulated into wanting, you mean,” Sokka says resentfully. “We were fine. We’d won the war, peacefully. All that striking and lobbying and fighting, and for what? I cannot sit back and watch this federation tear itself apart.”
“It’s going to tear itself apart no matter what we do,” Suki says, and Sokka hates how cautious her voice is, like he’s something fragile. “The best we can do is damage control.”
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“Mr. Prime Minister, your accommodations are this way,” the apprentice says, taking Sokka’s bags and leading him through the twisted, vaulted arches of the Western Air Nation Temple. He stays silent throughout, committing the way to memory. When the apprentice finally stops outside his room, he takes his bags from the boy, thanks him, and sends him off.
Sokka is just twisting the doorknob when he remembers something. “Wait!” he calls the apprentice. The boy jogs back, a questioning look on his face.
“Yes, sir?”
Sokka tries to keep his voice as strictly casual as he can. “The Prime Minister of the Fire Nation, is he staying here as well?”
“No sir, we’ve been given instructions to put him up in the opposite wing.”
Wonderful. “Alright,” Sokka says, with a smile. “That will be all, thank you.”
He watches the boy turn and disappear into the corridor for a moment, before entering his room. The furnishings are sparse but sufficient. There is a crackling fire, a writing desk with a chair, and, Sokka notes with guilty relish, a bed big enough for two. He sets his things down, removes his papers from their files, and gets to work. He knows Zuko can be devilishly persuasive if he wants; he needs to make sure the Water Tribes don’t come out of this truce losing everything.
Sokka’s so engrossed in hammering out the final terms of his proposal that he doesn’t hear his door creak open. “For neutral ground, you have to admit this place is pretty high up in the air,” Zuko’s voice calls out.
Sokka rolls his eyes, setting his papers down and covering them with a cloth. Zuko raises an eyebrow but says nothing. “For neutral sanctuary, I’d climb the highest mountain,” Sokka says.
“And here I was thinking you’d come for the view,” Zuko returns, sliding onto Sokka’s bed and toeing his shoes off. Sokka has to admit, he looks beautiful like this; long red robe buttoned up to his throat, hair tied in an austere bun that accentuates his sharp cheekbones. For a moment, Sokka understands why Zuko’s people will follow him to the ends of the earth. There is a magnetic aura about him that inspires, that makes Sokka want to hang on to his every word as he sells Sokka some glorious vision about a future they will never have.
“Why are you here?” Sokka asks, rolling his shoulders and neck, stiff from being hunched over a desk. He doesn’t miss the way Zuko’s eyes track his movements.
“Apart from the obvious?” Zuko asks, smirking. “I came here to find out your intentions for tomorrow.”
“You know me better than that. I’m not going to hand over our strategy to you on a platter,” Sokka says, joining Zuko on the bed.
“Sokka,” Zuko says. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” Sokka replies, avoiding the question. He begins to unknot the buttons at Zuko’s throat. Zuko plays idly with Sokka’s tunic, twisting the fabric around his fingers.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want?”
“What do you want, then?” Sokka asks, indulging him. He doesn’t notice the predatory tilt to Zuko’s head, the sharpness of his tone.
“Hing Wa.”
“I - what?”
“I’m going to ask for Hing Wa tomorrow.”
Sokka is struck dumb. He hadn’t expected the Fire Nation delegation to ask for - this. “You don’t need that much land,” Sokka says. “I - how dare you, that - that land has belonged to the Water Tribe for centuries. Why -”
“You’re right,” Zuko responds, calmly. “And tomorrow it will belong to us. I am taking it, Sokka, and I am giving you a warning now. If you try to stop me, it will end badly for you.”
“That isn’t for you to decide,” Sokka says, sitting up. “The Air Nomad adjudicator and the Earth Kingdom delegates have to concur.”
Zuko gets a determined look in his eye, jutting his chin up and looking down at Sokka. “Oh, they’re going to.”
Sokka pushes himself off the bed angrily, frustrated at not knowing what sort of ace Zuko has up his sleeve. “Why do you have to be like this? What did I ever do to you? You just take and take and take until I have nothing left to give. Was the partition not enough? You were there with me at P’Li. When the canons came, you held my hand and told me to talk to you about our future. I whispered my vision for a united federation to you over the sound of dead bodies hitting the floor, and you hid me from the worst of it in a pit you dug for the both of us.”
“You cut out bullets from my skin and told me it was okay that my own people, Fire Nation natives - yes, my own people - shot me. ‘They don’t know any better’ you said, ‘and together we can teach them.’ You stood by my side when we took control of the freedom movement and promised me that we were proof our nations could be one, are one.”
“And then you turned around and ripped the vision you fed me right out of my hands. When the federation burned, we burned with it. So much death for the pride and stubbornness of a single man. And the best part?” Sokka throws his hands up, eyes wide, panting slightly. “The best part is that you want more. The people will never stand for it. Hing Wa will not secede from me.”
Sokka stops to take a breath, knowing he’s said much more than he intended to say, watching as Zuko’s eyes narrow. Throughout his tirade, Zuko’s posture has gone from being loosely relaxed to taut and upright, though Sokka’s too far gone to care. “The ascendancy you have created for yourself is built on the bones of the people we buried on the border. When you sit on your high throne and see the smoke rising across your kingdom, I hope you know you were the one who started the fires.”
Zuko stands, stalking over to Sokka until he’s crowded him against a wall. “When will you understand,” he says, through clenched teeth, “that a united federation is impossible. The Fire Nation and Water Tribes will always be at war with each other. Our people are too different.” Flecks of paint fall over Sokka’s shoulder as Zuko punches the wall by his head, close-fisted in pain. “Don’t you think,” he begins again, softer, “don’t you think if I could, I would? Do you think I don’t want to? Do you think it brings me pleasure to build a wall between our countries and bargain for what should belong to the both of us? I don’t have a choice,” he ends.
“Oh, you had a choice,” Sokka says bitterly, “but you chose wrong.”
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I thank our gracious hosts and everyone gathered here today for this opportunity to ensure the future of our respective countries,” Zuko says, avoiding eye contact. “To the Prime Minister of the Water Tribes in particular, I extend my gratitude." He extends his arm upwards. "I hold in my hand the Instrument of Independence, and with the signing of this document, our nations shall officially become sovereign, autonomous governing states.”
They’re stood in the newly constructed Water Tribe Parliament Building, surrounded by officials from both countries. Months of deliberation, arguing and bargaining have given way to grudging acceptance from both sides. Sokka’d known that picking up the pieces of a broken people after centuries of enslavement would not be easy, but what he hadn’t been prepared for was the paperwork.
Sleepless nights turn into sleepless weeks, with Sokka snatching what little rest he can in Zuko’s bed. At night, they find solace in one another, and in the morning, they go back to war, Zuko verbally eviscerating his ministers across the discussion hall, shooting down suggestions for compromise. Sokka wonders if both of them know what they’re doing.
Now Sokka stands, moving beside Zuko. “The clauses dictate free flow of trade, mutual military aid, and an equal exchange of scientific and technological data. This Instrument is the fruit of hours and hours of labour. To every citizen of both countries that worked tirelessly to create a mutually agreeable set of terms, I thank you. This would not be possible without you.” He turns to Zuko, forcing him to look Sokka in the eye. “To the Prime Minister of the Fire Nation,” he says, softly, “I endeavour to ensure peace and prevent conflict between both our countries to the best of my abilities.”
Zuko stares at him. The words are not binding, this is not what they’d practised, but Sokka wants the people to know, wants them to acknowledge the symbolic effect of a declaration of peace by two Heads of State that seem destined to be at war forever. “I make the same pledge to my brethren of the Water Tribes,” Zuko says, all smooth, gracious acceptance, as if he’d expected this.
Zuko’s always been the better liar of the two.
Sokka dips the quill in the inkpot and signs the document at the bottom of the page, feeling Zuko stand behind him, quill ready. When Zuko finishes his own signature with a small flourish, they lock eyes, and suddenly Sokka is overwhelmed. Years of pain and tireless labour have culminated into this one single moment. Sokka tries desperately to hide the trembling in his fingers as he sets the quill down, clenching and unclenching his fist in an attempt to calm himself.
He can feel Zuko’s eyes on him, the display of weakness embarrassing him, but then Zuko is by his side again, taking his hand and holding it. A shock of murmurs pass through the hall as Zuko realises what he’s done, and his eyes widen in momentary panic. But Zuko is nothing if not a brilliant actor. He takes a step back, not letting go of Sokka’s hand, and holds it up in the air.
“To peace between our two nations!” he says, loudly, so his voice carries to the farthest corners of the room.
Cries of ‘to peace’ echo throughout the room, and Sokka once again marvels at the manner in which Zuko has managed to take control of the situation. He gives Zuko a grateful squeeze with his hand, and withdraws it. The formalities done, they’re both whisked away by their secretaries for other pressing duties, and Sokka suspects he won’t see Zuko until tonight.
The last night.
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“You’re late,” Zuko says, when Sokka finally makes it back to his chambers, the Ministerial chambers. He doubts he’ll ever get used to the ostentatiousness of his living conditions, but his advisors have assured him that appearances must be met. Still, he wonders how he’d let himself be talked into this, a troubling sign.
Zuko lies across the large bed, one knee bent upwards, the other lying flat, idly fiddling with something in his hand. Sokka crawls onto the bed, going to rest by Zuko’s side, and sighs. “Trouble in Ma’inka,” Sokka says, watching Zuko put away whatever he was holding.
Zuko raises an eyebrow. “Are you supposed to be telling me that?”
“Why, are you orchestrating a coup?”
Zuko snorts. “Perhaps I should.”
“Yes, and while you’re doing that, I’ll send an aerial force to capture Shu Jing on the western border.”
Zuko turns to his side, facing Sokka. “We can just swap territories, there’s no need for all the theatrics,” he says, slipping a hand underneath Sokka’s tunic.
Sokka begins unlacing Zuko’s robe. “This is exactly why it never would’ve worked out between us.”
Zuko furrows his brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Sokka debates deflecting. “I wanted to give you Hing Wa,” he says. “I wanted to give you whatever you asked for, and it pained me that I couldn’t. And it pained me that you could ask me for it.”
“I need Hing Wa, the Fire Nation cannot be self-sufficient without it, you know that.”
“I cannot deny you. And yet as Head of State, I must deny you. There is so much conflict that I’m struggling to control, I can’t fight with myself too.”
“Stop thinking so much,” Zuko says, kissing him. For a moment, Sokka melts into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Zuko’s torso and pulling him in, wanting to feel him.
“Zuko,” Sokka says, when they come up for air. “This is the last night.”
Zuko pushes himself off Sokka. “Yes,” he begins, uncertainly. “Until next month at the Four Nations Conference –”
“No,” Sokka interrupts, softly. “This is the last night. There will be no more.”
“Are you – are you —”
“Yes,” Sokka says. “I’m sorry.”
“Sokka don’t – don’t. We’ve done it, together. We’ve climbed the unclimbable mountain. The peace talks have worked. Our constitutions have been written and our parliaments have been elected. This is the best time to – I don’t understand. I won’t ask for more, it is finished, I –”
“Can you promise me that?” Sokka asks.
“What?”
“Can you honestly promise me that as long as you live, you will not seek to better the interests of your nation, no matter the cost to mine? That you will not ask for more?”
Zuko opens his mouth, but says nothing.
Sokka continues. “There is still rioting in Kirachu. Shu Hong and Yon Rha are still undecided, and then of course the smaller kingdoms also haven’t acceded to either of us. I’m Prime Minister of a country whose borders haven’t even been defined yet, and so are you. We can try, but we will always be – pitted against each other. That is the nature of the task we have set ourselves."
“How could you,” Zuko spits. “You’re going to throw all of this away just because you don’t know how to deal with the strains of your office?”
“No Zuko,” Sokka says, sadly. “You threw it away the day you betrayed our vision of a united future.”
Zuko deflates. “Okay.” He leans back down, resting his weight on Sokka. He maintains a prideful expression, trying to school his face into something resembling nonchalance, but Sokka knows him better than that. “You’re right of course, the Fire Nation will always come first for me, as will the Water Tribes for you. It would be unfair of me to ask you for anything more.”
This time, it is Sokka who leans forward, and Zuko meets him in the middle, hands scorching underneath Sokka’s tunic. Sokka trails his fingers over the bumps of Zuko’s spine, skin velvety beneath his touch. “But first,” he says, as Zuko places soft kisses on his neck. “But first we have the night.”
Zuko draws back, resting his forehead on Sokka’s. “But first we have the night.”
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And in the morning, when Sokka awakens, it is to a cold, empty bed and a photo on his table. When Sokka flips it over, he sees a picture of the two of them, dated eight years ago, taken the night after the Bhumi Act protests. It’s a candid shot, one Sokka’s never seen before, and from the way they’re looking at each other, Sokka doesn’t understand how no one has ever guessed the true nature of their relationship. Sokka’s arms are bandaged, and Zuko covers his side protectively, gazing down at him with a small smile.
I love you, he’d said, maybe sometime after the photo’d been taken, and Zuko had grasped his hand and led him away from the festivities to their room. He’d been tender that night, as if he couldn’t bear to touch him, but couldn’t bear not to. He’d never said it back, and Sokka's never said it since.
He flips the photo over and sees writing on the back. For you, it says. Something to remember me by.
With a start, Sokka realises the photo is what Zuko’d been fiddling with the night before. He traces a finger over the outline of Zuko’s handwriting.
He’d known.
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