Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thunder that cracked over Caldera City sounded like the world splitting open.
Sokka pressed his palm against the polished door to the Fire Lord’s chambers, heart hammering from the climb up the endless palace steps. The rain was coming down in sheets outside, streaking the wide windows of the upper halls, and with every flash of lightning, he swore he could feel the vibration through his bones. His bad knee ached in rhythm with it — dull, insistent, a ghostly echo of a battle long over.
He didn’t bother knocking. The guards already knew better than to stop him.
The door creaked open, and a rush of warm air hit him. It smelled faintly of smoke and sandalwood and something sharp underneath the particular scent of ozone that always came before lightning struck.
“Zuko?”
No answer. Only the low hiss of the fire in the hearth.
Sokka stepped inside, his limp more pronounced now. The storm had started hours ago, and by now, it would’ve been at its peak. Zuko’s storms were always the worst. Not the ones outside, but the ones that lived inside him.

The room was dimly lit, only a few candles burning. And in the center of the bed, Zuko lay askew, sprawled across tangled sheets like he’d fallen there halfway through undressing.

His hair was still pulled into a tight topknot, the Fire Lord’s gold hairpiece glinting faintly in the flickering light. His chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath a rough drag of sound that made Sokka’s stomach twist. Even from across the room, he could see the sheen of sweat coating Zuko’s skin, could hear the faint wheeze between breaths.
“Spirits,” Sokka muttered, limping forward. “Fire lily?”
Zuko stirred faintly at the nickname — just barely — his head turning on the pillow. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then, a hoarse, broken whisper: “Sokka?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, bracing a hand against the mattress. “You didn’t answer any of the servants. I got worried.”

“Didn’t—want them to see—” Zuko tried to speak, but the words broke off in a gasp as pain rippled through his chest. His hand flew instinctively to the starburst patterned scar that radiated from just under his collarbone, Azula’s lightning mark, angry and pink even after all these years.

Sokka caught his hand before it could press too hard. “Hey, hey, don’t. You’ll make it worse.”

Zuko’s breath came in ragged bursts, and when lightning flashed outside the window, his whole body flinched. He turned his face away, teeth clenched against a groan.

“Storms again?” Sokka asked softly. That was what they were calling them. The episodes of intense pain that started ever since Zuko got hit with lightning. It was only fitting because even though Zuko was almost always now in pain, when thunderstorms happened, Zuko's storms happened as well.

Zuko gave a tiny nod, eyes shut tight.
Sokka sighed, brushing a strand of damp hair off Zuko’s forehead. His fingers came away slick with sweat. The heat radiating from Zuko’s skin wasn’t the kind that came from a fever, it was the internal, flickering kind, the one that meant he was trying to use his bending to ease the pain.
But even that was failing him now.

“Okay,” Sokka murmured, voice low and steady, the way he used to speak to his baby sister after bad dreams. “We’re gonna take care of this. Just breathe, alright? Don’t try to fight it.”
He looked around the room. The Fire Lord’s desk was still littered with scrolls. A tray of untouched tea sat cooling near the hearth. Zuko must have come back from a meeting and collapsed before even changing out of his robes.
Sokka moved to the bedside table and poured what was left of the tea into a cup. It was cold, but it would have to do. He sat back down, slipping an arm under Zuko’s shoulders to help him sit.

“Easy, I got you. Sip slowly.”
Zuko’s hands trembled as he tried to take the cup. His breath hitched again, pain spiking visibly across his face. Sokka guided the rim to his lips and tipped it just enough for him to swallow.
“Good. That’s good, Fire Lily Just like that.”
Zuko’s chest rose sharply; another flash of lightning outside made him stiffen, his fingers curling against Sokka’s sleeve.
“Hey, look at me,” Sokka said quickly, setting the cup aside. “It’s just a storm. You’re inside. You’re safe. Nothing’s gonna happen.”
But Zuko’s eyes were unfocused, pupils wide. His breathing came shorter now, fast and uneven.
And then another flash. This one even closer.
The sound hit like a slap.
Zuko jerked violently, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. His body went rigid, and for a moment, Sokka thought he’d stop breathing altogether.

“Zuko!”
He gripped his shoulders, grounding him, but Zuko’s mind was already somewhere else. His lips moved soundlessly — no, stop, Azula, please — before another ragged sob shook him.
“Hey, hey—” Sokka’s own chest tightened painfully. He pulled Zuko in, holding him close. “You’re not there, Fire Lily. You’re not there.”

Zuko didn’t seem to hear. His breathing turned shallow, wheezing.
Sokka made a snap decision and eased him back down onto the mattress. “Okay. I’m getting Katara.”
He half-rose from the bed, but Zuko’s hand shot out, clutching his wrist with surprising strength.
“Don’t—” The word tore from him, barely audible. “Don’t call her.”
“Zuko, you need—”
“Please,” Zuko gasped. “Don’t want her—to see—me like this.”
Sokka froze, heart pounding. “Okay. Okay. I won’t.”
Zuko’s grip slackened, but the panic didn’t fade. His breath came too fast; his skin glowed faintly with inner heat. He was trembling now, small, fine tremors that shook through his whole body.
Sokka exhaled slowly. “Alright, I’ll handle it.”
He got up only long enough to light the kettle again and brew a fresh pot of calming jasmine tea — Zuko’s favorite. His own knee screamed in protest as he moved, but he ignored it. The rhythm of making tea, the careful pouring, the scent of jasmine leaves unfurling — it helped him stay steady.
By the time he returned to the bedside, Zuko’s breathing had slowed a little, but his hair was plastered to his forehead, strands sticking out of the topknot at awkward angles. His Fire Lord robes were half-open, sweat soaking through the fabric.
“You look like you’ve wrestled a dragon, Firefly,” Sokka murmured, setting the teapot down.
Zuko made a faint sound that might have been a laugh. Or a cough. “Would rather—” His voice cracked. “—fight a dragon.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
Sokka climbed back onto the bed, settling beside him. “Let’s get you out of this armor. You’ll suffocate in it.”
Zuko blinked sluggishly, but didn’t resist when Sokka’s fingers reached for his hair. The clasp of the Fire Lord’s gold hairpiece clicked softly as Sokka removed it, setting it gently on the table. He tugged out the pins one by one, slow and careful, until Zuko’s long dark hair tumbled loose over his shoulders.
“There,” Sokka said, voice softening. “Better already.”
He brushed his fingers through the damp strands, combing them back from Zuko’s face. Zuko sighed shakily, eyelids fluttering.
Sokka leaned in and pressed a kiss to his hairline — featherlight, reverent. The heat radiating from Zuko’s skin was still too much, but Sokka didn’t pull away. He let the sweat dampen his lips, whispering against Zuko’s temple: “You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby.”
Zuko’s throat worked, but no sound came out. His hands twitched weakly against the sheets, reaching for something only half-remembered.
Sokka coaxed him to sit again, long enough to slip the heavy outer robes from his shoulders. The fabric clung stubbornly, sticky with sweat, and Zuko hissed softly when the cool air hit his skin.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sokka murmured. “Almost done.”

When the last layer fell away, Sokka’s chest tightened at the sight beneath — the angry starburst scar on Zuko’s chest, radiating outward like frozen lightning. The center was pale and shiny, surrounded by faint, mottled lines where the tissue still struggled to heal. Every inhale pulled at it visibly.

Sokka swallowed hard. “I’m gonna put some salve on that, okay?”
Zuko nodded weakly.
Sokka uncorked a small jar from the bedside drawer — the herbal ointment Katara had mixed months ago for nights like this. It smelled faintly of mint and ash. He scooped a bit onto his fingers and warmed it between his palms.
“Cold,” he warned, even though it wasn’t.
He spread it gently across the scarred skin, tracing the radiating pattern with careful precision. Zuko flinched at first, sucking in a sharp breath, but as Sokka continued, the tension in his shoulders slowly eased.
“There we go,” Sokka murmured, rubbing slow circles over the salve until it glistened. “In and out, remember?”
Zuko’s chest rose and fell beneath his touch, breaths still shallow but steadier now.

For a moment, there was peace — quiet except for the rain against the windows and the low hiss of the fire.
Then lightning flashed again.
The thunder followed a heartbeat later — louder than before, a violent crash that rattled the entire palace.
Zuko froze. His eyes flew open, wide and wild. The next breath he tried to take came in too fast, then too shallow. His hands clenched at his chest, nails digging into the fresh salve.
Sokka barely had time to catch him before he doubled over.

Chapter Text

Zuko’s whole body went rigid. His breath stuttered, caught, then vanished entirely.

“Zuko,” Sokka said quickly, catching his shoulders as he folded inward. “Hey, hey, breathe, breathe for me.”

But Zuko couldn’t. His fingers clawed at his chest, and at the scar, trying to drag in air that wouldn’t come. The sound that left him was half a wheeze, half a strangled sob.

Sokka’s heart lurched painfully. “Shit, no, no, no. Fire Lily, hey, look at me!”

Zuko’s eyes darted wildly, gold blown wide, unseeing. The storm outside flashed again, lighting his face like the reflection of old lightning. He flinched so hard that his teeth clicked together, a whimper breaking free.

Sokka pulled him close, wrapping both arms around his trembling body, murmuring whatever words came first. “It’s me. You’re here. You’re safe, baby. You’re not there anymore. It’s just rain, it’s just noise.”

But Zuko’s mind was far from the palace. Sokka could see it — the past swallowing him whole. He could see the lightning reflected in those gold eyes and knew exactly what memory it was pulling from.

That final Agni Kai. The blue bolt of lightning that seared the air and tore through Zuko’s chest. The way Azula’s laughter and then screams had mingled with the sound of the lightning striking.

He’d told Sokka once, years after, that it had felt like dying and waking in the same breath, as if his own heart had burst and then been forced to beat again.

Sokka held him tighter.

“Breathe with me, Fire Lily. In,” he inhaled slowly, exaggerating the motion so Zuko could feel his chest rise against him, “and out. Come on, my love, just follow my lead.”

Zuko tried. His first inhale came out ragged, his ribs trembling under Sokka’s hands. He coughed weakly, shaking his head like he couldn’t force the air past his throat.

“It’s okay,” Sokka whispered, pressing his forehead to Zuko’s. “it doesn’t have to be perfect. Just a little at a time, yeah? One breath, that’s all.”

Zuko’s fingers clutched at the front of Sokka’s shirt. He was trembling so badly that Sokka could feel the vibrations through every inch of skin. The heat rolling off him was uneven now, flickering bursts of warmth followed by chilling shivers.

Zuko’s lips parted, trying to form words. “She, she,”

“I know,” Sokka said softly. “Azula’s not here. She’s gone, remember? She can’t hurt you anymore.”

The next flash of lightning made Zuko flinch again, but this time Sokka caught his face between both hands, grounding him, forcing him to look into his eyes.

“Look at me. Right here. That’s it. See? You’re home. You’re not in the arena. You’re not bleeding out. You’re just,” Sokka brushed his thumb over Zuko’s cheek, wiping away tears he hadn’t noticed falling, “you’re just safe in bed with the world’s most handsome water tribe warrior.”

A shaky breath left Zuko. “C-conceited.”

Sokka almost laughed, a wet sound that came out more like a sob of relief, as he peppered Zuko's damp hair with soft kisses. “There you are, baby”

Zuko blinked rapidly, disoriented, his breathing finally slowing. He slumped against Sokka’s chest, all his strength giving way at once. Sokka caught him, supporting him as gently as he could.

“That’s it, baby. There you go.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were Zuko’s unsteady breaths and the distant rumble of thunder rolling away. Sokka carded his fingers through Zuko’s hair, combing through the damp strands until the shaking eased.

When Zuko’s voice finally returned, it was faint and cracked. “Sorry.”

Sokka froze mid-stroke. “You don’t ever apologize for this.”

Zuko’s gaze dropped, voice barely audible. “I’m the Fire Lord. I shouldn’t be so... so weak!”

“Zuko.” Sokka tipped his chin up, making him meet his eyes. “You’re human. You got struck by lightning, remember? That kind of thing doesn’t make you weak because you’ve got a fancy crown. In my books, it makes you strong. How many people do you know who have gotten struck by lightning and lived?"

Zuko stared at Sokka mutely before saying, "Aang? Plus ge actually caught the brunt of the full thing. I redirected som of it, but I'm still like this."

"Aang is the Avatar, and besides, his heart didn't get hit."
They were silent for a while and Sokka murmured softly, "it's not a competition Zuko. No one awards people who have 'suffered more' than others. Your pain is valid too."

Zuko’s throat worked soundlessly before he closed his eyes, exhaling a trembling breath. “It still hurts,” he whispered. “Every time it storms. My chest, it feels like I got hit all over again. I can't...”

He stopped, unable to finish.

Sokka pressed his lips to Zuko’s forehead, then to his temple, whispering against his skin, “I know. I know, my love.”

He reached for a discarded shirt beside the bed, a loose linen one Zuko usually slept in, and guided his arms through the sleeves. Zuko moved sluggishly, pliant under his touch, still too shaken to do much more than obey.

“There,” Sokka murmured, fastening the ties with careful fingers. “Much better than all that Fire Lord nonsense.”

Zuko gave a faint, broken laugh. “You hate my robes.”

“They make you look like a gilded tomato.”

That earned him a real, if small, smile. "Lies and slander. I remember you saying I looked —what was fhe word— 'dashing' in my Firelord robes."

Sokka smirked and Zuko snorted a small laugh.

It was enough to make Sokka’s chest ache in a completely different way.

He guided Zuko back against the pillows, adjusting them until he was propped comfortably. Then he reached for the cup of tea, now cooled just enough to drink, and held it to Zuko’s lips again.

“Slow sips,” he said softly. “That’s it, Fire Lily.”

Zuko drank obediently, the steam fogging faintly between them. His eyes were heavy-lidded now, exhaustion pulling at every line of his body.

When the cup was empty, Sokka set it aside and brushed his thumb along Zuko’s jaw. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” Zuko murmured. “Just… tired.”

“I bet.”

Sokka settled beside him, easing Zuko into his arms again. The rain had softened to a steady drizzle, the lightning more distant now. But the air still felt charged, the kind of tension that lingered after too much adrenaline.

Zuko’s breathing hitched once, twice, before evening out again. “Stay,” he whispered.

“Always.”

Zuko shifted slightly, his forehead pressing against Sokka’s neck. “You smell like rain.”

Sokka chuckled faintly, stroking Zuko's back. “You smell like burnt cinnamon and pride with a hint of jasmine.”

Zuko made a soft huff of laughter that warmed Sokka’s skin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me.”

“Yeah,” Zuko said quietly. “I love you.”

When Sokka looked down, Zuko’s eyes were closed again, his expression open and soft in a way that made Sokka’s chest ache.

“Yeah,” Sokka whispered, kissing his hairline again. “I love you too, Fire Lily.”

He kept whispering little things, not meant to be heard, just to fill the silence. Words like you’re safe and I’ve got you, baby, and you’re doing so good.

At some point, Zuko’s trembling stopped completely. His breathing steadied into slow, even rhythm. The scar across his chest still glowed faintly pink in the dim light, but the tightness had eased.

Sokka stayed awake long after Zuko drifted into uneasy sleep, fingers tracing lazy patterns along his arm. Every so often, Zuko would murmur something half-dreamed — fragments of apology, of names long buried — and Sokka would hush him with a soft kiss to his temple.

Outside, the storm broke at last. The clouds thinned. A faint orange glow of dawn began to touch the horizon.

The fire in the hearth had died down to embers, but the warmth between them lingered, steady, alive.

Sokka lay there in the quiet, one hand resting over the scar on Zuko’s chest, feeling the slow, steady heartbeat beneath it.

He bent forward and whispered, almost to himself, “Sleep easy, baby. I’ll keep watch.”

And for once, when thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, Zuko didn’t even stir.