Avatar The Last Airbender Fan Fiction ❯ Amber ❯ Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

A/N: Gentle readers, I prostrate myself before you. I am not worthy of your devotion. I am a bad, bad woman. It has been two months since I updated and when I finally do, it's pure crap. I blame the CPA exam. I have spent a long, long time rewriting this chapter and it seems I am now officially beta-less again. It is still not the amazing fight scene I envisioned in my head, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I have discovered that fight scenes are much, much harder to write than they seem. I probably could have edited this three more times but frankly I just want to get this shit up there and out of my hair. If there are any grievous errors or continuity issues, please let me know and I will be happy update the story accordingly. There will be a few.

Note on Sokka's behavior in this chapter: I know many of you will connect with how Sokka is feeling—once you come to a really important realization, it really is like opening the floodgates to all kinds of crazy thoughts. It's like a one-way switch: you can turn it on, but you can't turn it back off. Poor Sokka. And are you wondering if there is a little more crack humor in this chapter? Well, yes. Yes, there is. Why, you ask? Because these are characters from Avatar. Watch it and understand.

LAST! To allay the many fears: Don't worry, I don't savor the idea of being flamed to the pits of hell, so have no fear! Zuko is here! He says he doesn't mind being the top. The things I do for y'all out of love.

Disclaimer: Me? I own nothing.

Special thanks to: Mira chan and Jamaica for the reviews this past week that gave me the energy I needed for the final push to review this chapter!

Sokka held his breath and timed the seconds between blasts of heat. On the fifth count, he dashed into the room at a low run. Aiming for Zuko's bed, he swerved to dodge the small knives that began whistling past him. Reaching the edge, he quickly jammed the ivory handle of the knife between his teeth. Using his free hand, he slammed his palm down on the mattress and tucked his legs under him tightly as he vaulted over the bed, barely clearing the other side. Hitting the floor in a slide, he reached under the bed and blindly grasped for the old metal handle he knew would be there. Feeling the cool iron brush his fingertips, Sokka managed to gain enough purchase to wrap his first two knuckles around the handle. The old chest fought with him at first and the cold metal bit into his skin, but it slid out from under the bed. Flipping it upright, he yanked it in front of himself just as a flurry of small daggers pinged against the lid like raindrops falling on one of the Fire Nation's popular metal roofs. Zuko wasn't going to be happy about that. So much for keepsakes from the war. Guilt was fleeting if not nonexistent when self-preservation came into the picture, though. Life. Sokka liked it.

Removing the knife from his clenched teeth, he wasted no time in casting his eyes around to see if there was anything in arm's reach that could be of use. The bedroom of the Lord of one the most militaristic nations that ever raised hell upon the four nations had an astoundingly abysmal number of items that could be labeled as “remotely possible weapon for use in a random fight with an assassin before lunch.” At least on this side of the bed. The only two items that had any possible merit whatsoever were the old wooden pole that Zuko sometimes used in training, and the decorated turtle seal shell that Sokka had given him on his eighteenth birthday a year or so ago when he'd still been hunting bandits. They were supposed to bring good luck. More importantly, it had brought a couple of flasks full of ice wine that had knocked everyone on their asses for the whole two days he'd been visiting.

He had no clue what use it could come in now, but there was no harm in keeping an open mind. Sokka's evaluation of the terrain had taken less than thirty seconds. It was more than enough time for the assassin to reload. From the sounds of it though, Zuko was keeping him more than busy enough to give Sokka time to scope out the situation. Emerging from his makeshift shield, Sokka almost dropped it as he gaped at the scene in front of him.

The entire room South side of the room was a blackened wreck. Chairs and tables had been knocked over and splintered as the fight had travelled around the chamber. Scorch marks littered the walls. Columns on the outskirts of the room that were once painted with a decorative red were now cracked and peeling from the extreme heat of Zuko's fury. As for the players themselves…

Fire Lord Zuko? Check. Right where Sokka left him, trying his fucking best to get himself killed.

Assassin? Check, check. Still producing an ungodly number of daggers from hiding places that Sokka could probably only dream of, and throwing them with his FIFTY FUCKING HANDS. Seriously, where the hell was this guy pulling them from? Did he wear dagger-lined panties? He'd never seen someone produce steel that fast, and in such abundance.

A single dagger shot towards him. It seemed like an almost half-hearted attempt, which it basically was. The knife-wielding assassin was much too busy trying not to get forced into the corner by the cords of flame lashing at him, to bother much with defending himself against an opponent that hadn't even attacked yet. That was about to change. Sokka knocked the small knife away in irritation. Stalking forward, he kept his eyes trained on the hooded little man. There was something about his frame that was familiar. It created an uncomfortable echo in his memory. Little opportunity presented itself for Sokka to break the exchange of blows and attacks, but he kept his eyes sharp for an opening. Getting Zuko out and away from the fight was his main priority—however unrealistic it actually was. Zuko was absorbed in the battle and Sokka knew from experience that he fought with unwavering tenacity. In other words, he was one stubborn little shit and wouldn't stop fighting until he won, his opponent was dead, or he was dead or close to it. Sokka watched as he swept one foot across the floor and whirled his body around, sinking low to the floor. Flames shot from his foot in an explosive style like they had been pulled straight through the floor from hell with the express purpose of burning the assassin to ash. That wasn't the impressive part, though. The impressive part was the rope of flames that Zuko lashed out with in the same movement. He used the twisting motion of his upper body, dragging his hand across the floor like he was lighting a giant match. The cord of flames coiled out from his hand and lashed directly towards the man's knees. The double-headed attack was ingenious. Blocking explosive flames relied on dispersing the heat with large movements. Sharp, concentrated flame like the whip though, required a completely different kind of defense—one of cutting the path. Very precise. Defending against both forms at the same time was next to impossible for all but the most seasoned warrior. It was the heat of the battle, but Sokka still let out a low whistle of appreciation. Someone had been eating his fire flakes.

Apparently the assassin had also been eating his daily bowl of dead baby koala sheep or whatever it was that bad guys ate, because he managed to avoid both attacks—barely. The little man spun in the air, missing the coil of flame as Zuko snapped it back towards him. His left arm was singed and hanging limply at his side from a prior attack by Zuko. As he landed, he faltered on his right leg and the fight finally seemed to pause for a moment as Zuko also seized the opportunity to lean over and breathe heavily from exertion. When he stumbled backwards, the hood fell away from the face of the assassin to reveal a flushed and sweaty little man, baring crooked yellow teeth and gasping with fatigue. The world seemed to crackle around him. Everything froze and Sokka felt like if he looked around, the room would be twinkling with a perpetual layer of ice and winter—not moving, not breathing. Just frozen. Even the blood in his veins was slowing down, becoming sluggish and chilled. His vision narrowed until there were just two things in the entire room—him, and that bitch-ass rat-faced prick.

This was not Zhen. No, this was someone that Sokka was much more intimately acquainted with. The little man looked up at him from where he was bent over wheezing. Sokka's skin crawled as a slow smile spread across the man's face. “Sokka…” the man breathed in obvious delight. He shuddered. Even now, he could feel the cold blade tracing bloody rivulets down his arms. The other rebels had been content to just beat him to a bloody pulp, and that was fine. He could deal with dull pain—it was easy to cut your mind off from something like that. Not this sick fuck, though. That hadn't been enough. Without a doubt, he was face-to-face again with `Shorty,' the rebel with the broken nose and a fetish for knives.

There were a lot of things that had come back to him in the past few days about his hours in the hands of his captors. He'd pushed most of it out of his mind as best he could—there was no point in living in the past or reliving the pain. So when he did have to think about that time and he did have to relive those memories, he tried his very, very complete and total best to not—to not EVER—remember what Rat Face (much more fitting than `Shorty,' he thought) had done to him. Suffice to say, he was skilled with a knife and had enjoyed carving Sokka up more than a swamp bender loved chicken opossum. Most of the repair the healers had done on his flesh had taken place while he'd been unconscious and Sokka was grateful for that. Rat Face was the majority of the reason his bathroom…and his bedroom…and basically everywhere he'd walked or touched or even looked at, had resembled something close to a fucking slaughterhouse.

So now that he was actually face-to-face with the bastard, Sokka made a startling revelation. The first part of his revelation was that when it came to pain, there were two kinds of people in this world. After experiencing severe or traumatic pain there was the kind of person that, when faced with the cause of it again, either shut down or they reacted with terror or panic. The second part of Sokka's revelation was that Sokka was not this first kind of person. He was the second kind. The kind that got pissed.

Before either Zuko or Rat Face could recover, he was attacking. He wasn't sure who was more surprised by his sudden onslaught—Zuko, Rat Face, or himself. The little man grunted as Sokka drove him backward until his back bumped against one of the singed walls. It took a moment, but the rebel quickly recovered and began attacking back in earnest. Space Sword Jr was almost useless in such close quarters and he found himself relying on the long knife more than anything else. Taking advantage of the proximity, Sokka struck out with his fist towards the man's solar plexus. The rebel was able to see Sokka's attack right before it came and dodged it so Sokka's fist glanced off his shoulder. With a snarl of frustration, Sokka slashed at Rat Face's head. The man ducked and Sokka's knife scraped down the brick, sparks flying where it struck. With his arm up, he was unable to dodge when the man planted a fist in his gut. Doubling over, he quickly transitioned into a backwards somersault as a dart whistled past his head. Rolling away, he skittered to a crouch and looked up at the rebel. They met eyes and lunged forward at the same time, trying to force the other onto the defensive. Sokka jabbed and slashed with nearly blinding speed. His knife was whistling through the air, singing a sweet tune that had Sokka's adrenaline pumping. He was winning the battle for the offense, and Rat Face was just barely stopping the attacks with a short dagger.

A sharp pain blossomed in his leg as the rebel's blade sunk into the meaty flesh of his quad. His steps faltered as his leg threatened to give out in surprise. With a grunt, he flew backwards as the little man planted a solid kick in his chest. The breath was knocked out of him as he thumped against the wall beside the balcony hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “Sokka, you idiot!” Zuko's voice snapped at him. Sokka growled in frustration as Zuko leapt from the sidelines and became a whirling blur of blades. Apparently there were a couple more weapons in the room than Sokka had noticed. Wielding his twin blades, he glared over his shoulder at Sokka as he leapt back from the rebel. “What the hell do you think you're doing? You just started pissing on your own a few days ago and now you think you can fight?”

Fisting his fingers around the knife he thumped his hand on the wall behind him. “I could say the same to you, you're the freaking Fire Lord and you think putting yourself in this kind of danger is a good idea? Better me than you, you moron!” Spying something beside him out of the corner of his eye, his face lit up. Dropping his weapons in a flash, he snagged the long training pole he'd spotted earlier. Rolling forward he thrust the pole out like a spear. The blunt head landed directly on target in the middle of the rebel's chest. With a yelp, he tripped away from Zuko. Drawing his arm back as far as he could, he swung the pole with all of the force in his arm. His aim ran true and the pole smacked into the rebel's head and the little man went flying across the room, to the other side of the bed where he disappeared from sight. Sokka sank down to rest on his good knee. Zuko spun towards him, eyes narrowed. “So you think I should sacrifice you because of my fancy title? That can be arranged, peasant.”

Sokka barked a laugh. “Peasant, huh? That's a name I haven't heard in a while.” He shook his head, reaching for Zuko's proffered hand. “Should I start calling you `Master'?” Zuko stumbled and they both almost fell down together. Wrapping his arms around Zuko's narrow waist, he heaved them backwards and rolled to the side to avoid the darts. They were getting easier to avoid, Sokka could almost taste victory. Resting on his elbows, he looked down at Zuko. “Welcome back, pervert. Did you have a nice trip? It'll be a hundred years before I call you Master. Don't get your hopes up.” Sokka was dumped unceremoniously to the side.

“Spare me.” Zuko huffed and stomped off. “Get off the floor you idiot, we're in the middle of a battle.” Sokka rolled lazily to the side again to avoid another set of knives. This was dangerous. They were in the middle of a fight to the death with a crazy skilled assassin who'd already carved him up once, and all he could think about was teasing Zuko.

He should just impale himself on Space Sword Jr now, and save them all some trouble.

Swiping his weapons back up off the floor, he propelled himself off the floor. Sprinting past Zuko, he stuck out his tongue as the Fire Lord's face shifted from surprise to anger. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he jumped in the air and latched on to the nearest pole on the four poster bed. Swinging his body around like he was back in the Swamp, he connected with the little assassin who had been crouching behind the bed, feet first. The man landed on his back and grabbed Sokka's foot, twisting. For a moment, he thought his foot would just snap. Instead, he spun a complete circle in the air and landed painfully beside Rat Face. With a growl, he kicked out at Rat Face's head and was rewarded with a grunt of pain.

Zuko skidded around the corner of the bed and made to move past Sokka as the rebel leapt to his feet. Sokka roughly pushed himself in front of Zuko. After a brief struggle, he managed to cut off Zuko's attempt to take over the fight with a direct attack on the rebel. Just as he had done earlier, he made the distance between the two too close for Zuko to have any real chance of cutting in. After about five minutes, Sokka's satisfaction was beginning to crumble. The assassin seemed to have limitless reserves of energy, although he was sweating and huffing just as bad as Sokka was. The man's slashes had become quick again, probably due to a survival instinct after being cornered. He had to end it quick—he was running out of steam and Zuko was poised, just waiting for a golden opportunity to get Sokka out of the fight and onto the sidelines.

Halfway through an upward sweep of the blade, Rat Face's arm was moving across his body. Sokka pulled the knife back at the last minute while flipping Space Sword Jr pommel-up. He slammed the hard knob on the end of the grip into the weak, vulnerable elbow joint of Rat Face's good arm. With a sickening crunch of cartilage, Sokka felt the bones and tendons snap as he turned Rat Face's elbow from an outie to an innie. Simultaneously, he brought the handle of the knife back forward and crushed it into the delicate bones of the man's other wrist. There was a little resistance then the bones simply caved in. Rat Face screamed as his forearm flopped around at an unnatural angle, and all of the action that had started from the moment he'd opened that door stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. That arm and that wrist were never going to be the same.

The daggers fell out of his now useless hands and he sunk to his knees, trying to clutch at his ruined arm with his useless hand, which was also bent unnaturally to the side. Strange gargling sounds were coming from the man. Sokka should have felt sickened or even felt some small trace of pity, but instead he just felt kind of empty. He no longer had that blinding hatred or anger burning through his veins—there was no way Rat Face would be able to torture someone again. Not with those injuries. He stood looking down at the broken man with absolutely no feelings at all and no remorse, just relief. Sokka felt a hand grab his shoulder roughly and pull him back. Taken off guard, he stumbled backwards, awkwardly bumping into Zuko who caught them both. Zuko cursed and set Sokka to the side before stepping over to the fallen man and sweeping his leg out low to the ground, hooking his foot behind Rat Face's knees. The little man's feet and legs flew into the air and he landed on his back on the floor in an ungraceful heap. Pitiful whining sounds came from the defeated rebel and Sokka felt revolted. Zuko snagged a large braided rope from the drapes hanging on either side of the balcony. The tasseled ends looked ridiculous as he bound the man's feet, legs and arms—being none too careful with the man's injuries.

Finally, Zuko was done and Rat Face was back on his knees, now silent and staring at the ground. They both contemplated him in silence for a moment, still buzzing with adrenaline. It was hard to come down from such a rush and Sokka was focusing on steadying his pulse. Zuko whirled towards him and grabbed him by the shoulder, gesturing wildly at the man with his other arm.

“Sokka! What the hell is going on! Do you know him? Is it Zhen?” Sokka just looked at him. Zuko's face was flushed but glowing. He looked beautiful. With a sigh, he closed his eyes. “Please don't do something dangerous like this again.” With a thunk, he leaned over and rested his head on Sokka's shoulder. It felt like all the nerves in his body were all gathered in the patches of skin where Zuko's body was touching him. He couldn't tell if his shortened breath was from the fight or from Zuko's proximity… “This guy is a pro. Not many people have stood up to me for that long, or you for that matter. He must have been a soldier—with years and years of training. I wonder how we find out if he's Zhen. Maybe Uncle would know.” Sokka didn't respond. Between Rat Face and Zuko, his mind was a mess. “Sokka! Are you listening to me? What's gotten into you? Is it Zhen, or not?” Pulling away from Sokka, he shook him lightly. Sokka shook his head almost imperceptively.

He looked down at the rebel. His hair was still coming out of his wolf's tail, and he slowly raised a hand to push it out of his eyes. He noted with some surprise that his hand was shaking on the way up to his forehead. Staring at his palms, he tried to recall. There was something he was trying to remember… something from that day a few weeks ago, when he'd suffered more pain than at any time during the war itself. It was something he'd thought of, something he'd wanted so desperately that it had woken something deep inside him. He dug his nails into his palms—recalling these memories was causing sharp pains in his temple as he tried to unseal them. “Then who is it?” Zuko's voice was beginning to sound exasperated. The faint sound of shouts was quickly growing louder, and Sokka knew that it wouldn't be long before the room was swarming with soldiers. Too little too late, dudes. Baddie already defeated.

His lips cracked apart as he started to speak. His mouth was impossibly dry and he was finding it hard to choose the right words. Funny, he'd been so carefree earlier during the fight—he'd even been teasing Zuko. Now, when it finally came down to it, he was finding it hard to talk about what he knew. How he knew. What had happened to him. With sudden clarity, the ripples in his mind settled and he restarted. “Zuko…” he began again, “you remember that day…” he trailed off and Zuko nodded and glanced away with a pained look. Sokka didn't need to specify. They both knew what he was referring to. There wasn't exactly more than one day when he'd dragged himself home a few steps away from death. “Well, there was this one point when…I was kind of…hurting, and I-I thought about something. It seems a little weird to tell you this now, but…” Sokka shrugged and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I thought about you and it made the pain…o.k.,” he mumbled out in a rush. Zuko's eyebrows knit together as he tried to decipher Sokka's mutter. Sokka flushed. His mind hadn't pieced it all together when he'd first remembered, but it was painfully obvious now why he'd thought of Zuko at that time. His subconscious had been trying to tell him what he'd only just now realized. That he was hopelessly, madly in love with his best friend. Who was the Fire Lord. Who, consequently, had a penis.

Who had ever said love was simple? They must have been drinking cactus juice.

A whuffing noise came from their left. Both boys looked over at the man kneeling on the ground. After a moment, Sokka finally registered that the little assassin was laughing. His chuckle turned into a full-bellied laugh as he roared. “What your…friend…is NOT telling you Fire Lord Zuko,” he sneered at them, “is that he cried like a little Water Tribe bitch the first time I sliced him.” Zuko's eyes shot to Sokka's face. Horror from the dawning realization was quickly spreading across his face. When he'd recounted his story for Iroh and Zuko, he'd glazed over the part that involved Rat Face, but Zuko wasn't dumb and he had filled in the blanks based on Sokka's injuries. Sokka met his eyes a moment before desperately looking at the little man, willing his next words to not come out. There was no way he could shut him up in time. “And the little fag kept screaming your name, `Zuko! Zuko!', when I peeled his skin back like a grape—” He was cut off with a little squeal as Zuko launched himself, flattening the man.

There was no other way to describe it—Zuko had snapped. Sokka stared in shock as Zuko's fist flew back again and again. The man's face was quickly beginning to resemble rotten fruit. Sokka had never seen someone go berserk—well, other than what Katara had told him about Azula's final hours as Fire Lord. He was pretty sure that this might be what it looked like. A fine spray of blood misted up as one of Zuko's fists crushed the rebel's nose. The sword and the knife fell from his fingertips, clattering to the ground.

Sokka wasn't sure how long he stood there watching as Zuko slowly beat the man to death, before he finally snapped out of it. Shouting, he ran up and linked his arms under Zuko's, grabbing him by the shoulders in a lock and pulling them backwards with all of his weight. “Zuko! Stop it! We need him alive!” Zuko struggled to get out of the lock that Sokka held him in, his hands reaching manically for the bloody mess of the rebel. “Zuko, please!” He pulled them backwards so that they tumbled onto their butts. For a moment they just sat there, Zuko panting heavily as he leaned back on him. “Please,” Sokka whispered again. After a few half-hearted attempts to break the hold, Zuko finally relaxed against him.

“I want to kill him.” His words were flat and quiet. “I want to rip each part of his body off, piece by piece, starting with his fingers. Then I want to burn him until even his bones are just…” Sokka was shaking. The emotions from the memories, the adrenaline from the fight, Zuko's words…it was all suffocating. The things coming out of Zuko's mouth were… Well, frankly, they were pretty gross if you actually envisioned it. Still, Sokka couldn't help but feel disturbingly happy that Zuko had thought up all those terrible things because of him. He immediately felt guilty for this little happiness. Sokka's sanity? Check. Right where he left it. Completely sunk off the deep end, with a boulder tied to its feet.

Resting his cheek on the back of Zuko's head he chuckled wearily. What a fucked up day. Loosening his hold, he slid his arms around Zuko's chest into a hug. “…you're a sick guy, you know. But it's ok. Makes me feel loved.” Zuko's breathing slowed down and before Sokka knew it, their breathing was steady and in sync. Neither was worried about the rebel. He wouldn't be moving for a while. Shit, hopefully he was still alive. Whatever information they could extract from him could be critical. Sokka buried his face in the back of Zuko's hair. Everything the rebel had said was true. He had called Zuko's name—over, and over again. Because, deep down—he'd held on to some foolish hope that Zuko would magically know he was hurting and come to his rescue. It was ridiculous and impractical, but all he'd wanted was to see that silly, awkward face again.

They sat there until the voices that had been drawing increasingly closer spilled through the first doorway. Damn, these halls must have carried sound well because Sokka could have sworn he'd been hearing them shouting for ten minutes now. Sokka had just started to move out from behind him when Zuko grabbed his arms, digging his fingers into his biceps to prevent him from pulling away. Twisting in the circle they created, he slid his hands to Sokka's wrists and knelt in front of him. His expression was such a mixture of intensity and earnestness that Sokka just looked at him. The thought of escaping didn't even register. “Sokka, I…”

Whatever Zuko had been about to say was lost as Iroh and about a dozen soldiers burst through the ruined doorway. Sokka quickly scrambled away from Zuko and shot to the other side of the room, pacing nervously before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to stop. His heart was fluttering like crazy. Zuko sat back on his butt and leaned on his elbows for a moment, looking up at the ceiling before calmly rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “Zukooo!” Iroh shouted out, making a beeline for him. Halfway across the room, he skidded to a halt. “You two…it's just you two…” pointing at them, he looked back and forth between their faces. A black look shadowed across his normally happy features. Even Zuko took a step back as all the air seemed to be vacuumed out of the room and into Iroh. The force of Iroh's anger was tangible and the room took on the feeling of a pressure cooker. Sokka was angry about the lack of backup too, but he almost felt sorry for the soldiers as Iroh whirled around and stalked up to the nervous bunch that had followed him in.

“Who was on duty.” Iroh spoke calmly, but his voice cracked out like a steel whip. He held his arms behind his back, and despite his short stature, he seemed to completely tower over every man and woman standing before him.

“S-sir, it was—Shuto and Kang, sir.” A soldier stuttered out nervously while staring straight ahead.

“Someone make sure the assassin is secured,” Iroh snapped, “And find Shuto and Kang.” The soldiers shifted feet and glanced uneasily between each other. “Move!” Iroh snarled. The soldiers scattered. Sokka let out a low whistle between his teeth. There certainly was a reason Iroh had been such a great general. He forgot sometimes when the old man seemed so silly, going on about tea—but when it came to Zuko's life, he didn't play. He had even given up his dream of a tea house in the Earth Kingdom to stay by Zuko's side during the initial period of transition and from there he had just kind of stuck around.

“Uncle. This is not Zhen. And I am not injured in my armpit, so please put my hand down.” Iroh, who had been checking Zuko over like a mother hen, reluctantly released Zuko's arm. He gazed over at the little assassin, who lay unmoving in the middle of the room, with a look of curiosity.

“Nephew, may I ask how you know this already? Or perhaps Sokka was able to recognize him.” The last sentence was more of a statement rather than question, as Iroh had already deduced the answer from Sokka's averted eyes. “I am not sure what happened here, but let us only hope he survives. Judging from the room, I'd say he's the one who favors knives, which I will also assume explains some of his…facial injuries am I right, Zuko?” Zuko nodded tersely. There wasn't a shred of remorse on his face. Iroh sighed. “We need to get as much information out of him as possible. This may have been a lucky break, after all.”

While Zuko filled Iroh in on what had happened, Sokka wandered back over to the little rebel who was newly restrained in Fire Nation manacles. The Fire Nation soldiers had removed his weapons and Sokka blinked at the number of knives that he'd still had on his person. That had to have been enough metal to supply a forge for a month. Crouching above him, Sokka studied the man's features, or at least what he could make out of them. Zuko really hadn't held back at all. One eye was swollen shut and the other was just a slit, but he gazed up at Sokka without blinking. Blood oozed out of cuts on his face from Zuko's knuckles. After they had stared each other down for about a minute, Sokka finally broke the silence. “Who are you, really?” he questioned in a low voice.

The little man just grinned and Sokka gagged. He looked like a bloated carcass smiling up at him with broken teeth coated in blood. A thought struck Sokka. The man was skilled, but he was not in this gig as an assassin. He was a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. Why had he been there? Why had he been there, especially when everyone had been under the impression that Sokka and Zuko were going to be in meetings all day? Suddenly alert, Sokka looked around the room—really looked—for the first time. He'd been so swept up by the battle that he hadn't bothered to take note of the state of the room. Naturally, it was a total wreck where they had been fighting, mostly in the large common area around the bed, and near the balcony and entrance to the bathroom. The other side of the room though, with the writing desk and door to the wardrobe, was completely trashed. Even taking into consideration the damage he'd done when crossing the room and leaping over the bed, there was still obvious signs of disturbance. Drawers hung out of side tables and the door to the wardrobe was cracked. He'd been looking for something.

Eyes wide and focused, he looked back down at the rebel. Fisting both his hands in the man's shirt, he lifted him off the ground. “Why were you here? What the fuck were you looking for?” Sokka hissed. The man just kept grinning up at him like a demented corpse.

“Sir! Iroh, sir! We've found Shuto and Kang! They were in the other room…The man trailed off as the entire room froze and stared at him. “They're, um, they're dead…sir.” His mouth flopped open like a fish and he stuttered, “Sir…they were shot with arrows.”

“Arrows?” Zuko tilted his head with a confused look, “Don't you mean knives? This guy doesn't have any arrows…SHIT! SOKKA!” Zuko shouted and lunged towards him, but he was on the other side of the room. Sokka's mind was whirling as he stared down in surprise at the blood gushing onto his hands and dripping onto his feet. It wasn't his, though. He still held the little man up by his shirt, but now the demented grin really was coming from a corpse. Sokka took one look at the two arrows protruding straight through the man's neck to the other side and dropped flat to the ground, yanking the guards down beside him. A little scream pierced the air as the soldier standing to his right did not move in time and caught the arrow in his hip.

Leaping up, Sokka screamed at Zuko to get down as the door to the wardrobe burst open completely and Blondie rolled out, aiming his crossbow straight at Zuko. This was bad. Zuko had been crossing the room towards him, and now he was completely unprotected in the middle of the large open bedroom. Without thinking, Sokka grabbed the ivory handled knife he'd discarded earlier and let it fly. His aim was off and it sank into Blondie's thigh. It wasn't enough to take him down, but it was enough to distract him for a moment until Iroh caught up and had shoved a cursing Zuko out of the way. With a hiss, Blondie swept his gaze around the room and after a quick assessment, started to run towards the balcony. Sokka sprang into motion—he had to catch the guy before he got away! The guards, true to their military background, also sprang into action and were hot on Sokka's heels. The blonde rebel was impossibly fast, even with a giant knife protruding from his leg. At the edge of the balcony, he paused and looked back at Sokka who was stretching out his arm. Just a few more steps and he'd be able to grab a fistful of the rebel's shirt… Their eyes locked but it was broken a moment later as the rebel ducked to avoid a blast of flame. Turning and leaping onto the railing, he stood and simply walked off the balcony. Sokka snatched at his vest as he made it to the railing, but he was too late. Zuko's room was located on the fourth floor or so—there was absolutely no way that he could survive that jump.

Sokka's jaw dropped as Blondie hit the ground, rolling to offset the impact. After a moment, the man struggled to his feet. Turning to look up at Sokka, he grasped the hilt of the knife and with a quick jerk, yanked it from his leg. Turning slowly, he started to limp then started to jog. An alarm was now sounding throughout the palace, and Sokka could see soldiers running towards the grounds that Zuko's bedroom overlooked. Guards flanked his left and right, leaning over the stone railing and shouting at one another in frustration. Sokka started to take a step backwards, preparing to jump off the balcony in pursuit when a pair of hands grabbed him roughly and pulled him back.

“What the fuck did you think you were going to do!” Zuko shouted.

“I was going to follow him, Zuko! The guy just tried to kill you!” Sokka tugged at his arm. There was still time to catch up, while Blondie had that injury.

“Sokka. The man just flew off a balcony, right?” Sokka glared at him and raised an eyebrow as if to say, Really? I couldn't tell. “Sokka. You are a great fighter. But you are one of the clumsiest people I know.” Sokka opened his mouth to protest, “Zzzt. Don't say anything. Toph already told me about the time you got stuck in a crack while hunting. Then you almost got attacked by a sabertooth moose lion. Then you had to get shot out the ground by Toph. What did you really think was going to happen when you took a swan dive off that balcony?” Zuko was so frank that Sokka's mouth snapped closed. He winced as he recalled the memory. The man did have a point.

“I think they were looking for something, Zuko.” Zuko's eyes shot around the room before he nodded in agreement.

“I see that,” he murmured. “The question is, what were they looking for—and did they find it.” Iroh joined them.

“The rebel you captured is dead, although you may have already deduced that on your own. I believe this is an indication more than ever that you two need to retreat now. There is an air balloon prepped and waiting for you. We need to take control of this situation immediately—we lost two soldiers today, and one is severely injured. We cannot risk having innocent people hurt should something like this happen again. Not when there is an opportunity to put this fight on our terms.” Sokka sighed with weariness and nodded. Hopefully the balloon ride would be short. He really needed to make it to a bed before he passed out. He was incredibly worn out. His bicep was burning, it felt like it was on fire. With a start, he realized it was Zuko's hand—Zuko still hadn't let go of his other arm. The heat curled up through his arm and into his belly. He hadn't realized that biceps were such sensitive places. Sokka chomped down on his inside cheek and beat down his libido. What the fuck was it doing acting up now? He'd heard stories from the other Water Tribe soldiers of experiences they'd had post-battle when they'd been really, well, horny. Apparently it was some reaction to surviving a near-death experience that made one want to feel alive. Very alive. With another person.

His body was reacting as Zuko's rough fingertips absentmindedly scraped the soft skin of his underarm. Sokka squeaked. “Sokka, are you ok?” He looked up and found Zuko's worried face a few inches from his own. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Proximity way too close. Well, if he'd had any doubts whatsoever about his little revelation earlier, they were pretty much gone now. It was like once he'd admitted the possibility, the floodgates on his imagination had opened. And his hormones. Couldn't forget those pesky fuckers. As Zuko reached up towards his face, Sokka gulped. Yep. He was a goner. In desperation, he smacked Zuko's hand away and jerked out of his grasp. If his body reacted any more, there would be no way he could explain it.

“S-sorry. I'm still a little hyped up from the battle.” A look of relief replaced the one of surprise on Zuko's face and he nodded.

“Yeah, me too. We better grab our stuff, Sokka. We have to get moving. Do you have everything together that you need in the other room?” Sokka nodded. Zuko gave an approving nod in response. “Good. I need to talk to Uncle about some of the arrangements, but be ready to go in two minutes.” Sokka nodded again. He was starting to feel like his head was attached to a spring, bouncing up and down. As Zuko grabbed Iroh's elbow and they exchanged hushed whispers, Sokka looked around the room once more.

For the first time, he noticed how much damage they'd inflicted on Zuko's bedroom. It was going to need a lot of work before it was livable again. There were knives—so many knives, and darts, and daggers, all just protruding from the walls like really strange decorations. It kinda reminded Sokka of the place he'd heard the maids whispering about once. Apparently, after the war, the strict moral code had loosened up a little bit in the capital and an influx of a new breed of “vendor” had popped up. Some of the vendors were harmless, like the ones that sold Iroh's risqué teacups. Absently, Sokka wondered again just what kind of cups Zuko had seen that had had him blushing like that a couple days ago. In any case, there were other stores that sold things that were…a little less innocent. Curiosity had driven him to investigate the shop that the maids were giggling about. He'd gotten about three steps into the store before he'd been back outside, wheezing with his head between his legs. He'd never known that so many people were into such things. The knives peppering the walls reminded him of that kinky sex dungeon and his mouth twisted. He just didn't really get the attraction. He couldn't really picture Zuko ever…

Sokka's mouth went dry as the desert. Oh shit. No no no no no, he had NOT just had that thought. Damn! Fuck! He yanked on the hair on his head. There it was again, etched into his brain. His libido sat on a bench in his mind, giggling. His libido had been waiting for this opportunity to arise, apparently. It had already had the mental image subconsciously prepared, adapted from when Zuko had been imprisoned in the Boiling Rock. All the breath whooshed out of him as the picture popped into his head. Zuko, looking at him through that thick, black hair, stalking him as he tugged half-heartedly against the chains. WAIT a minute—how the hell had SOKKA gotten into the chains?! Change it back! Change it back! He screamed at his libido. Had all this really been lurking in his subconscious? Just how long had he been repressing his feelings?

What the fuck was wrong with him? He was standing in the middle of a room where they had just fought for their lives with a dead body on his left, an assassin still at large, and one blonde rebel who had managed to completely evade capture—with ease—and all he could think about was having sweaty, kinky dungeon sex with Zuko. Something was absolutely, unquestionably wrong with him. Miserable, he stared at the space between the four poster bed frame and the trunk at the foot of it. It was the perfect size to wedge Space Sword Jr into. Impaling himself was suddenly becoming even more appealing. Maybe there was still time to swan dive off the balcony.

He had finally gotten his pulse under check—and his lower half too. Thoughts of Gran Gran could do that for a man. It was completely ruined when Zuko stalked back over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked. Sokka went stiff so quickly, he had to catch himself before he fell over like a wooden plank. With a squeak, he nodded furiously. Zuko gave him a strange look before turning to leave through the busted door. Once he'd gagged and handcuffed his libido with the surprisingly handy accessories from his fantasy earlier, Sokka was finally composed enough to follow. This was going to be a long balloon ride.

No joke, there will seriously be new characters next chapter. I hadn't counted on this scene taking up so much room.