Archive of Our Own

If there was one thing Sokka had learned since he began his podcast journey, it was the value of a good hook. A story could be compelling, intriguing, full of suspense and colorful characters, but if you didn’t hook the audience right away, it wouldn’t gain traction. Even with the most die-hard listeners, you had at most five minutes to get their attention and keep it, otherwise they would find something else to do with their time.

The second thing he learned was that audience participation could make or break any creative project. If someone wanted this information in a way that didn’t need their input, they would pick up a book or watch a TV show instead. A podcast was a conversation, albeit a very long, drawn-out conversation between parties who couldn’t see each other and often had different goals, but a conversation nonetheless.

Aang had been skeptical at first, but when Sokka showed him the analytics, he had no choice but to agree. Even after only six months, adding audience participation grew the podcast considerably.

Five years in, Sokka had received hundreds of emails from listeners with hundreds of podcast topic suggestions. Most of them were not worth following, for one reason or another. The story was not mysterious enough; there wasn’t enough evidence; it had already been solved, but the solution wasn’t palatable to conspiratorial listeners. Only around a tenth of the emails he received were worth digging deeper, but even among this elite group, most stories still got tossed out.

So when he opened the business email and saw the title “I think my father killed my mother and covered it up,” he really had no choice but to dive in.

~~~

Dear Unsolvable with Sokka,

My name is Zuko Sugita. I’ve been a fan of the podcast since the first episode. I’ve never written in with a suggestion before but I have a story you should look into.

Fifteen years ago, my father and grandfather got into an argument. They argued a lot, but this was different. My mom took me and my sister upstairs to bed, and I never saw her again. The next day, my father told me that my grandfather was dead and my mom had run away.

My mom wouldn’t have run away. I know everyone always says that, but she wouldn’t. She loved her family too much. She wouldn’t have left me and my sister alone against our father. I’ve spent years hoping she’d come back, but she hasn’t. And I’m starting to suspect the worst.

I’ve tried everything I can think of to figure out what happened to her, but no one talks. It’s been a mystery for more than half my life.

Please, help me.

~~~

Zuko had sat on the email for two years.

Unsolvable introduced the option to send in story suggestions about a year after launching, and Zuko had thought about sending something, but didn’t even have the courage to write the email for two years, and it had sat in his drafts ever since. He updated it twice, to change the number of years since the incident, but never sent it.

Until today.

Today was the fifteenth anniversary of his mother’s disappearance, and no one in the world was talking about her. Not his father, Ozai, who spent the past fifteen years acting as though he never had a wife; not his sister, Azula, who had always been their father’s puppet; not the household staff, nor the gardeners, nor security. No one remembered his mother except him.

Fifteen years was such a depressingly long time that Zuko barely made it past lunch before taking a bottle of vodka from the bar and locking himself in his room. No one would miss him, either, while he drank his sorrows away.

There were many sorrows.

The alcohol buzzed in his brain as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. This was the same room, all those years ago, where his mother tucked him in and said good night. The decorations had changed, some of the furniture replaced as it was broken (his father had quite the temper), but it was the same room. Old plastic stars on the ceiling that had long since lost their glow, white marble floors, wide window with a view of the skyline.

And Zuko, though on the outside a young man, was on the inside still the same scared little boy who missed his mother.

Half the bottle gone, Zuko was barely conscious of taking out his phone, scrolling various social media apps, stopping on the most recent update from Unsolvable. The words on the screen were a swirl of unintelligible symbols, but he could at least appreciate the picture of Sokka himself. The boy (man, really, he had stubble and tattoos) was gorgeous; his dark hair fell over his forehead just so, his blue eyes pierced through the phone screen into Zuko’s soul, the small glimpses of tattoos on his arms sent a shiver down Zuko’s spine.

Zuko sighed heavily, took another swig, and went back to his phone.

Though he wouldn’t remember it, he opened his email app, drunkenly navigated to the drafts, and sent the all-important email. Then he dropped the bottle of vodka to the floor, where it shattered, and passed out.

~~~

Sokka read his emails first thing in the morning. It wasn’t what most people would call “first thing in the morning,” given that it was past nine, but it was the first thing he did in the morning, so it counted.

As usual, most of the emails were pointless. Mysteries without any clues, alien abductions (which he refused to investigate on principle), ghosts, the usual five or six emails about Madeleine McCann or JonBenét Ramsey or some other famous unsolved mystery.

But this one...this one was special. He could feel it in his bones, despite its brevity and lack of detail. This was the kind of thing he thrived on, the reason he started the podcast in the first place. Already his mind ran away with theories and possibilities, each less probable than the last.

Things only got worse for him (or better, depending on how you looked at it) when he searched the name. Sugita should have been a familiar name to him, but he’d never paid attention to local politics. The city was large enough that he’d never run into any of them, but a family with a venture capital firm that large was always in the press. The estimated net worth of Zuko’s father made Sokka’s head spin. Article after article, newspaper after newspaper, business blog after business blog, all extolled the keen eye and mind for business of this man, Ozai Sugita, who took over the business after his father’s untimely demise.

There was no mention of a wife.

Sokka’s stomach growled after two hours of research. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed for breakfast yet. He had to eat, and go through the rest of the emails, and record another ad read, and sit down with his accountant to go over the next month’s expenses.

Instead, he called Aang.

Aang Gyatso was the podcast editor, but also Sokka’s best friend. They had known each other since high school, and Aang had been dating Sokka’s younger sister, Katara, for three years. Aang was a perfect soundboard for ideas, and he usually had very insightful things to say about whatever topic was at hand.

“I’m about to go into class,” Aang said. Sokka could hear the chatter of a college campus in the background. “Is it urgent?”

“Kind of,” Sokka replied, pressing the phone against his shoulder so he could type with both hands. “I got an email and the idea is driving me crazy. In the good way.”

Aang sighed. He got a call like this about once a month, which usually meant he was in for a long yap session followed by an even longer editing session. “Can it wait an hour? We’re having a test today.”

Sticking his tongue out, barely listening, Sokka typed furiously on his keyboard. “Fine. I’m sending you information, though. Read it. I’ll call you in an hour.”

“I won’t have time—”

Sokka hung up before Aang could finish. His phone then sat on his desk, untouched, for an hour and a half. Once the conversation finished, Sokka forgot all about calling Aang back. He dug through any publicly available record he could find, any newspaper article or blog that even mentioned the name in passing. The website for the firm itself, of course, was useless, except that there were pictures.

The pictures on the firm’s website were mostly staged. Almost all of them had Ozai in some capacity: pointing at a computer screen over the shoulder of a nameless employee; standing before a conference room with a strategically-placed graph behind him; ribbon-cutting ceremonies across the city, complete with a hard hat and giant scissors. The page dedicated to the company’s history, however, had the closest thing to a candid photo Sokka had yet seen.

The name Zuko Sugita was somewhat familiar to Sokka, who tried to remember as many of his fans as he could. While the email address itself had never sent anything in, it was attached to one of the first Patreon subscriptions the podcast ever received, as well as a half dozen Amazon wish list purchases. He couldn’t be sure, but Sokka had a suspicion that Zuko had come to at least one of his live events as well.

When he saw the pictures of the family, however, Sokka was blown away. It was the only picture on the entire website that claimed to have Zuko in it, and Sokka couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was on the shorter side, but his angular face and medium-length dark hair certainly made up for it. He wasn’t smiling, and he was standing beside his father and a woman who, according to the caption, was his sister. While Ozai and this sister smiled widely, Zuko’s face could only be described as a grimace.

And that scar…

Almost the whole left side of his face was warped, skin pulled tight, forcing his left eye closed almost completely. The tight, shiny appearance of the skin was intimately familiar to Sokka, who had done his fair share of stories involving burn survivors.

Despite this, despite the poor light quality and bad angle and slightly blurry resolution, Sokka found Zuko to be one of the most gorgeous people he’d ever seen.

When Aang finally called back, Sokka was ripped out of his reverie.

“Sorry,” Sokka said. “Forgot about you.”

Aang just laughed. “I figured. Not the first time. Listen, I read through that email, and I see why you like it. It has Sokka written all over it.”

Sokka’s stomach growled again, so he finally left his bedroom and went down to the kitchen. “Yeah, doesn’t it? I mean, the email he sent me, it’s not a lot to go on. But there’s so much information out there, I’ve been digging as much as I can.” He opened the fridge, surveying what he had available. “Should I have leftovers or a burrito?”

“For what, lunch?”

“Breakfast.”

He heard a heavy sigh on the other side. “For Pete’s sake. Burrito. Have you been researching all this time?”

Sokka didn’t answer right away. He dug through the freezer, pulled out two burritos, and tossed them in the microwave. Then he went back to the fridge and grabbed an energy drink. “More or less. They have a website, that family. The firm, I guess. But it’s a family business. That guy that sent the email, he was, like, the fifth person to subscribe to the Patreon.”

Aang whistled. “Wow. I didn’t know that. What else have you found?”

The energy drink was half-gone already. The microwave beeped, so Sokka carefully took the burritos out and set them on a plate. “A lot, but not a lot. Like, there’s a lot of fluff pieces and shit, but nothing about his mom. I could only find one article from their marriage, but there was no picture.”

“So, you’re taking it?”

Sokka paused, partially to take a bite of the sizzling burrito, partially to think. The cases that sent him on these rabbit hole searches were always the ones he took, but something about this one felt different. He’d never investigated someone’s family before. He’d been asked, plenty of times, but in every other case there had been a reason not to take it. Lack of evidence, lack of intrigue, distance from Sokka. This case was in the city, had tons of intrigue, and ought to have tons of evidence.

“Earth to Sokka.”

He blinked. “Yeah. Obviously I’m taking it. Do you have other classes today?”

“I sent you my schedule at the start of the semester.” The quality of the sound changed; Sokka could hear car keys jingling, the sound of the engine starting up, the beep of the seat belt sensor. He must be on speaker. “I have another one this afternoon, but I’m free for a few hours.”

“Come over, then.” Sokka took another huge bite of the burrito, burning his mouth a bit in the process.

Aang was quiet for a second. The car engine revved, the steady tick-tock of the turn signal filled the space. “But I’m taking Katara to lunch.”

“That’ll take you, what, an hour? Come over after.”

More silence. Someone around Aang honked their horn. “I’ll come over after my later class. For dinner. You have other stuff to do today anyway.”

Sokka huffed. “Fine. Choose my sister.”

“Every time.” Aang laughed. “I’ll see you later. Take a shower, you don’t want Mr. Beifong to think you’re a slob.”

Mr. Beifong was Sokka’s accountant. He was also the father Aang’s roommate, Toph. He was a nice man, and very good at his work, but there was an aura of judgment whenever Sokka wore anything less than business casual.

“Fine, fine. Say hi to my sister.” Sokka hung up, scarfed down the rest of his breakfast, and went back upstairs. He had a long day ahead of him before he could jump back into research. But before he showered, he had to send off one quick email.

~~~

Hello, Zuko!

Thank you so much for writing in to Unsolvable with Sokka! We love to hear from our listeners and appreciate your participation.

Unsolvable is the work of a small, dedicated team, which has been working for five years to bring out the truth in mystery. Audience participation and suggestion is a core tenet of our values; however, we have never historically looked into a case involving the family of a listener, for a variety of reasons.

But I can’t get this out of my head.

As a long-time listener, you likely know that I lost my mother when I was young. It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but I do take some comfort in knowing what happened to her. I can’t imagine the pain of not knowing.

I would be thrilled to take this case.

Under normal circumstances, my team and I would do the research ourselves, as much as possible. But even the preliminary searches I’ve done have shown me how pointless that would be. If you’re comfortable, I would love to meet with you to discuss this further. We can meet in a public space with my lawyer present, if that makes you more comfortable.

Thank you again for reaching out to Unsolvable. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sokka

~~~

Zuko woke the next morning with a throbbing headache, the smell of alcohol making his stomach turn. It was not just on his clothes, but lingering in the room as well. The light was so bright, coming in through the open curtains to bounce off the white marble, the white walls, the crystal light fixture, the broken glass on the floor.

Broken glass?

Groaning, Zuko slowly sat up. The room spun around him slightly, and he closed his eyes to settle his stomach. Bits of the previous day came to him: moping around the house, hoping someone would say the name Ursa; taking a full bottle of Grey Goose from the bar and bringing it to his room; theories and scenarios playing out against the backdrop of the ceiling, or else the inside of his eyelids.

The last thing he remembered was the picture of Sokka.

Digging through his nightstand, Zuko found a bottle of Tylenol and dry-swallowed two pills, wincing at how much his throat hurt. He carefully stepped over the glass shards, wincing at how sticky the floor now was, and made his way to the hallway.

Luckily, he ran into a housekeeper on the way to the bathroom, and instructed her to clean up the mess.

Now safely locked in the bathroom, Zuko looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction; his eyes were bloodshot; his clothes were disheveled. This was why he didn’t often drink. He had a bad habit of being unable to stop.

A quick cold shower, plenty of water splashed in his face, and a new set of clothes had him feeling marginally better. His head still pounded, but he no longer felt on the verge of vomiting.

Aside from housekeepers, Zuko ran into no one on the way to the kitchens. He preferred it that way. The mansion was large enough that, if he wanted, he could avoid even the staff. He didn’t want to see his sister or his father in this state, not until he’d had some coffee.

The cook smiled when he entered. “Good morning, Master Zuko,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“Coffee, black,” Zuko replied, his voice hoarse. “I’m not sure if I can eat yet.”

While the cook bustled around making the coffee, Zuko put his head in his hands. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was massive, white, perfectly clean and perfectly soulless. The countertops alone cost as much as a starter home, the appliances were all top-of-the-line, and the cook himself was paid handsomely to whip up whatever anyone in the house asked for.

Any of the Sugitas, that is.

“Here you are,” he said, setting a steaming mug in front of Zuko.

“Thanks.” Zuko sipped it gratefully, letting it burn his mouth a little. “Where’s Father?”

The cook shrugged, but his smile faltered.

Zuko took the mug with him through the house, stopping in one of the sitting rooms and sinking into the couch. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see gardeners at work, trimming any errant branches or leaves. Beyond the garden, the swimming pool sat unused, but perfectly clean and ready for someone to jump in. No one ever did.

Yesterday had been a mistake. Not only drinking as much as he had, but letting the sorrow of his mother’s disappearance affect him so deeply. His father was sure to have noticed, and even if he didn’t, Azula had. Zuko saw the triumphant look in her face when she caught him taking the booze to his room. There was nothing illegal about it, he was 25 years old, but it felt illegal. Anything Azula could use against him, she would.

“So, you’ve decided to join us.”

Zuko froze, almost dropping the coffee mug. The voice came from behind him, and its unmistakable tone sent chills throughout his body.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Zuko said, still staring out the window. “Yesterday was an aberration. It won’t happen again.”

Ozai stepped around, blocking Zuko’s view of the window. His face was neutral, but his eyes were on fire. “That bottle will be taken from your pay. Consider yourself lucky I don’t charge you for the extra work of the housekeepers.”

Zuko’s “job” within the firm, if it could be called that, was merely on paper. His official title was “Board Consultant,” which was vague enough to get away with if audited. In practice, he did almost nothing for the company; on occasion, he would be tasked with covering for an executive assistant, sending emails and setting up meetings. He was paid well for this nothingness, for which he was reluctantly grateful, but the whole situation just felt like another way for Ozai to control him.

“I have instructed the staff,” Ozai continued, “to not allow you access to alcohol for the time being. You clearly can’t control yourself.”

Zuko simply sat in silence. Talking back or trying to argue would only make things worse. That was the first of many unfortunate lessons he learned after his mother disappeared.

“I think it’s a good idea if you don’t leave the house today.” Ozai smirked. “Wouldn’t want you to get arrested. Dismissed.”

Even though Zuko had been there first, even though Ozai had to seek him out and find him sitting in his own house, Zuko didn’t argue. He left the empty coffee mug on the table and slunk back to his room. The glass and spilled vodka were gone, leaving the room smelling of both alcohol and lemon from the cleaning supplies.

Banning him from leaving the house was a pointless endeavor. Zuko almost never left. The only reason he had to be away from the mansion was the community theater, but there were no rehearsals today. He had no friends, no other job, nothing to keep him occupied. His one real relationship ended two years ago, and no one had filled that empty space.

On the nightstand, Zuko’s phone buzzed. He picked it up absently, expecting it to be a spam email, a pointless news notification, or anything else he could have ignored.

Instead, what he saw made his stomach drop through the floor.

It was an email from the Unsolvable with Sokka team. But more than that, it was a reply.

Try as he might, Zuko simply couldn’t remember sending any email, but this was a reply, and when he clicked through, his heart jumped to his throat.

He’d send the email about his mother.

He’d drunkenly sent the email to Sokka about his mother and didn’t even remember it.

And Sokka wanted to investigate it.

Zuko sat on his bed, staring at the email, rereading it a dozen times before it really sunk in. Sokka, who probably got dozens of emails every day, who admitted that they didn’t look into cases like this, wanted to meet him. Him! Zuko! He wanted to meet Zuko to talk more about his mother!

Hands shaking, Zuko typed out a reply. Before sending, he read it over and over, editing to make it sound less excited, more normal, less like this could change his life, more like this was just another email to send. How many exclamation points was too many? Would it reflect badly to have any at all? How should he sign off? Should he address it to the team, or just Sokka?

It took him fifteen minutes before he was comfortable sending it, and then he sat waiting until it was dinner time.

~~~

Unsurprisingly, Sokka found it hard to focus on anything else while he was waiting for Zuko’s reply. The ad read took several takes, he couldn’t focus on any of the other emails to even send the “thanks but no thanks” response, and his meeting with Mr. Beifong was a one-sided review that could have been an email.

His duties completed, Sokka retreated to his bedroom and pulled the laptop out. His phone had been on DND, but now he saw that Zuko had emailed him back. It was another short email, and Sokka could almost feel the excitement of the other man in the carefully placed exclamation points.

Sokka didn’t even wait for Aang to come by to continue the correspondence. He checked his digital calendar, confirmed Aang’s availability, and sent Zuko a list of times that could work for a meeting. Zuko turned down the request for a lawyer, which was better in Sokka’s mind. It’s not that he didn’t like the lawyer; he just thought it would feel too much like a business venture, and not enough like a creative one.

The two emailed back and forth several times before dinner. Sokka discovered that Zuko was the same age as him, had graduated from the local university with a degree in theater, and had indeed been at a few of his live shows. Sokka almost asked to exchange phone numbers several times, but he had a rule with himself to never give a fan his number. Did Zuko still count as just a fan? Until the case got underway, he decided to play it safe.

“You coming to dinner?” Aang was at his bedroom door, leaned against the jamb with his arms folded. “I thought you wanted to talk about this case.”

Sokka leapt from his chair. “I absolutely do. We’ve got a meeting with him later this week.”

The two of them went downstairs to join the rest of the family. Hakoda, Sokka’s father, had made salmon alfredo, with a side salad featuring tomatoes from Gran Gran’s garden. Gran Gran was Sokka’s mother’s mother, who had lived with them ever since his mother died. She normally spent her days either in the garden or watching old Westerns on TV. Aang sat beside Katara, Sokka beside Hakoda, and they all dug in.

“Did you learn anything interesting in school today?” Hakoda asked.

Aang was nearing the end of his undergraduate degree in world religions, and Katara was beginning a graduate degree in non-profit management.

“I had a test today,” Aang said. “I think I did alright.”

Sokka snorted. Aang was among the smartest people he knew, which was saying a lot. He had surely done better than “alright.”

“I only had one class,” Katara said. “It’s that one I told you about, Discrimination in Non-Profits.”

“That sounds very interesting,” Hakoda said, glaring at Sokka, who had snorted again. “What sort of topics do you cover?”

“Mostly about how various marginalized communities are under-served by most non-profits, and ways we can help prevent it.”

“Katara,” Sokka said, smiling, “we are a marginalized community.” He held up his arms, which were covered in traditional Inuit tattoos. “Why do you need a class to teach you about it?”

Katara rolled her eyes. “We aren’t the only marginalized community, thank you very much. There are so many ways that so many people aren’t helped when they should be. It’s good to get a holistic view of the field.”

“So when do you start up your own and move out?”

“Sokka!” Hakoda warned.

“Probably around the time you go back and finish your own degree.”

“Oh, stop it, both of you.” Hakoda set his drink down a little too hard on the table. “Aren’t you supposed to get along better, now that you’re adults?”

The siblings exchanged a glance. “We are getting along,” Sokka said.

Gran Gran laughed at Hakoda’s confused face. “This is how siblings are, Koda. Let them be.”

Sokka felt his phone buzz in his pocket and reached for it without thinking.

“No phones at the table.”

“But, Dad, it’s work—”

“And it can wait. Family dinner is a time for talking to each other.”

Knowing the email could be from Zuko, Sokka started shoveling food into his mouth. The meeting later this week couldn’t come soon enough. He wanted to get started with all the new research opportunities that talking to Zuko would bring.

“Done!”

Katara rolled her eyes, but Hakoda waved to dismiss Sokka from the table.

“Meet me in the recording room when you’re done,” Sokka said to Aang as he left.

The recording room was Sokka’s favorite place in the house. It was impeccably soundproofed, as much to keep sound out as to keep it in. Early in the podcast journey, whole takes had been ruined by leaf blowers and planes. In one corner sat the recording computer, with a high-end microphone. The middle of the room held the editing computer, which doubled as a research computer when Aang wanted to edit from home. In the other corner, a faux-leather couch sat across from two overflowing bookshelves, which contained all the research he’d ever done for the podcast.

The notification on his phone had not been Zuko, however. It was just another junk idea from another fan. Sokka tried not to think about how disappointed he felt by that.

Aang knocked on the door a few minutes later. He settled on the couch (which the two of them jokingly called the casting couch) and watched Sokka as he pulled something up on the computer.

“Look,” Sokka said, pointing. “That’s the family.”

Aang stood over his shoulder and looked. Even just the few hours of chatting with Zuko gave Sokka a whole new appreciation for him. He noticed more in the picture, like the way his jeans sat on his hips, the loose-fitting My Chemical Romance T-shirt, his hands, his hands, his hands.

“That guy is creepy,” Aang said, touching Ozai’s face on the screen. “He looks evil.”

“Tell me about it.” Sokka navigated through the website, showing the various pictures. “He doesn’t smile like he wants to show happiness. He smiles like he wants to show you his teeth.”

“And there’s no mention of the mom?”

Sokka shook his head. “The History page only talks about Zuko’s great-grandfather, who founded the company, and then the company changing hands when his grandfather died. Nothing about a wife. As far as the website is concerned, the kids just popped into existence.”

“So you already set up a meeting?” Aang sat back on the couch.

“Yeah, you and I are meeting him in the park by the library in two days.”

Aang frowned. “Why am I coming along?”

Sokka shrugged. “I want you there, that’s why. I checked your schedule, you don’t have any classes that day.”

Pulling out his phone, Aang’s frown deepened. “I wanted to meet with my advisor that day. Her office hours end at noon.”

“Then we’ll tell him to show up early. No worries.”

They hammered out the last of the details of the meeting just as Zuko emailed once more.

This was going to be a very interesting meeting.

~~~

Zuko wasn’t sure what to do with himself until the meeting. He couldn’t let anyone in the house know what he was doing, because asking about his mother was taboo. Ozai had seen to that twelve years ago. Any talk of Ursa would immediately get back to him, and who knows what horrors he would unleash.

Azula, of course, could not be trusted either. She was always in Ozai’s pocket, especially now that they were both adults and the threat for disobedience was being kicked out and cut off.

So Zuko spent time driving around the city. He didn’t normally drive this much, but he had to get out of the house. He drove to the theater, even though there was no rehearsal; he drove past the park where he’d be meeting Sokka; he wandered around the library without really seeing any of the books. People stared as he drove past, but not because of his face. He knew the car brought extra attention; he was the only person in the city who even owned a Rolls Royce.

Luckily, his extended absence did not make Ozai suspicious. Zuko did this pretty often, leaving the house for hours at a time after a bad fight. Ozai probably preferred it that way. If he could get away with completely disposing of his son, he probably would.

But then, who would he torture?

On the day of the meeting, after driving around town for two hours because he hadn’t been able to sleep, Zuko circled the neighborhood around the park twice before finally stopping. He was nervous about meeting someone he has admired for so long, despite how easy it became to talk over email. He was also nervous, as always, about being caught.

Zuko saw Sokka right away. He was on a bench with a younger bald man, who must have been Aang, Sokka’s editor. Zuko had seen him at the live shows.

Even from a distance, Sokka was so much more gorgeous in person than any picture could ever hope to represent. The sun hit his tan skin so perfectly, his eyes were alive and animated, his smile would slowly emerge and then burst across his face. Even the live shows were nothing by comparison, since they had been in the dark.

Heart in his throat, he finally approached.

“Ah, you must be Zuko!” Sokka said, his face breaking out into a large grin. He stood up and held out his hand. “I’m Sokka.”

Zuko shook his hand, simply nodding. The introduction felt pointless, given that Sokka was famous. Kind of famous. Famous to Zuko, at least.

“This is Aang, my editor. He agreed to come along today.”

Zuko waved, still not sure if he’d ever be able to speak.

“Good to meet you, Zuko,” Aang said. “Please, have a seat.”

The only seat available on the bench was to Sokka’s right. Almost without realizing it, Zuko reached up to touch his burned ear, which wasn’t completely deaf, but had a pretty severe hearing loss. Sokka watched his hand, which Zuko quickly dropped, but something must have clicked for him.

“Aang, why don’t you take a walk?” Sokka said. Aang and Sokka exchanged a glance that must have held an entire conversation, but soon it was just Zuko and Sokka at the bench. This opened up a seat where Zuko wouldn’t have to strain to hear.

“Sorry,” Zuko said, sitting gingerly on the bench.

“What are you apologizing for? We should be sorry.” Sokka smiled so effortlessly, so kindly. “I’d seen that picture on your family’s website, I should have connected. I mean, I’ve interviewed burn survivors before.”

Something about the casual way Sokka said this, referencing an event he knew nothing about but getting closer than almost anyone ever had, finally gave Zuko the courage to make eye contact. He smiled tightly. “Thanks,” he said. “Most people don’t even think that hard about it. They usually just stare.”

Sokka reached under the bench, pulling out a tote bag with the Unsolvable logo on it. (Zuko had the same tote bag in his closet.) From within, he grabbed several sheets of paper and a small recording device. He pressed a button on the recorder and a small red light came on.

“Hope you don’t mind this,” Sokka said, setting the recorder on the bench between them. “My memory is horrible sometimes, I need to be able to listen back to my interviews.”

Zuko stared at it, swallowing thickly. “It’s fine,” he said. “I guess I knew you would’ve had one.”

Sokka nodded. “This is Sokka Tungilik, here with Zuko Sugita. Zuko, why don’t you start by telling me a little bit about this mystery?”

Looking out over the park, Zuko watched as Aang walked past a child’s birthday party. It sounded easy enough, telling anyone at all about his mother, but it wasn’t. Zuko hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words about his mother to anyone other than his uncle Iroh since he received his scar.

“We didn’t have...a happy home, growing up,” he started. “My father is an angry, vindictive man who wants control of everything and everyone around him at all times. As you can imagine, a man like that really shouldn’t have kids. For some reason, it was always worse with me. My younger sister never got the brunt of his anger, although sometimes no one is safe.”

Sokka, it seemed, knew the power of silence. He didn’t prompt any more information, didn’t try to change the subject or steer the conversation. He simply sat and waited.

“Fifteen years ago, my father and my grandfather got into an argument. They were always arguing about something, but this was worse. We could all sense it. My mom took me and my sister upstairs, she said she didn’t want us seeing any of that. She tucked me in, said she loved me, and left. I never saw her again. Whatever happened downstairs that night, she disappeared. My father woke me up the next morning and said Grandfather had died and Mom ran away. That’s the last time he spoke about her.”

The night was burned in Zuko’s memory, playing unbidden every time he went to sleep. He’d turned it over so many times, trying to find new clues, new information, but he simply wasn’t where the action happened.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Sokka said softly. When Zuko looked up at him, he had leaned forward slightly. The sudden proximity made Zuko’s heart skip a beat. “If any of this gets too much, or you need a break, just let me know, okay? We can stop any time, pick it up again another day.”

Where before Zuko couldn’t maintain eye contact, now he couldn’t break it. Something about Sokka’s icy blue eyes were comforting rather than cold.

“I need to do this,” Zuko replied. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“If you’re sure, then my next question is details. Anything you can remember. What people were wearing, what time it was, anything.”

Zuko finally broke eye contact, struggling to remember. The night was burned in his memory, yes, but the passage of time let go of the little details first. “We went to bed around nine at night,” he said carefully. “And I think it was around eight the next morning when Father woke me up.”

“Do you remember what the fight was about?”

Zuko shook his head. “I mean, it was about the business, because everything is about the business. Probably something to do with inheritance. My father has an older brother, my uncle, and by right it should have all gone to him. But it didn’t. Beyond that...I have no clue.”

Sokka grabbed the recorder and turned it off, smiling. “That’s a great start. That’s an amazing start, Zuko.”

His stomach did a flip. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you. This is much harder for you than it is for me.” Sokka stood up, stuffing everything back in the tote bag, and held out his hand.

Zuko shook it. He tried not to think about how soft Sokka’s hands were. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“This uncle,” Sokka said, dropping his hand and looking out over the park. “Do you think he might know more?”

The question caught Zuko by surprise. He had asked Iroh about his mother many times while he lived there, and never got more out of him. But momentum and excitement were starting to take hold.

“It couldn’t hurt to ask him.”

Sokka pulled out his cell phone, tapped a few times, then handed it to Zuko. “Put in your phone number. We can stay in touch easier that way.”

Zuko hesitated. The emails were one thing, but having a phone number and text messages were another beast entirely. The phone in his pocket was bought and paid for by his father, and though he had only gone through it once, the threat still hung over him.

“Can I get back to you on that?” he said finally, handing the phone back. “I’m on...a shared plan.”

Several emotions crossed Sokka’s face, too quick and complicated to name. He settled on a mix of pity and concern. “Of course. We can still email, for now. I want you to reach out to your uncle. See if he’d be willing to meet with me, do an interview.”

“I can do that.”

“Excellent. Let me know what he says, okay?”

Zuko nodded and watched Sokka walk around to where Aang was. He stayed only a moment before heading back to his own car, replaying the short interaction over and over. Why had he been so awkward about sitting with Sokka on his deaf side? They would have been much closer together if he had not made a big deal about it. Then again, there was something nice about it being just the two of them, with no interruptions.

Instead of going home, Zuko drove to Iroh’s house.

Uncle Iroh was more of a father to Zuko than his own father had ever been. After he got his scar, he lived with Iroh for many years, until he finished college and Ozai demanded he move home. Those were some of the happier years of his life, despite the long recovery and the continued absence of his mother.

Despite their long history, Zuko still felt that he had to knock before coming in.

“What a pleasant surprise!” Iroh said with a grin when he opened the door. “Come in, nephew, come in. Tea?”

Zuko, truthfully, did not like tea. But he could never turn Iroh down, so he nodded and sat in the living room, listening to his uncle whistle as he prepared the tea. He was always whistling, humming, making some kind of music. He played a good few instruments, but not very often anymore.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Iroh handed him the mug and sat in his favorite chair.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Zuko replied, sipping the tea very slowly. “Thought I’d drop by.”

This made Iroh laugh. “You live in the neighborhood, nephew. You can visit any time you like.”

It wasn’t chastising, but Zuko felt small and guilty. He really should come by more often, but every time he visited, it got harder to leave.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

This got Iroh’s full attention. Zuko rarely asked for anything, much less a favor. Favors implied having to owe someone, pay them back, and Zuko hated nothing more than being in someone’s debt.

“I’m all ears.”

Zuko set down his tea. “You know the podcast I told you about? Unsolvable with Sokka?” Iroh nodded. “Well...I emailed him a few days ago. About Mom.”

Iroh didn’t say anything. His eyes, while still trained on Zuko, seemed to be looking straight through him, at something further away. Further away in space, or time? He wasn’t sure.

When Iroh remained silent, Zuko pressed on. “Well, he emailed back. He wants to cover her. I just met with him, actually. And he wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, Zuko,” Iroh said sadly, setting his tea down. “This is a lot to spring on an old man on such short notice. Your mother’s disappearance...are you sure this is a good idea?”

It was the first time Iroh questioned any of Zuko’s ideas. He had been his strongest supporter when he wanted to go to college for theater, when he wanted to continue acting even under his father’s roof, when he wanted to start and then end a relationship with one of his sister’s best friends.

“I’m not saying he’s right outside.” Try as he might, Zuko couldn’t hide the hurt in his voice. “I’m saying, we want your help. I want your help.”

“You didn’t just lose your mother that night, Zuko. I lost my father.” Iroh got to his feet, stood by the bay window with his hands behind his back, and sighed. “Even I don’t know what happened that night. You know that. I can’t imagine what insight you think I might have.”

“Uncle, I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”

During the darkest days of Zuko’s adolescence, when his facial scar was healed but his internal scars still tore him apart, Iroh would find Zuko in the garden, on the roof, in the tree in the backyard, sobbing. Though the frequency dropped over the years, there was a time when Iroh would find him during the middle of the night, six days a week, praying to whoever would listen to bring his mother back. Once, only once, Iroh found him in the garage, in the driver’s seat of Iroh’s car, keys in hand. The car had still been off, but Zuko’s intention was clear.

“You’re never alone, nephew.” Iroh turned around, a sad smile across his face. “Not while I’m here. Yes, of course, I’ll help you and this Sokka boy.”

~~~

When Sokka returned home, he locked himself in the recording room. He felt unmoored, unsettled, almost paranoid. Under normal circumstances, after an interview, Sokka wasted no time uploading the file to his computer and re-listening, creating a transcript as he went.

Today, he set the recorder on his desk and stared at it.

Many of his previous episodes dealt with mysteries that were unsolved due to either incompetence or corruption, which made the task of asking questions dangerous and uncomfortable. He had been unceremoniously kicked out of interviews, told in no uncertain terms to stop asking questions or else, followed, punched, and even had a gun flashed at him.

No one had ever requested a burner phone to speak with him.

That was the detail that stuck out most in Sokka’s mind. Zuko was his own age, and even if his phone was connected to his father’s plan, he was still an adult. A legal adult who shouldn’t have been so terrified of his father that he wouldn’t agree to send a text message.

He knew going into this interview that Ozai was involved in shady business, that his father and wife had both died or disappeared on the same night and no law enforcement had ever asked questions. He was likely looking at a double-murderer who believed himself untouchable.

But the scariest thing Sokka had heard so far was that Zuko wouldn’t text him on his cell phone.

The person in danger in all his previous cases had only ever been himself.

Sokka felt restless, like he wanted to run a marathon and scream from rooftops and jump in a boxing ring and drive twice the speed limit down the highway all at once.

Instead, he called his ex-girlfriend.

Sokka considered himself extremely lucky to still have such an amazing relationship with his ex. He and Suki had dated for three years happily when, after a mediocre date, they both sat down and realized they had outgrown the relationship. It was a mutual decision that left neither of them heartbroken and left their strong friendship intact. Indeed, other than Aang, Suki was easily his best friend.

So when she answered the phone by saying, “Hey, bitch,” he knew she meant it with love.

“Who are you calling a bitch?” he replied, his restlessness already subsiding at the sound of her voice.

“You, that’s who. What’s up?”

Sokka sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just...working on a podcast episode. It’s complicated.”

“They always are complicated.”

Their relationship began shortly before the podcast did, so she had seen the behind-the-scenes work since the beginning. She was the first Patreon subscriber, and maintained her subscription to this day.

“More complicated. I finished an interview and my mind is racing.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to waver, but it had, and he knew Suki heard it.

There was a beat of silence before she responded. “Do you need me to come over?”

“No, no, of course not.” He desperately wanted to be around her, around someone who knew him and could help him regulate, but he couldn’t ask it of her. “I just needed to get out of my head.”

He heard a voice in the background. “Hm?” Suki’s voice was quieter, clearly talking to the other person. “Oh, it’s just Sokka. Sure. Ty Lee says hi.” The last part was at normal volume, meant for him.

Ty Lee was Suki’s girlfriend, a perfect embodiment of sunshine and rainbows, who never found Suki’s friendship with Sokka anything less than endearing.

“Hi, Ty Lee,” Sokka said with a smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Suki said. “It’s Ty Lee’s birthday, but we don’t have plans until tonight. Look, are you sure you’re okay?”

Sokka paused before responding. Before calling, he probably would have said no, but now...his heart was calmer, his mind less frazzled, and he was no longer seeing his worst memories when he closed his eyes.

“I am, now,” he said finally. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, babe. Call if you need anything else, okay?”

“You know I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They hung up, and Sokka leaned back and rubbed his face. It had been good to hear from Suki, even though he hadn’t actually gone over any of the things that were stressing him out. He had met her through mutual friends at a very turbulent time in his life, and their relationship helped him through the worst of it.

By the time Sokka finally calmed down enough to plug in the recorder and start the upload, Zuko emailed back that his uncle would love to talk. The thrill of the chase was back on.

~~~

A full week passed before they were able to schedule the meeting. Zuko insisted on meeting somewhere public again, rather than giving Sokka directions to Iroh’s house over email. Talking so much about his mother seemed to have stirred the deep paranoia he felt around his father.

He still hadn’t gotten up the courage to buy a burner phone. He couldn’t decide if it was worse to withdraw cash or purchase it with a credit card. Both would be traceable, since Ozai still controlled his bank accounts.

They met at the park again, this time without Aang. Zuko in his deep burgundy Rolls Royce, Sokka in his silver Porsche. Both cars caught the eyes of everyone around them, from toddlers on the playground to businessmen with jealous expressions.

Sokka whistled when he saw Zuko’s car. “Jesus,” he said.

Zuko blushed. He tried to think of some way to sound modest about it, but he couldn’t. It had been a special-order, bespoke purchase. Modesty wasn’t considered.

“Did you want to ride in it?” Zuko asked, after Sokka finished walking around the exterior.

“No, no, I can’t—I have to drive.” Sokka rubbed the inside of his wrist with his opposite hand, seemingly unaware that he’d done it. “It’s a quirk of mine, I guess. Come on.”

They got into the Porsche, which unfortunately put Sokka on Zuko’s deaf side. Zuko had to turn his head almost completely in Sokka’s direction to hear him well enough over the engine noise.

He directed Sokka through the city, away from the downtown area and towards his uncle’s neighborhood. The houses got further apart, bigger, more modern as they went. The cars in each driveway changed from modest SUVs to sleek coupes, the ever-present work trucks of gardeners and tradesmen providing the only variety. Everything was shades of gray and white and black.

Sokka stopped in Iroh’s driveway, turned off the car, and looked at Zuko. “You ready for this?”

Zuko laughed. “No. Come on, let’s go.”

Iroh met them at the door before they had a chance to knock. “Hello there,” he said genially, smiling. “My name is Iroh. You must be Sokka.”

The two of them shook hands. Zuko’s obsession with the Unsolvable podcast had began under Iroh’s roof, so Iroh knew more about Sokka than anyone who didn’t listen to the podcast.

“Please, come in.”

Zuko watched Sokka’s face as they stepped into the living room, which was far more comfortable than any room in Zuko’s own mansion. The couches were plush, the coffee table made of dark oak, packed bookshelves stood on either side of the brick fireplace. On the walls (which were not white nor gray, but rather a soft yellow) were a half dozen paintings of flowers and plants. Even the Persian-style rug under their feet was comfortable and a little messy.

It would have driven Ozai crazy to step foot in this house.

“What a wonderful place you have,” Sokka said, his eyes darting all over the room, taking it in.

Iroh’s chest swelled with pride. “Why, thank you. It’s taken many years to get it just so. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Ginseng, please.”

Zuko had coached Sokka on the proper response, which made Iroh happy, as he knew it would. While Iroh went to the kitchen, Sokka looked around at the paintings.

“Careful,” Zuko said quietly when Sokka reached to touch one. “These are originals.”

“I’ve never heard of this artist.”

“He’s local. Uncle commissioned these pieces a few years ago.”

Growing up rich, things like this had never been unusual to Zuko until he went to college. The people he met at college would be considered rich in almost any other setting, but compared to his own wealth, they earned pennies. Owning an original from a famous artist was that level of rich; purchasing a commission from a busy local artist, paying him to ignore all other commitments for six months and use pigments only found in Asia, was in a whole other league.

“Here you are,” Iroh said on his return, handing Sokka and Zuko both a teacup and saucer.

“Thank you.” Sokka sipped his carefully, but then his face softened and he sipped again. Even though he had been coached, Zuko could see that he actually liked the tea.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Iroh said, smirking at Zuko over his cup. “Zuko here has been a fan of yours for a very long time.”

“Uncle.” Zuko’s face burned. He set the teacup down and stared at his shoes.

“I appreciate that.” In the corner of his eye, he saw Sokka pull out the recorder. “I hope you don’t mind my recording this conversation. My memory can be unreliable, and going back to exact words rather than a recollection is best.”

“Not at all.”

When Zuko chanced a look at Sokka while he set up the recorder, he saw a slight flush in his face. Was it the compliment itself, or the knowledge of Zuko’s obsession?

Best not to think about it.

“This is Sokka Tungilik, here with Zuko and Iroh Sugita. Thank you again for agreeing to meet with me, with us, to discuss this case. Iroh, why don’t you start by telling us what you know about the night your father passed away?”

Iroh leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, I wasn’t there. I haven’t lived in that house for a very long time. But I know that my brother was...is a very competitive, vindictive person. There was always competition between us, fueled by our father, from the moment my brother was born. He would often cheat at games, just to see what he could get away with. I won’t pretend to be entirely innocent. As a younger man, I would play into our father’s hands as well, trying to get a leg up, especially as the business grew more and more successful. But losing my wife and my son...changed me. I no longer felt the need to play those games.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Sokka said.

“Thank you, young man. Now. This night, I can imagine what started the argument Zuko overheard. It was the business. It’s always the business. My father had always intended for me to take over and pass it to my son, but after Lu Ten’s passing, Ozai pushed harder and harder to skip me and give it straight to him. I wouldn’t lead it correctly, he thought. Since I had no heirs, his children needed to grow up being trained. I was wasting the inheritance on silly things like decorating this house to my liking. I did not live in the house, but I knew about these arguments. But I was in mourning, and did not feel that what they were arguing about was worth the stress.”

Zuko shifted in his seat. In all his recollections, the death of his cousin rarely made an appearance. He hadn’t told Sokka about it. In truth, he’d forgotten that the events were so close in time.

“How did you hear about what happened?”

“My brother emailed me the next morning.” Iroh scowled. “I doubt he wrote it. He doesn’t write emails. But one of his staff emailed from his account, at least. Informing me that our father was dead of a heart attack, the business went almost exclusively to Ozai, and I was no longer welcome at the house. I didn’t learn about Ursa’s disappearance until Zuko called me later that day.”

It had taken Zuko several hours of searching the house to realize that his father was correct about his mother not being there. The call to Iroh had been pure desperation, hoping it was some sick joke and Iroh was in on it.

It hadn’t been a joke.

“Now,” Iroh said, leaning forward slightly, “I know that heart attacks can be random, but my father was in amazing health. He went on daily runs, ate better than anyone I knew, and had a doctor in the house to check him constantly. He was terrified of just dropping dead without a plan. The lack of autopsy only made me more suspicious. Ozai wouldn’t even let me see the will for a month.”

“Did you ever bring your suspicions to law enforcement?”

Iroh shook his head. “You see, Ozai was always friendly to law enforcement. He would make constant donations to police forces whenever a particular merger was suspect. When you earn the kind of money we make, nothing is illegal. It just has a cost. I did, however, confront my brother.”

“What?” Zuko sat up straight, staring at his uncle. This was new. “You never told me that.”

“About a month after the disappearance, I paid Ozai a visit. I didn’t care that he said I wasn’t welcome at the house, I demanded answers. Not only was my father’s death and sudden change in will going to be overlooked, but my sister-in-law was never going to be reported missing. Something was wrong. He allowed me to see the updated will, told me there was nothing he could do, and said if I ever showed my face at the house again, he would cut me out entirely. As it is, he ‘allows’ me—” Iroh made air quotes with his hands. “—to maintain the level of income that my father’s will set aside.”

Sokka’s mouth was hung open slightly, and Zuko couldn’t blame him. It was an outrageous story, something he wouldn’t have believed himself if he wasn’t living it. It also sounded exactly like something his father would do.

“Before I left,” Iroh continued, leaning back in his chair, “I was able to get someone on the security team who was friendly to me to download some files. I have the flash drive in a safety deposit box at the bank.”

Zuko almost fell off the couch. “Are you serious? You never told me that!”

“Anything I kept from you was to protect you.”

Abruptly on his feet, no memory of standing up, Zuko was furious. “Protect me? Protect me from what? My father? What a fantastic job you did there! You think anything you’ve done for the past fifteen years—”

“Zuko.” Sokka’s voice was quiet, soft, compassionate. It broke the spell of Zuko’s anger enough that he looked away from his uncle and towards Sokka.

“What?”

Sokka swallowed thickly. His thumb rubbed the inside of his wrist again. “Sometimes, people do things to protect other people that don’t always make sense in the moment. Don’t blame your uncle for this.”

Breathing heavily, Zuko stared at Sokka. He didn’t know the half of it. He didn’t know what Ozai had done to him, time and time again, in those years before he moved out. He didn’t know why Zuko moved out in the first place. But...Zuko realized he was right. Iroh was not the right person to bear the brunt of his anger.

“I need some air.”

~~~

Sokka watched Zuko disappear through the kitchen and heard a door slam. This isn’t how he imagined the interview would go. He hadn’t had a plan, necessarily, but Zuko storming out when things were just getting good was clearly not in his realm of possibility.

“I apologize about him,” Iroh said sadly. “He’s been through a lot at the hands of his father.”

Sokka turned back to Iroh, reaching to turn off the recorder. “There’s no need to apologize. I think I’m beginning to understand how difficult this is for him.”

Iroh shook his head, getting to his feet and staring out the front window. “You have no idea. The things he’s been through since his mother disappeared...he needs this. He really does. But he has been through so much.”

“Tell me about him.”

It came out before he really thought about it. He should be asking Zuko about himself, not asking for gossip and hearsay. But something about this line of questioning, about Ozai’s treatment of Zuko and the things he’d seen, felt like it was a key part of understanding the disappearance itself.

Iroh looked through one of the bookshelves and handed Sokka a large, leather-bound book. It looked old, well-used, and had their surname embossed with gold leaf.

“Zuko was a late bloomer,” Iroh said, resuming his place at the window. “Ozai never gave him a chance, but he didn’t fully come into his own until well into his teenage years. But he has always been a kind, gentle, soft person. Ozai’s views of masculinity do not allow for that. When his second child came along, perhaps Ozai saw something of himself in his daughter, because she has never been subjected to the same strict roles as Zuko is.”

Sokka opened the book. It was a photo album. At the start were pictures of a wedding, between a man who was clearly Ozai and a woman who must have been Zuko’s mother. Ursa. She looked radiant and had all of Zuko’s best features: sharp, angular face; dark hair; bright eyes that smiled even when her mouth didn’t. On the next page, pictures from a hospital with a newborn baby boy. Zuko. Somehow, even though he knew the scar was not something Zuko had since birth, Sokka half expected to see it on this baby’s face.

The next page had another hospital scene, with a new baby. This must be Zuko’s sister, Azula. He had only mentioned her once. The next pages held beautiful pictures of a young family. Zuko with a “First Day Of School” sign, Azula playing in a lush garden, family shots at fancy restaurants and theme parks.

Every picture of Ozai gave off the same unsettling vibe that recent pictures did. His smile never reached his eyes. His expression was that of a predator.

More pages, more family photos. But as Azula started school (the same “First Day Of School” sign), things started to change. The smiles were more forced. The family stood further apart from each other. Sometimes, though it may have been a trick of the light or the resolution, it looked like Zuko had bruises on his arms.

Then, suddenly, there was no more Ursa.

“Zuko was ten, when his mother disappeared,” Iroh said. He moved from the window to sit beside Sokka, pointing at a photo taken in a school. “This was his last day of public school until he moved in with me. After Ursa disappeared, Ozai forced them to be home-schooled until they graduated.”

Sokka kept turning the pages, horror building at each new setting, each new snapshot of an unhappy family.

Then, something strange. On one side, Zuko as a preteen, his face gaunt and sad but unmarred. On the other, a clearly teenage Zuko with half his face burned.

“When did this happen?” Sokka pointed at the picture, but he meant the scar. It was relatively healed in this picture, not red and shiny like a new graft.

“He was thirteen. He came to live with me after, until his college graduation.”

The remaining pages showed an adolescent Zuko who was scarred and hurt, but happier than Sokka had ever seen. Zuko behind the wheel of a car, Zuko beneath a tarp on a camping trip, Zuko in a cap and gown with a diploma.

He shouldn’t ask. This was personal and clearly something deeper than Sokka ever intended to find. If anything, he should ask Zuko, not his uncle.

He couldn’t stop himself.

“How did it happen?”

Iroh made a noise in his throat and stood from the couch, resuming his place by the window. It was answer enough.

Sokka felt sick to his stomach.

~~~

Zuko finally returned to the living room after half an hour, feeling marginally better. He understood that Iroh was not to blame, and hoped that the flash drive might provide some answers that Sokka could find. If he had been given the flash drive as a teenager, who knows what he might have done with it? At least he had the benefit of being an adult now, with a better sense of self control.

Sokka and Iroh had been sitting in silence, sipping tea. Clearly the interview did not continue without him, which made him feel childish and petulant. His outburst put an end to a perfectly fine interview, preventing Sokka from finding any more information that could help him find his mother.

Sokka and Zuko drove back to the park in silence. Even the radio was off. Zuko didn’t dare look at Sokka, worried that he was regretting the entire plan, regretting ever agreeing to meet and take on this case. Was he about to be fired by a podcast investigator? Would he ever find out what happened to his mother?

Sokka parked next to Zuko’s car, but did not turn the car off. They sat idling for a moment, watching the world continue on outside the tinted windows.

“Are you sure about this?” Sokka finally asked.

Zuko whipped his head around. He had heard the question, but couldn’t believe he was being asked. “What are you talking about? I have to know. I need this.”

“I know you say that, but—” Sokka sighed. “Are you sure you want to take this risk?”

Sokka’s eyes lingered on the scar, and Zuko suddenly understood that Iroh and Sokka had not stopped talking while he was gone. They had simply changed topics.

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. Enough.” Sokka raised a hand slowly and brought it to Zuko’s cheek.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t stop Sokka’s fingers from touching the scarred skin on his face, and even though he couldn’t really feel anything, he could feel the emotional weight of the gesture, and he knew Sokka could too.

“How?” The question was like a breath, it was so quiet. Almost like Sokka hadn’t meant to ask it, but his body did anyway.

Zuko couldn’t take his eyes from Sokka’s. “We...had a gas stove.” Tears welled in his eyes. “It was the last time I ever asked him about my mother.”

He remembered the pain. He had almost no feeling on that side of his face, but he remembered the pain. He remembered the ringing in his ear, and the swelling, and the pure, stabbing pain. There was nothing else. He knew the before, and he felt the pain, and then he was living with Iroh, deaf in one ear, permanently disfigured.

The immediate aftermath, and the hospital, were gone. Zuko couldn’t be sure if he just wasn’t conscious enough, or if he’d blocked it out.

No one said the name Ursa in the house again after that.

“I’m so sorry.”

Zuko had never heard those words said with such emotion, such sincerity. Many people knew his mother was gone, a handful knew his father was a bastard, but no one had ever expressed sorrow to such a degree that Zuko could never doubt it. The overwhelming understanding pushed everything from his mind, except this car, Sokka’s hand, the gentle hum of the engine, the quality of light through the window. He wanted to remember every detail.

He leaned in, just enough that Sokka noticed. Sokka’s fingers moved further back, to his hairline, tracing the sensitive skin and sending shivers to parts of Zuko’s body he hadn’t thought about in a long time.

Sokka licked his lips and leaned in an inch more.

Then, Sokka’s phone rang. Since it was connected to the Bluetooth, it popped up on the car’s touch screen and broke the reverie.

Sokka pulled away with a curse, smashing the Ignore Call button, but the moment had passed.

“I should go,” Zuko said.

Before Sokka had a chance to respond, Zuko was out of the car, fumbling with his own car keys, settling in the driver’s seat. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment before pulling away and starting the drive home.

Sokka was the first person outside of his family to know about the scar. He was the first person to truly grasp the depth of Ozai’s abuse, the lengths to which Ozai would go to cover up what happened to Ursa. But more than that…

Sokka had leaned in, too.

Back at the mansion, Zuko retreated to his room and fell face-first onto the bed. His mind was racing, replaying the moment in the car over and over again. What would have happened if Sokka hadn’t received the phone call? If the car had been turned off? If they’d had the conversation in Iroh’s driveway, rather than wasting time driving back to the park?

Zuko had only ever been with two people in his life, in any sense of the word. His ex-girlfriend, Mai, had been his sister’s friend growing up, and the relationship was built more on convenience than any love-at-first-sight scenario. His other relationship, if it could be called that, had been kept secret from everyone in his life, including Iroh.

The other relationship was with another man.

College is a time for exploration. That’s how Zuko justified it, in his mind. He was exploring himself, and figuring out who he was. He wasn’t allowed to be himself around his father and sister, and Iroh didn’t care one way or the other who Zuko was on the inside so long as he was not like Ozai.

So when he met someone in a theater class that was funny and cute and liked to talk to Zuko, he couldn’t help himself from experimenting.

The other boy’s name was Jet, which had always sounded so cool and interesting to Zuko. He was a year younger, but several inches taller. It had started with hanging out during rehearsals, and then outside of rehearsals. Coffee shop line reading and late-night walks around campus discussing every topic under the sun. Jet had never once asked about Zuko’s scar, but he also never touched it. At the time, Zuko preferred it that way.

Zuko was in awe of Jet, the way he didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him, the way his friends all revered him, the way he made Zuko feel like the only person in the world even in a room full of people.

So when Jet, during an after party, pulled Zuko into a dark room and kissed him, Zuko didn’t put up any fight at all.

What started as a rushed, quiet make-out session grew slowly into something Zuko almost called a relationship. This was before he and Mai reconnected, so really, Jet was his first relationship. But Zuko was still hiding so much of himself that he recoiled whenever Jet mentioned the word “boyfriend.” Jet said he understood, and said he appreciated just being in the moment, but after eight months, he said he wanted something more.

Looking back, Zuko wished he would have said something. He wished he would have stopped being so afraid of himself and accepted how he felt. It was eight months of making out and getting coffee together and a handful of sleepovers at Jet’s apartment. Eight months of avoiding the discussion of what they were, of avoiding too much eye contact because Jet’s eyes pierced his soul, of never letting Jet fully in to who Zuko really was.

They never even had sex. Zuko was so repressed that he barely ever took his clothes off, even when they did other things.

In the six years since Zuko tearfully told Jet that he couldn’t give him any more than he already had, he had grown up a lot. He had come into his own, and figured out more of who he was supposed to be. He’d had a successful, two-year relationship with Mai, which only ended when he again refused to commit, when he told her after a small argument that he wasn’t ready to say the big L word, and he wasn’t sure if he ever could. At least he’d committed to more with her than with Jet. He dreaded the thought of being in his twenties and still a virgin.

Now, with the only interaction beyond his family being the theater, Zuko had almost resigned himself to a life of loneliness. There were people who intrigued him in the theater, but they all knew it was a bad idea to date fellow actors, in case it went badly.

Sokka was the first person in a long time to even come close to being a crush.

It was terrifying and exhilarating. But he refused to get his hopes up.

He had never been allowed to have nice things.

~~~

Sokka didn’t hear from Zuko for four days after the interview with Iroh. It surprised him, even though it shouldn’t have. It was a rough interview, and a complex series of events in the car.

Katara had been the one to call him. She wanted to know if he was coming to dinner. He couldn’t explain to her why he was so upset about the phone call.

What had even happened, anyway? Sure, Sokka found Zuko attractive, but he found a lot of people attractive. Since his relationship with Suki ended, he hadn’t been with anyone else, and he had thought he was content to keep it that way for now. What was so different?

Inside, he knew the answer. It was the emotional vulnerability. It was Zuko letting Sokka see parts of himself that almost no one else got to see. And if his reaction in the car was anything to go off, Zuko felt something similar.

While waiting for Zuko to reach out (he felt it would be pushy to try and initiate anything), Sokka threw himself into research. He dug further through old articles and blog posts than he had before, looking for anything. He would kill to have that flash drive Iroh mentioned, but he needed Zuko to mediate that request. Almost no articles mentioned Ursa at all, so Sokka focused on Zuko’s grandfather, hoping the leads from that would help him.

The words on the computer screen were all starting to fuse into a big blob of nothing when a single word jumped out at him: autopsy.

“The county medical examiner confirmed that an autopsy had been performed, but refused to comment on specifics at the request of the family.”

It was a business blog, not a newspaper, and it had taken Sokka several pages of Google searching to find it. Perhaps Ozai didn’t know about it. Perhaps he thought it was inconsequential enough to avoid censorship.

Both Zuko and Iroh had been sure there was no autopsy. They had been so sure that, as far as Sokka knew, they had never even tried to find one. But an autopsy had been performed, and that meant there was an autopsy report.

A paper trail.

Sokka desperately wanted to reach out to Zuko, but he still didn’t feel it was appropriate. Instead, he called Aang’s roommate, Toph.

Toph’s family, like Zuko’s, was rich and powerful. Her father was Sokka’s accountant because he was a well-respected and successful accountant, which meant he had connections.

“What’s up, bitch?” Toph said as a greeting.

Sokka wasn’t surprised that she knew it was him. Toph was blind, but she never let something as simple as a lack of sight get in her way. She had separate ringtones for everyone important on her phone, as well as a screen-reader.

“I need your help. Are you busy?”

Toph gasped. “Sokka, of Unsolvable with Sokka fame, needs my help? Measly old me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t do everything on my own. Answer the question.”

“I’m in my bedroom, trying to do school work, thank you very much. What do you want?”

Sokka thought about how to phrase his request. “Well...I need you to get something for me. An autopsy report. And I need it to be, like, top-secret.”

“I love it when you ask me to do spy shit. Do I need to pull out a VPN or will Incognito Mode suffice?”

Sokka laughed. “Whatever. I’m going to send the name and everything from my personal email, okay? Don’t send anything to the Unsolvable email. And when you get it, give it to Aang. I don’t think it’s a good idea to send over email.”

Toph paused for a moment. “So, you mean actually top-secret.”

Toph had helped with a few cases in the past, but never this level of secrecy. Never this level of care and precaution.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Consider it done.”

After the phone call, Sokka realized that asking Toph was just putting her and her family connections directly in opposition to Ozai’s wishes. It was one thing for Sokka himself to be in danger, and it was one thing for Zuko, but it was a whole new scenario to bring Toph into it.

But he felt he had no choice.

~~~

Three days after the almost-kiss, Zuko finally broke down and bought a burner phone and minutes. He’d taken some cash that was stuffed in his mattress (a relic of an escape plan that would never come to fruition), driven to the theater, walked to the bus station, and taken a bus to the next town over.

The paranoia got worse and worse the longer this investigation went on.

He sent an email to Sokka, requesting to meet in-person again. Putting the new phone number in an email would just be another weak point that his father could find. The thought of seeing Sokka so soon made his stomach do flips, but his curiosity burned.

They met at the park again, this time in a separate part of the parking lot. Sokka had driven a much less noticeable car, which eased Zuko’s paranoia somewhat.

“I’m glad you reached out,” Sokka said as Zuko approached his open door. “I was beginning to worry that the...the interview was too much for you.”

Zuko let the momentary urge to correct Sokka pass. “Yeah, it was heavy,” he said finally. He fished the burner phone from his pocket. “Here, put your number in.”

Their fingers touched briefly in the exchange of the phone. Electricity surged through him, from the points of contact straight to his heart.

When he finished entering the number, Sokka made eye contact as he handed it back. “Good thing you got this,” he said. “I found something.”

Zuko’s heart skipped a beat. “What? You found something? About my mother?”

“No, no, your grandfather. It’s not here, it’s at my house. I didn’t think...it would be a good idea to bring.” Sokka glanced around. “How’d you like to see where the magic happens?”

That was how Zuko found himself following Sokka’s unobtrusive car back to Sokka’s house.

Sokka’s house.

Zuko had insisted on driving his own car. Out loud, he said his paranoia demanded an easy escape route. Internally, he knew sitting in a car with Sokka would drive him crazy.

He was going to Sokka’s house.

It was in a part of the city he’d never explored, full of nice houses with nice lawns and nice cars. It was nothing like the clinical white-and-gray sameness of Iroh’s neighborhood. The exterior of Sokka’s house was a light blue, the lawn a little unkempt, bushes and flowers blooming unevenly beneath the windows.

Still, the garage could accommodate three cars, and Zuko saw a pool through the wrought-iron gate to the backyard.

Inside, Zuko couldn’t help taking everything in. He looked at the walls with their store-bought paintings, the vinyl floors with the occasional color-block rug, furniture that looked expensive until he got closer and saw that it was particle board. The kitchen, with its granite counters and stainless appliances and subway tile back splash. The dining room, with a glass-top table and faux-crystal chandelier. The living room, full of leather couches and video game systems and a TV the size of a bed. (The living room also contained Sokka’s grandmother, who insisted on being called Gran Gran. She was watching an old John Wayne movie at a ridiculous volume.)

It was, as Ozai would have said, very obviously new money.

Zuko loved it.

“I’m sure this is nothing like your place,” Sokka said as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. He seemed almost ashamed about it.

The second floor had so many doors leading off the landing that Zuko was sure he would get lost if he weren’t being guided. But the walls were a soft beige, the lights straight from Home Depot, the doors personalized and somewhat dirty. Nothing like the mansion.

“My house is a house,” Zuko said finally. “It looks like an art gallery. It looks like...like a hospital, sometimes. Your house is a home.”

Sokka blushed and turned towards one of the doors. There was a plastic Keep Out sign at eye level.

The recording room.

Zuko had seen a few snapshots of the recording room on Patreon, candids that Aang uploaded leading up to the release of a new episode. It was so much better in person.

The walls were covered in soundproofing foam tiles. There were blackout curtains on the window, pulled aside for now to let in the natural light. In here, there was no expense spared on the equipment. The microphone and headset, the computers, the chairs, everything was professional quality.

Zuko’s eyes stuck on some bookshelves shoved in the corner, full of folders and binders and banker’s boxes. As he stepped closer, he saw familiar names, names from previous episodes and cases. This must be the research.

“What do you think?” Sokka asked, watching Zuko take in the space.

“It’s incredible,” Zuko breathed. He finally settled on the couch, still looking around him. It astounded him to think of how many hours he had spent over the past five years listening to a podcast that had been recorded right here.

Sokka pulled up his computer chair and sat, holding a stack of papers close to his chest. “I hate to ruin the mood,” he said with a small grin, “but I think I should show you what I found. Now, this was from a business blog, buried so deep in Google that I’m not even sure anyone else has ever seen it.”

He handed over the top paper, with a sentence highlighted. When Zuko read it, he felt like the room had disappeared and he was free-falling through empty space.

Autopsy.

There had been an autopsy.

This was one part of the story so unquestioned that even Iroh never believed there had been an autopsy. No one had ever thought to look for one, no one had ever thought that it might be hiding somewhere. In all the intrigue surrounding the disappearance of his mother and the sudden business changes, this detail had remained untouched.

Zuko looked up, his hands shaking. “What does this mean?”

“Well, it means that there’s one really easy way to figure out if he died of a heart attack.” Sokka held up the rest of the papers, which were stapled together. “I need you to prepare yourself.”

It was impossible to prepare himself. How could he prepare himself for finding out that the one part of this mystery he’d always believed was a lie? When he thought about emailing Sokka, he had never once considered that he would learn anything more about his grandfather’s death than he already knew.

Zuko took the papers once Sokka offered them, hands still shaking.

An official seal in the top corner. His grandfather’s name, date of birth, address, physical description. A bunch of jargon he had no interest in deciphering. And there, at the bottom of the first page, the words he had no idea he’d ever find.

Probable cause of death: Acute combined drug intoxication (diazepam, oxycodone)

Manner of death: Accident

Zuko stared at it. The rest of the paper, the recording room, the entire world, melted away. Here, written in plain text on a legal document, was proof that his father was lying, had been lying for fifteen years, had lied to his own brother and children, had lied to the board of directors of the company and all the stakeholders, had lied to the world.

Sudden pressure to his right, the couch cushion depressing, a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?”

Zuko blinked, realizing that Sokka was beside him, comforting him, touching him, touching him, touching him. If it weren’t for the sudden deep shock of the autopsy report, he would’ve kissed him.

“Thank you,” he said instead, trying to impart exactly what this meant, how important it was to have this proof.

Sokka smiled, his eyes lighting up again, the fire and curiosity back now that he knew Zuko was okay. “There’s actually more.” He reached over and flipped through a few pages of the packet. “Look.”

Postmortem Examination. More medical jargon, words Zuko couldn’t even hope to pronounce, words he had never seen before in his life.

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to be looking at,” Zuko said finally.

“I didn’t either,” Sokka said, his voice wavering with excitement. “I had to do so much searching that I’m probably on a list somewhere. Look.” He pointed to one paragraph. “That phrase. ‘Fingertip contusion.’ Do you know what that means?”

Zuko searched his mind. He felt like the answer should have been more obvious, given how much of Sokka’s podcast he’d consumed, how often he watched shows like Law and Order. A deep sense of horror filled him, but he couldn’t place the term in context, he couldn’t figure out what Sokka was trying to tell him.

“Fingertip contusions on his neck, Zuko.”

They stared at each other, Sokka’s blue eyes brimming with excitement, Zuko’s horror growing, filling him from his feet through to his scar.

It was on the tip of his tongue.

Sokka licked his lips. “It means someone tried to strangle him.”

~~~

Sokka watched the realization sink in, watched Zuko’s eyes grow wide, his mouth drop open, his hands nearly drop the paper. Zuko looked on the outside how Sokka felt on the inside once he figured it out. A drug overdose being covered up was not, at the end of the day, anything terribly surprising. The fact that Zuko’s grandfather had been strangled beforehand and that was covered up, however…

Zuko still hadn’t said anything. His eyes darted around the room, although Sokka could tell he wasn’t seeing any of it. His mind must be racing with all the possibilities.

How much had Ozai paid for this censorship? How many people were involved? Just how deep did this rabbit hole go? Clearly Ozai had the police in his pocket, especially now that Sokka knew how Zuko got his scar. But this was beyond the police. This was the government, medical professionals, journalists.

“Part of me always knew he did it,” Zuko said finally, quietly. “I mean, the timing of it was too perfect. But I never thought…”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Sokka had forgotten he invited Aang over as well.

“Is everything okay?” Aang asked, stepping into the recording room after Sokka unlocked the door. “You never lock this room.”

Nearly vibrating with excitement, Sokka took the papers from Zuko’s hand and gave them to Aang. “This is what I asked Toph to give you,” he said. “Zuko’s grandfather didn’t die of a heart attack after all.”

While Aang read through the report, Sokka sat at his desk and pulled a folder from the filing cabinet. He preferred to take notes on paper, since it gave him unlimited freedom to draw connections and physically lay evidence out. He’d already mapped out several possibilities of how the drugs got into Zuko’s grandfather’s system, how the bruises got there, who it was that did the strangling.

“This is incredible,” Aang said. “How many of those articles did you say mentioned the heart attack?”

“Dozens,” Sokka replied without looking up. “This opens up whole new avenues, whole new lines of questioning, I can’t believe we were able to find this—”

“How does this help you find my mother?”

Sokka froze. He turned to Zuko, who was still on the couch, staring at him. He couldn’t read Zuko’s expression, but it wasn’t good.

“Well, we know your father was lying,” Aang said. “That’s something.”

“I knew he was lying, I’ve known that all along. My mother wouldn’t just run away from me.”

“This is proof, Zuko,” Sokka said. “Actual, undeniable proof. This is a huge break in the case.”

He could see immediately that he’d said something wrong. Zuko’s frown deepened, his eyes grew dark.

“The case? Are you—I asked you to figure out what happened to my mom, not my grandfather!”

“Calm down, Zuko,” Aang said, holding his hands up. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

Zuko got to his feet quickly; Sokka stood between him and Aang almost without realizing it.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Zuko growled. “This is my mom. I’m not some stranger you’ll never have to see again, I’m not some background character you interview once just to twist their words! This is my life!”

Something shifted in Sokka’s chest. “I know, Zuko,” he said. “I know, I’m sorry, I really am. But please calm down, okay? We can talk this over.”

Zuko turned his attention to Sokka. “You know what I’ve been through, you know what he’s done to me, and you’re still treating me like I’m some...some tool you can use to get good ratings.”

Sokka opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. It was a critique he had heard before from people he interviewed, but never from someone like Zuko, someone he actually cared about, someone he…

“This is just my process,” he finally spluttered.

“Fuck your process!”

Zuko pushed past Sokka, yanked the report from Aang’s hands, and stormed out. A moment later, they heard the front door slam and a car peel away.

Sokka stared at the spot where Zuko had just stood. He felt like the air in the room had been replaced with pure, concentrated shame. All the excitement he’d felt, all the joy and curiosity, was gone.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Aang said quietly.

Sokka just shook his head. It wasn’t Aang’s fault. It wasn’t Zuko’s fault, either. He’d been so caught up in chasing down whatever lead he came across that he forgot the most important part of the journey.

He’d always tried to have a more human touch with his cases, keeping the people involved in mind when he decided what to include and how to cover it. He’d taken incredible care to screen episodes, to show them to the family members of the victims before releasing them. Sure, he’d gotten a comment or two over the years, mostly from strangers online but a few from people who knew the victim, but it had always been overshadowed by all the praise.

He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind.

~~~

Zuko regretted the outburst almost as soon as he’d gotten into the car, but he was still too angry to turn back. The autopsy report had been a bombshell, for sure, and it absolutely helped solve part of the mystery, but the most important part was still untouched.

He sat in the car once he got home, knowing how bad an idea it was to bring the report inside but not seeing any option. He carefully folded it and tucked it into his pocket, right next to his phone. If Ozai found this, Zuko couldn’t even imagine the type of pain he’d be subjected to.

Even in his bedroom, Zuko was still shaking from adrenaline. He stripped to his underwear, slipped into the bathroom next door, and quickly took a cold shower. Back in his bedroom, he tucked the report into his mattress, along with the burner phone. Once he felt calmer and more level-headed, he would pull it back out and call Sokka.

In the meantime, Zuko realized that he couldn’t just sit and wait for Sokka to stumble upon the kind of evidence he needed. There was almost nothing online about Zuko’s mother, so there was almost nothing Sokka could find. Zuko, on the other hand, had access to a lot more.

He had access to Iroh, and through Iroh, the flash drive.

But on the way back down to his car, he ran into his father.

“Well, well,” Ozai said, a grimace on his face. “I feel like I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

Zuko swallowed thickly. Was Ozai noticing his frequent absences from the house? Or was there some event that Zuko had forgotten?

“The silent treatment? How childish. Empty your pockets.”

Grateful for the presence of mind to hide the incriminating evidence, Zuko emptied his pockets onto the nearby table. His normal phone, his wallet, a lucky coin he’d been given as a child. Nothing damning, which only seemed to make Ozai angrier.

“Is there something I’ve done, Father?” he asked innocently.

Ozai slapped him.

Zuko stumbled back, more from surprise than recoil. Whether intentionally or not, Ozai had slapped his right cheek, his good cheek, the one not marred by a burn. He could feel the skin stinging where Ozai’s hand had been. If it had been his left cheek, he might not have felt it at all.

It had been a long, long time since his father hit him.

“You’re shirking your work duties,” Ozai growled, “and I know you’re up to something. I’m going to find out what it is. You’re not to leave this house again today. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ozai stormed off, leaving Zuko alone in the hallway. He could almost hear the slap still echoing through the house. A tear fell from his eye and splashed on his shirt.

Zuko thought about the last time his father hit him, shortly after he moved back in from Iroh’s house. He’d been away for so long, almost nine years. He had thought his father was capable of change, that the reason he asked Zuko to move back in was out of the goodness of his heart. It hadn’t taken very long to realize that Ozai was who he always would be.

They’d been in the dining room, seated at one end of the expansive table. Ozai at the head, Zuko on his right, Azula on his left. Despite ribbing from Azula and a coldness from his father, Zuko was starting to feel like he might have been able to build a life here again.

He couldn’t even remember what he said that set his father off. Whether it was truly rude, truly something worth being upset over, or merely a throwaway remark that meant nothing at all. Before he knew it, he was yanked from his chair, thrown to the floor, forced to give up his phone so he couldn’t call Iroh, and sent up to his room. Half an hour later, Ozai barged in, already furious and further incensed by seeing Zuko cry, and began a tirade that left half of Zuko’s furniture destroyed, glass all over the floor, and Zuko with blood dripping down his face.

Zuko wasn’t sure if he’d learned how to avoid his father or if Ozai simply had a pressure valve that exploded when it got too much, but it hadn’t been that bad in a while. Still, the threat was there.

Now, Zuko leaned against his closed bedroom door, heart pounding against his chest. If Ozai was starting to suspect something, he had to be more careful.

He had to get rid of the autopsy report.

~~~

After Aang left, patting Sokka on the shoulder lamely, Sokka had thrown himself into the research. Shame threatened to completely absorb him, and the only thing that helped was trying to find a clue about Zuko’s mother’s whereabouts.

He laid out papers on the floor, walked around them to literally see from different angles, followed every thought that crossed his mind to its conclusion. He felt powerless, helpless, like he’d been put on this earth to solve Zuko’s mystery and his life would mean nothing if he didn’t, but also like he was completely the wrong person to do it.

Katara brought him dinner, but he didn’t want her to stay. He didn’t want anyone else to try and help.

The sky outside grew dark, streetlights turned on, Sokka’s eyelids got heavier and heavier, but he refused to stop.

Until his phone rang.

It was Zuko.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka said as a greeting, sinking into the couch.

“I am, too,” Zuko replied. His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “Look...I’m not going to say I didn’t mean it. But I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”

“You had every right. God, I’m so sorry, Zuko.”

Zuko paused. “My father suspects something. He cornered me today.”

Sokka’s stomach dropped through the floor. “Are you okay?”

“He didn’t find the report.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

They were silent. Sokka could hear Zuko’s shaky breath on the line.

“Look, if he hurts you—”

“I need to give you back the report. I can’t have it here.”

Zuko was avoiding the question, which told Sokka everything he needed to know. He wanted to drop everything, run to the police, have Ozai arrested, beat him to a pulp himself.

But Ozai already had the police in his pocket.

“I hate this,” Sokka muttered. He looked down at his wrist, at the small tattoo of a crescent moon. His heart ached.

“Meet me at the Blue Spirit Theater tomorrow at noon,” Zuko said. “Don’t drive the Porsche.”

He hung up.

When Sokka pulled into the parking lot of the theater the next day, driving Katara’s very bland and forgettable blue Prius, he was a bit surprised to see Iroh standing beside Zuko. Then again, if Ozai really was starting to suspect something, it wouldn’t be smart to drive around in Zuko’s eye-catching Rolls Royce.

As he parked a few spots away, Sokka noticed a small bruise on Zuko’s cheek. It took all his willpower to ignore it.

“Good to see you again, sir,” he said to Iroh as he approached.

“Likewise,” Iroh replied with a smile. “My nephew and I both have gifts for you.”

Zuko, his face set in a neutral expression, held out the folded autopsy report. Sokka took it, looked between the paper and Iroh, then raised his eyebrows. Zuko shook his head.

He hadn’t told him.

“And I have this,” Iroh said. He procured a small plastic device from his pocket. A flash drive. “I confess, I never went through it. I always meant to, but never got the chance. I hope you will find something useful.”

Sokka held all the evidence he could ever have hoped to find in his hands. A few days ago, he would have been salivating with excitement.

“I’ve told my father that I’m staying with Iroh for a few days,” Zuko said finally. He reached into the backseat of Iroh’s car and pulled out a backpack. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to help you look through that.”

Sokka had never let someone else help him with research like this. Aang would be an extra set of eyes on occasion, he had plenty of connections to get his hands on documents or testimony, but research had always been Sokka’s magnum opus. It was his defining feature; Unsolvable was one of the only podcasts of his size to not have a research team.

But he knew that turning Zuko down would ruin the case. Beyond that, it would ruin their friendship.

“Then let’s get started.”

~~~

In something that had come to feel routine, Zuko found himself sitting silently in the passenger seat while Sokka drove.

Ozai seemed almost grateful to be rid of Zuko, even for a few days. He hadn’t even questioned why Zuko would want to stay with Iroh.

Though he was still upset, Zuko found Sokka’s lack of outward excitement to be reassuring. Clearly, what he said had hammered home to Sokka what this meant to him.

When they got to Sokka’s house, Zuko reached to open the door, but Sokka put a hand on his arm to stop him. How crazy that, after everything that happened yesterday, the touch still send a shiver down his spine.

“My family is home,” Sokka said.

Oh.

Zuko was not opposed to meeting Sokka’s family. He knew, from the podcast and small bits of conversation, that it wasn’t large. He had already met Gran Gran once. But he was also emotionally vulnerable.

They stepped into the kitchen, where a tall man who was much too handsome to be anyone but Sokka’s father stood at the stove. Aang was there as well, sitting at the kitchen island with a girl about Azula’s age, with long, dark hair in a braid down her back.

“This is my father, Hakoda,” Sokka said, motioning to the stove. “And my sister Katara. You already know Aang. Everyone, this is my friend Zuko.”

Zuko smiled, not because of the introductions, but because Sokka had hesitated before “friend.”

“A pleasure,” Hakoda said, reaching out to shake Zuko’s hand. “I’ve heard a bit about you. You’re helping him with the podcast, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Zuko replied. He tried not to be starstruck by Hakoda’s features.

“There’s no need for ‘sir’ in this house,” Hakoda said with a laugh. “Would you like some lunch? I’ve made shrimp scampi.”

Zuko’s stomach growled, almost on cue. “That sounds amazing.”

It was a night-and-day difference, eating around Sokka’s table rather than his own. The room was smaller, and the food had not been prepared by world-renowned chefs, but what impressed Zuko the most was how much he felt at home around everyone. Hakoda had a deep voice and infectious laugh, Gran Gran told story after story from her childhood, Katara and Sokka engaged in sibling banter that was actually fun to observe. Aang and Katara talked about their studies, Hakoda talked about work, Gran Gran talked about her garden.

Everyone here seemed to like each other. It was utterly foreign.

The meal finished, Zuko tried to help clean up but was rebuked in the kindest way possible. Instead, he, Sokka, and Aang made their way to the recording room.

He noticed that Sokka locked the door.

“What’s that?” Aang asked when Sokka pulled the flash drive from his pocket.

“My uncle managed to download some files,” Zuko said, “related to the business changing hands. I’m going to help him look through it all.”

Aang and Sokka exchanged a glance, and Zuko was sure there was a conversation he wasn’t privy to. At this point, however, he wasn’t concerned about that. He wanted to find his mom.

The three of them sat on the couch, Sokka’s laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of them. They took turns controlling the wireless mouse, scrolling through file after file, folder after folder. It was mostly spreadsheets, boring and almost unintelligible. Spreadsheets about monthly expenses, email chains about upcoming mergers, templates for new hire paperwork.

Aang left before dinner, citing a date he’d promised Katara. Zuko thought he was probably just bored, and couldn’t blame him.

He and Sokka sat beside each other, hunched over the computer screen, not even sure what they were looking for. There was so much information, and any of it could be the smoking gun, but they wouldn’t know what that was until they saw it.

It wasn’t looking for a needle in a haystack. It was looking for a needle in a pile of needles.

“This is impossible,” Zuko said. They’d ordered pizza after Sokka’s stomach growled, and the empty box sat beside the garbage can. It had been hours. His head hurt from looking at the screen. His back and shoulders hurt from the uncomfortable position he’d been in.

Sokka closed the laptop, rubbing his eyes. “We should take a break. Come back tomorrow with fresh eyes.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Outside, the sunset lit up the sky in incredible oranges and reds. Zuko stared out the window from the couch, watching a cloud float by, morphing slightly. At first it looked like a cat, and then a tree.

He glanced over to find that Sokka was staring at him.

“We should get some sleep,” Zuko said. His mouth was dry, his heart beating against his ribs like it wanted to explode from his chest.

Sokka licked his lips.

“Fuck,” Zuko breathed.

They both surged forward, lips crashing together in a hungry, desperate kiss. Every stolen glance, every small touch, even yesterday’s fight had led to this glorious moment, a moment so overwhelming that Zuko could think of nothing but Sokka.

He tasted like Red Bull and cherry lip balm; his hands were hot and needy, wandering down Zuko’s chest, tangling in his hair, pushing Zuko onto his back. The kiss broke, only for Sokka to trail kisses up Zuko’s jawline, the skin behind his ear, hands still exploring.

Then he stopped, breath hot in Zuko’s ear, and laughed.

“What?” Zuko asked breathlessly, trying to memorize the feel of Sokka’s body against his.

“Aang and I call this the casting couch,” Sokka said, his thumb tracing over Zuko’s bottom lip. “I’m making out with you on my casting couch.”

Zuko smiled, felt for the edge of Sokka’s shirt, brought his hand under it to feel his hot skin. “Who says it has to stop at making out?”

“Jesus—”

Sokka kissed him hard, and he had no more coherent thoughts.

~~~

Sokka woke the next morning on the floor of the recording room. He was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, vaguely aware that he was naked.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up, looking around.

Clothes were strewn about the room, clearly tossed from the couch. The light was still on, both of them having been too tired to turn it off.

And Zuko, glorious, gorgeous Zuko.

He was splayed out on the couch, also naked, his chest covered in dark hickeys. His face was utterly relaxed, no furrowed brow or frown or conflicted expression. His chest rose and fell with deep, rhythmic breaths.

Sokka had never seen him look so peaceful, nor so desirable.

He dressed quietly, gathering Zuko’s clothes and folding them on the coffee table. Grabbing a sticky note, he wrote a quick message for when Zuko eventually woke up.

Morning, sunshine. Meet me downstairs. I’ll have coffee.

Sokka slipped out of the recording room, gently closing the door before heading to the bathroom. He peed, splashed some water in his face, and finally went downstairs.

Hakoda had taken Gran Gran to a doctor’s appointment, and Aang and Katara were nowhere in sight. Sokka breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining what happened. He was grateful, indeed, that they’d been in the recording room instead of his bedroom. His bedroom wasn’t soundproofed.

While the coffee machine was working, Sokka dug out ingredients for an omelet and started cooking. This was a recipe he’d perfected when he’d been with Suki, so he allowed his mind to wander as he worked.

Last night certainly complicated the investigation. It had already been hard enough, balancing his usual podcast method with the burgeoning friendship. The fight the other day, when Zuko had stormed out of the house, was still fresh in his mind. How could he maintain the same level of distance and professionalism now? What would happen between them once Sokka finished the case?

What would happen if Sokka couldn’t solve this?

Just as he was finishing the omelet, he heard a noise behind him. He turned and saw Zuko leaning against the doorway, smiling.

“Good morning,” Sokka said. “Coffee’s made. Want an omelet?”

Zuko nodded. “Of course you can cook. Jesus.” He moved into the kitchen, putting a hand on Sokka’s back as he passed.

“Your hair looks like shit,” Sokka said, plating the omelet he’d just made and starting another one. “Here, you can have that one.”

“God, you are so fucking attractive.”

Sokka blushed but didn’t turn around. He heard Zuko pour himself a cup of coffee, stir in sugar, and grab the plate. A barstool scraped across the floor.

Maybe it had been a mistake, offering to let Zuko stay with him while they went through the flash drive. Would he expect a repeat performance tonight?

“You’re quiet,” Zuko said after a few minutes.

“Thinking,” Sokka said. The omelet was done, so he grabbed another plate and served himself. It would be rude not to sit next to the only other person in the house, so he sat on the barstool beside Zuko.

Zuko sipped his coffee. “Thinking about what?”

Sokka looked at him, looked at the way his lips were slightly swollen from all the kissing, the way his shirt’s neckline showed just a few of the hickeys, the way his eyes traced over Sokka’s face.

Something must have shown in his expression, because Zuko’s face fell. “Ah. I see.”

“Zuko, I had an incredible time last night.”

Zuko brought his empty plate to the sink and leaned against the counter, looking out the window. “I sense a ‘but’ coming,” he said.

Sokka got to his feet, stepped behind Zuko, put his hands on the other man’s hips and kissed the back of his neck. He relished in the soft noise Zuko made, the way his body felt, the way he smelled.

“Things are complicated right now,” Sokka said gently, kissing the side of Zuko’s neck, below his ear. “With the podcast, the investigation...I’ve already come at this from the wrong angle. I don’t want to lose sight of why I’m doing this.”

Zuko turned around, his hands moving up Sokka’s chest until they moved behind his neck. “I get it,” Zuko said. “I really do get it. I’m just...bummed.”

Sokka leaned down and captured Zuko’s mouth, trying to express his complex emotions through a kiss. It wasn’t like last night, it wasn’t horny or hungry or desperate. It was soft and gentle, careful and caring. Yet he wasn’t sure if he had the willpower to stop.

Then the front door opened.

The kitchen was, following a recent trend of open-concept spaces, fully in view of the front door. Whoever walked in got an unimpeded view of Sokka and Zuko, limbs entangled, kissing.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Katara groaned.

Sokka pulled away quickly, bashing his hip into the island counter behind him. He cursed that both he and Zuko were men, with physical reactions to intimacy like that. Zuko’s face was a deep crimson, and Sokka knew he was blushing as well.

When he looked towards the door, his stomach did a flip. It was not just Katara; Aang was beside her.

Where Katara looked exasperated and like she had just walked in on her brother kissing someone, Aang’s expression was more complex. He was embarrassed, for sure, but there was something deeper, something more like disapproval than mere annoyance. It reminded Sokka, with a pang of understanding, of how Aang looked when Sokka introduced him to Suki.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Zuko said abruptly, pushing past everyone and out the front door.

“How nice to meet your friend,” Katara said with a laugh. “I’m going upstairs.”

Aang stayed rooted in his spot, his frown deepening.

Sokka couldn’t move.

“Did he spend the night?” Aang asked.

Sokka dropped his gaze. “Yeah. He did. In the recording room.”

Aang crossed the space until he was on the opposite side of the island. “You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

Sokka felt chastised, and then angry that he was being chastised. “I’m 25, Aang, I can have sex with whoever I want.” Aang threw his hands in the air. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for having a sex life. I’m sorry for finding someone attractive.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. For Pete’s sake, Sokka, didn’t you think this through?”

“There wasn’t a lot of blood going to my brain at the time, no.”

Hands clenched into fists, Aang turned away with a sigh. “This is why I never wanted you to take a case like this.”

Frustration built inside Sokka’s chest, making him clench his jaw. “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s Unsolvable with Sokka, not Aang. It’s my decision, it’s my fucking podcast.”

“The guy storms out of here, taking very sensitive evidence with him, because he didn’t like the way you were taking it. How do you think it’ll go if you can’t solve this?” Aang turned back towards him. “And if you hadn’t noticed, you’ve been spending so much time on this, you’re neglecting the rest of your fucking podcast.”

Hearing Aang swear was like a slap in the face. More than anything he said, the word “fuck” snapped Sokka out of his anger. He leaned back against the counter and rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

He heard Aang come closer. “I can’t see you get hurt from this, Sokka. You’re my brother.”

Sokka dropped his hands from his face, rubbing the inside of his wrist absently. Aang had come with him the day he went for the crescent tattoo. He’d only been in high school, he hadn’t even started dating Katara yet, but he’d shown up for Sokka then.

“I told him it’s too complicated,” Sokka said. “I told him we couldn’t...be anything right now. I know why you’re...I get it, Aang. I promise.”

Aang stepped forward and hugged him. Growing up with Katara, Sokka was used to physical affection, and he was grateful that Aang didn’t think himself above it. Sometimes, all you needed was a good hug.

“Want to help me go through the flash drive?” Sokka asked when they pulled apart.

Aang snorted. “Not until you disinfect the casting couch.”

~~~

Zuko had no destination in mind as he left Sokka’s house. He wasn’t familiar enough with the area to go far, so he settled for walking straight until his mind cleared.

Somehow, Aang seeing them kiss felt worse than the very clear rejection he’d received. A part of him had known, as he got dressed that morning, that they were too complicated to work, but hearing it, so soon after such an amazing experience, had been painful.

Someone both Sokka and Zuko respected seeing them, however, was worse. It meant they had to contend with other people knowing what happened.

Then again, even Sokka didn’t fully grasp the importance of what happened.

Zuko thought about Jet as he walked. He thought about the few times, towards the end of their “relationship”, when they’d been closer to having sex than ever. He thought about how terrified he’d been, not of the act, but of what his father would do if he found out. He’d been so deep in the closet that he couldn’t imagine a world where he had sex and it wasn’t immediately obvious to everyone around him. Like there would be a neon sign above his head, “This boy had sex with another boy!”

What would life be like now, if he’d been more open with himself? It had been six years. Would he still be with Jet, or was Jet destined to be a college relationship forever?

Zuko found himself at a main road, so he turned around and retraced his steps.

How was he supposed to ever be alone with Sokka again? It was bad enough after the almost-kiss at the park. How could he sit next to Sokka, do research together, laugh and cry and uncover truths together?

Worse: How could he not be around Sokka now? The idea of being apart was just as horrible as the idea of being together.

Zuko stopped at a crosswalk to allow some cars to pass when an understanding hit him, as though it had been following him and waited for his feet to stop before catching up.

“I’m falling in love with Sokka,” he muttered, the words coming unbidden to his lips.

The burner phone buzzed in his pocket.

Sokka.

“I’m fine,” Zuko said when he answered.

“I’m sure you are,” Sokka replied, “I was just checking. Where are you?”

“A few blocks away. Just needed to clear my head.”

“Any luck?”

I love you, I love you, I love you. “I’m better. On my way back.”

The line was silent for a moment. Zuko walked slowly, going out of his way to step on crunchy leaves, kicking a pebble down a full block before it bounced into the street.

“If you’re okay with it,” Sokka said finally, “you can still stay over.”

He could hear Sokka’s smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stick around after all.

~~~

The flash drive was the most tedious research Sokka had ever done, which was really saying something.

He’d once scanned through five years of microfilm to find a single article. He had read medical encyclopedias and legal briefings, court rulings and hundreds of pages of written testimonies. He’d watched thousands of hours of security footage.

The flash drive made all of his previous research look like a trip to Disneyland.

Halfway through the files, Sokka came to the horrifying realization that, even if the evidence he wanted was in here, it might be so well hidden that he would miss it.

Despite his reassurances to Aang that he wouldn’t jeopardize the investigation further, he and Zuko had sex again that night. Sokka had fully intended on going straight to his room, but then he’d glanced at Zuko while he was changing into pajamas, and all control was out the window. At least he had managed to get back to his own bed before morning.

The next day, Zuko went back to Iroh’s, which gave Sokka a bit of a reprieve. Aang and Katara knew what was going on, but Hakoda did not, and the teasing was almost more than he could bear.

After Zuko left, Sokka kept working through the flash drive. If the research hadn’t been so sensitive and confidential, he would have moved to his bedroom instead. Being in the recording room just made him think of Zuko.

He was so distracted, in fact, that when he opened the document that held what he was looking for, he barely glanced at it before closing it.

“Shit!” Sokka sat up straight, clicking the document back open again as soon as he understood what he’d seen.

It was an invoice of sorts, from the day after Zuko’s mother disappeared. There had been dozens of other files like this, which is why he’d overlooked it initially. The date was the first thing that stopped him in his tracks.

This invoice listed three plane tickets, all flying economy, and $50,000 of traveler’s checks.

The second thing Sokka noticed, after the date, was the airline class.

Not a single previous ticket had been purchased for economy.

Sokka almost called Zuko, but this wasn’t much to go on. He could have confirmed that the Sugita family did not fly economy, but Sokka already knew that.

He just wanted to hear Zuko’s voice.

It was clearly more than just attraction, just kissing, just sex. Sokka hadn’t felt like this since the early days with Suki. The enormity of this realization, of what it meant, would have to wait, because Sokka needed to focus on the investigation.

These plane tickets, unlike the autopsy report, were definitely related to Ursa’s disappearance.

Unfortunately, the invoice did not list a destination or even an airline. It was much too vague of a lead, but it was all he had.

Sokka grabbed his keys and started driving, not sure exactly where he was going, just knowing he needed to get out of the house. A change of scenery often helped him make connections, and the recording room still smelled like Zuko. And sex.

He ended up, somehow, outside the gym where Suki worked. She was a personal trainer and self-defense teacher, and truthfully the only reason Sokka was in good shape at all. He saw her car in the parking lot and decided some yap time was exactly what he needed.

She was by the front counter when he went inside, talking to another trainer. When she saw him, her eyes lit up, as they always did.

The love was still there, even if it looked different now.

“How are you?” she asked, hugging him tightly as he approached.

“I’m okay,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “Always good to see you.”

“You’re lucky, I’ve just clocked out. Want a coffee? There’s a new place across the street, you’ll love it.”

They walked across the street, Sokka sitting in a booth by the window, Suki standing in line to order. She returned shortly, setting his usual in front of him.

“How have things been going?” she asked, eyeing him over her cup.

He couldn’t forget that the last time they’d talked was when he called her, and his emotional state at the time had not been great. She hadn’t followed up on it, so she must have believed he wasn’t falling apart, but it was still an emotionally low moment for him.

“I’m better,” he said truthfully. “I’m working on a case for the podcast, and it’s going...pretty well.”

She looked at him with a smile, a smile that made him feel like she was seeing right through everything he said.

“What?” he asked.

Suki laughed, reached across the table, and pressed her finger against his collarbone. “And who is this from?”

Sokka blushed fiercely. He’d forgotten to wear a shirt with a high enough neckline to cover the hickeys. His obvious discomfort only made her laugh harder.

“I’m happy for you, babe,” she said. “Who is she?”

He licked his lips. “It’s...someone I’ve been working with on the podcast, actually. I’m looking into the disappearance of their mother.”

Suki’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Sokka, that’s rule number one. You don’t fuck your clients.”

“It’s not like he’s paying me—”

“He?” If possible, her eyebrows went even higher. “So you finally found a man who could live up to your impossible standards?”

Sokka snorted. The running joke, when they’d been together, was that they had the same brand of bisexuality: Their standard for women was having a pulse, and their standard for men was Pedro Pascal. In truth, he found far more men attractive than he ever pursued, a fact that he didn’t like to interrogate whenever he thought about it.

He took his phone from his pocket, pulled up the picture of Zuko he’d covertly taken that morning over breakfast, and showed it to Suki. She inspected it closely, even zooming in.

“Okay, he’s definitely your type,” Suki said, handing Sokka’s phone back. “Dark and mysterious. How did this happen?”

“He emailed asking me to look into the disappearance of his mother. We’ve been working together for a couple weeks.”

“And how did that happen?” She motioned at his neck.

“Suki.”

“Alright, alright,” she laughed. “I’m happy for you, really. But why are you here? That looks new. Why aren’t you with him?”

Sokka looked out the window, sipping his coffee. Outside, a landscaper was planting a new bush where someone had run the old one over; a woman in a smart skirt and blazer walked with a baby in a stroller, talking into her cell phone; down the block, someone was tossing a sign in the air, advertising a mattress shop. “If it weren’t for the investigation, I would be,” he said. “But the podcast complicates things.”

He felt her hand on his. “Complicates things how?”

The woman with the stroller was closer to the window now. Sokka saw it wasn’t a baby after all. It was a dog. People never ceased to amaze him.

“I feel like if I let it go any further,” he said carefully, “that it’ll distract me from the case. I’m supposed to be helping him find his mother.”

“No, you’re supposed to be covering the mystery. Does he listen to the podcast?”

“He’s been listening all along.”

“Then he knows what your role is. Those cases you helped solve, that was a fluke. Everyone knows that.”

The three cases where Sokka could argue his involvement mattered were all related to overlooked evidence or leads that hadn’t been followed. His podcast shed light on something that was already being said, amplifying the voices enough that local law enforcement had to pay attention.

Part of Aang’s job was to meticulously monitor the podcast’s Wikipedia page, correcting anyone who tried to say that Sokka himself solved those cases.

“I know that,” Sokka said. “And I know he does too. But it’s also his mother. How can I blame him for losing track of my podcast, when it’s his mother?” He sighed. This is why Aang had been upset with him. “I got too close to him and the case, and I don’t know what to do.”

Suki tilted her head, studying him intently. Her perceptive skills, especially with him, were stuff of legend. She often knew what he was feeling before he did.

“You can have both, Sokka,” she said finally. “You don’t have to deprive yourself of someone who makes you feel like this just because you’ve made this rule in your head.”

He rubbed the inside of his wrist. “I don’t see any other choice.”

Suki sighed. “Oh, honey. You’re not ready for this conversation. Look, I love you, and I’m here when you need anything. I’ve got to get home, but call me later, okay?” She stood, kissed the top of his head, and left.

Sitting in silence for a minute, Sokka thought about what Suki said. There was, of course, no law against being with Zuko. It was only his own rules, and the expectations of the podcast, that held him back. But who was he, without those expectations?

Who was he without the podcast?

Sokka got back in his car, turned the radio up too loud, and started the drive towards home when he got a text from Zuko to meet him at the theater. He changed direction immediately.

He saw Zuko’s Rolls Royce in the parking lot, and another car that he didn’t recognize. Zuko was standing beside his car, talking to a slightly taller man. Was this another lead that Zuko had? Another person for Sokka to interview?

Sokka parked behind the theater, far enough for plausible deniability. Suki’s words were bouncing around his head. Now, looking at Zuko, the uncertainty of having both Zuko and the podcast were diminishing. Maybe, after this interview, he could bring Zuko back home, bring him to the recording room, have a serious conversation about where they were heading.

But when Sokka got out of the car and turned the corner, what he saw made him doubt they were heading anywhere at all.

~~~

Zuko had gone back to Iroh’s, not because he didn’t want to stay with Sokka, but because he had an idea about the investigation and wanted to do some research of his own.

He barely spent an hour with Iroh before he was heading back to the mansion, heart in his throat. What he had in mind was the most dangerous thing he had done in a long time, but he felt so useless in the investigation otherwise.

Sokka had done all the research, had interviewed Iroh and gotten the information about the flash drive, had spent days looking through it.

Zuko had tucked the burner phone in a pair of socks in his backpack, in the event that Ozai stopped him when he returned, but he didn’t need to have worried. Ozai wasn’t even at the mansion. There was a board meeting in town.

He had, at most, two hours. If Azula found him, he was dead.

Something had been bothering him, while he and Sokka were looking through the flash drive. Though they hadn’t made it to this particular file yet (pizza, boredom, and taking each other’s clothes off had interrupted them), Zuko had seen a title that intrigued him.

U Layoffs

Ozai laid people off all the time. There was rarely any reason for it, any justification, on the documents. The presence of the letter preceding the term was what bothered Zuko.

It was his mother’s initial.

Azula was nowhere to be found as Zuko took a laptop from the shared office space. It wasn’t his own laptop, personal or work, but rather that of an assistant. Zuko couldn’t risk using his own, in case Ozai tracked it, and this assistant was one he had covered for on several occasions. He knew the login.

Paranoia threatening to burst from every pore in his body, Zuko slipped into a coat closet in the hallway before even opening the laptop.

He wasn’t sure if this file was still in the database, or if Iroh’s flash drive had the only copy. Then again, Ozai was paranoid enough that he kept everything.

Zuko hoped the paranoia, which he’d inherited, would come to the rescue.

It took him ten minutes to find, only because he was afraid of typing or clicking too loudly and being discovered. He pulled out his phone, copied the information, and quickly accessed several dozen random files to try and hide the search. Then he logged out, checked the hallway, brought the laptop back, wiped it down with an alcohol wipe, and put it back where it belonged.

Miraculously, he managed to get back to his bedroom without even running into any of the staff.

His heart pounded against his ribs, almost exploding from his chest.

Just as carefully as before, he copied the information to the burner phone and deleted it from his regular phone. Now, finally, he felt like he could actually read and comprehend it.

It was a list of seven names. Five were security, two were landscaping. Two of the security names and one landscaper had a string of letters after their name, but all seven shared a note.

Executive severance.

While Ozai laid people off frequently, the severance packages he offered varied considerably. If someone had cost him money, or the possibility of money, they received nothing. From there, the severance packages got more and more lucrative.

Zuko had never known anyone to have this code.

He wasn’t even sure what the package would entail.

Before realizing it, he had navigated to Sokka’s number and had his finger over the Call button, but stopped himself.

He couldn’t talk about it here, in his father’s house.

This time, as he went through the house, he saw a few staff, all of whom greeted him with wide smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Being too friendly towards him was a reason people were laid off sometimes.

Zuko drove by Sokka’s house, and then Iroh’s, looking for the Porsche. It wasn’t in either driveway. Confused, he drove to the park where they’d first met, still with no luck. Rather than chasing Sokka around the city, he sent off a text, asking to meet at the theater.

Zuko parked, got out, and leaned against the door. He stared at the note on his phone, trying to figure out if he’d ever seen any of these names before. None of them rang a bell.

“Zuko?”

It wasn’t Sokka.

Zuko looked up, his heart skipping a beat.

It was Jet.

“Holy shit, it is you!” Jet grinned widely, climbing out of his car (how was it possible that he had the same car, after all these years?) and stepping closer.

It was like no time had passed, like the past six years hadn’t happened, like they’d just seen each other in class yesterday. He felt like the same scared teenager.

“What are you doing here?” Zuko asked. He felt like his mouth was full of cotton. He hadn’t realized Jet was still in the city.

“I was driving by and thought I recognized you.”

God, that smile. Once upon a time, Zuko would have burned the world for that smile. Jet was moving closer, closer, ending up only a foot away. This close, Zuko could see that Jet had changed, actually. His face was leaner, stubble peppered his cheeks and chin, he had lines around his mouth and between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there before.

“How have you been?” Jet didn’t seem to mind that Zuko was nearly paralyzed, that he wasn’t contributing anything to the conversation.

“I’m fine,” Zuko said automatically. It was his go-to answer and always had been. “I’m just shocked to see you, I guess.”

“It has been a minute, hasn’t it? You look good.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko saw a silver car pull into the parking lot. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from Jet, couldn’t turn to verify if it was Sokka or not. Even thinking about Sokka wasn’t breaking the spell.

“So do you,” Zuko said softly.

Back in college, during the eight-month almost-relationship, one of Zuko’s classmates had told him that he was useless whenever Jet was around. He told Zuko that the second Jet walked into a room, it was like no one else existed.

How could he still feel the same way?

He wasn’t even surprised when Jet closed the distance between them, put his hand on Zuko’s cheek (the one not burned by his father), leaned in and kissed him hard.

This feeling, the feeling of Jet’s lips on his and Jet’s hands over his body, this is what he’d been chasing during those months in college. It was a high unlike anything Zuko had ever experienced, a high brought about by the combined effects of a deeply-repressed sexuality and a gorgeous, nearly unobtainable partner. Of all the people in the program, Jet had chosen him, Zuko, someone who didn’t make friends easily, someone who was a good actor but not spectacular, someone who was awkward and deep in the closet and—

“Oh.”

The only thing that could have broken the spell Jet had over Zuko was Sokka’s voice.

He pulled away, nearly stumbled over his own feet, looking over just in time to see Sokka’s eyes fill with tears.

“I can explain,” he said lamely, knowing there was no possible explanation that would make this better.

Sokka turned quickly and walked back around the corner to his car. Zuko pushed Jet aside and nearly ran after him, catching up as Sokka struggled with his keys.

“Sokka, please, I can explain—”

“Leave me alone, Zuko,” Sokka said, finally unlocking the car and grabbing the door handle.

Zuko reached out for Sokka’s arm, his heart shattering when Sokka slapped his hand away. “Please, let me explain, this isn’t—”

“Isn’t what it looks like? Bullshit.” Sokka threw the door open. “I’m not going to say it again, leave me the fuck alone.”

Zuko had no choice but to stumble back as the Porsche started, backed out, zoomed out of the parking lot. He stood there, a whole new fear and loathing washing over his body, watching the silver car disappear down the street.

“I didn’t realize you were seeing someone,” Jet said. He had made his way closer to Zuko, but now kept a respectable distance.

“It’s complicated,” Zuko replied. He didn’t say it out loud, but he couldn’t help thinking that any chance of actually having a relationship with Sokka were now obliterated.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cornered you like that.”

Zuko was surprised, in truth, that Jet actually sounded sorry. In college, Jet had always taken what he wanted, seemingly without regard for how the people around him might feel. It’s why he was able to take ultra-repressed Zuko to a dark room and kiss him.

When he first saw Jet again, it was like no time had passed. Now, it felt like a lifetime.

“I appreciate that,” Zuko said. “Look, I...I’m sorry for how things turned out, before. I wish I’d been able to give you what you wanted.”

Jet smiled, moving a step closer. “We had our fun, but I should have known better. You weren’t ready.”

Zuko looked out to the street again, where Sokka’s car had disappeared. He was ready now, but he’d just ruined it.

“I’ll let you be,” Jet said, putting his hand on Zuko’s arm. “I’m sorry, again. Reach out to me, when you’ve got this figured out. I’d like to keep in touch. You meant a lot to me, once upon at time.”

Zuko didn’t recoil from the touch, instead meeting Jet’s eyes and seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time in years. “You meant a lot to me, too. I’m sorry I couldn’t show you that.”

Jet smiled again, leaned in, and kissed Zuko’s cheek before walking back to his car.

His burned cheek.

Years ago, Zuko had never wanted anyone to touch his burned cheek. He hated even going to follow-up appointments with surgeons and burn specialists. Jet had never even tried, back then. The weight of the gesture today, after what they’ve been through, meant more than any words Jet could have said.

After a minute of silently standing there, thinking, Zuko finally went back to his car. He had left the house with such high hopes, of finding Sokka, giving him this incredible lead, maybe going back to Sokka’s house to do more research and then some.

The idea of going straight back home was too depressing, but he had nowhere else to go. He wouldn’t be welcome at Sokka’s, trying to explain everything to Iroh would require far too much time, and he had no other friends.

So when he got a call on the burner phone from Aang, he was relieved to have an alternative.

~~~

Sokka barely remembered the drive home.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he not have seen that, once Sokka turned him down, Zuko would feel free to pursue other interests?

It didn’t even bother him that Zuko hadn’t mentioned other interests. If he was able to go from sleeping with Sokka one day to making out with someone else the next, there was no telling how long it had been brewing.

And Sokka, poor, miserable, lonely Sokka, who hadn’t even attempted to pursue a crush since he and Suki broke up, would have to start again and heal his heart.

His family was home when he got back, but he didn’t acknowledge them on his way up to his bedroom. Katara knocked on his door and tried to talk to him, but he ignored her.

Zuko had no way of knowing just how badly Sokka was hurt, had no way of knowing how rare it was for Sokka to give over that part of himself. How could he? Sokka didn’t talk about Yue anymore.

He rubbed the inside of his wrist, thumb tracing the crescent tattoo in a subconscious calming ritual he’d done for years. Thinking her name, imagining her face, even driving at night brought him straight back to that horrible, awful night seven years ago.

Sokka stared at his ceiling, willing the thoughts to disperse, begging his mind to think of anything else, even Zuko, even the image of Zuko with someone else’s tongue down his throat.

Anything but the crash.

Half an hour later, curled up in a fetal position with his hands pressed into his eyes, Sokka heard his bedroom door open. He didn’t even have the energy to see who it was, or be mad about the privacy invasion.

“Sokka,” Katara said gently, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Aang’s on his way. Will you at least talk to him, if you won’t talk to me?”

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat, but finally pulled his hands away from his eyes. “I guess,” he said.

“This is about Zuko, isn’t it?”

Sokka sighed, sat up, pulled his knees to his chest. “Yeah. It is.”

“What happened?”

How much detail did he want to give his little sister? How much did she already know, from her proximity to Aang, and how much had she guessed? And, most importantly, what did it matter?

“I caught him kissing someone else,” Sokka said, staring at the foot of his bed. “We aren’t, like, dating or anything. The podcast makes it complicated. But I thought we were...more.”

She rubbed his back. “I’m sorry to hear that. I can see how much you like him.”

Sokka realized, belatedly, uselessly, that “like” didn’t even come close. He couldn’t believe how it had escaped his notice, among the interviews and texts and late-night chats and sex, that he was starting to fall in love.

They both heard the front door open and close, which meant Aang must be here. Katara got to her feet, and Sokka saw an expression on her face that he couldn’t quite understand. Almost like triumph.

“Come downstairs,” she said. “Dad and Gran Gran are at Bingo. I don’t want you cooped up here forever.”

He grumbled but got to his feet, rubbed his tattoo, and followed her.

When they got to the living room, Sokka could’ve killed her.

It wasn’t just Aang on the couch. Zuko had come along too.

~~~

“What did you do?” Aang asked when Zuko answered the phone.

“What are you talking about?”

“Katara told me Sokka’s locked himself in his bedroom. She said he’s really upset and won’t talk to her.”

Dammit. “Why do you think that has anything to do with me?”

Aang remained silent on the other end, because of course it had to do with Zuko. Who else would have upset Sokka so deeply?

“Look, it’s complicated. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“So you did hurt him?”

Zuko looked out the windshield, watching a squirrel running from tree to tree. “He caught me kissing my ex.”

Aang sighed. “Meet me at the park, okay? We have to talk.”

He hung up before Zuko could argue.

Aang was standing by the hood of his car when Zuko pulled up to the park, looking around and waiting. When he saw Zuko getting out, he waved him over and motioned towards the park.

“Come on,” Aang said. “There’s some things you have to know.”

They walked in silence for a moment, a slight breeze helping to cool them down. It was hotter than it had been for several days, so few people were at the park. Most of them were either staying inside or going to the beach to cool down.

Aang found the bench where Zuko first met them, sat, and motioned for Zuko to sit beside him.

“I swear I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Zuko said, looking out over the playground.

“What happened?”

“I asked to meet Sokka, I had some evidence for the investigation. But before Sokka showed up, my ex did. I hadn’t seen him in years, it was a college fling, and I just...I wasn’t expecting him.”

Aang leaned back, looking straight up at the few wispy clouds in the sky. “And what do you think your relationship is with Sokka?”

Zuko blushed despite himself. The past two weeks were such a whirlwind of emotion and discovery, it was hard to explain it in just a few words. “I don’t know. I like him, I’m pretty sure he likes me. I know you know about...you know. But I don’t know what we are.”

More silence.

“I’ve known Sokka for a long, long time,” Aang said. He sounded like he was choosing his words very carefully. “Like, ten years. I’ve watched him go through some of the worst things you could imagine. He was my best friend for years before I ever started dating his sister.”

Zuko just nodded. All their conversations had been about Zuko’s past traumas, but it would take a fool to not notice Sokka’s quirks and bad habits.

“He doesn’t half-ass anything,” Aang continued. “Everything is...I mean, if he’s able to put his mind to it, everything is a hundred percent. A hundred miles an hour on a side street. It’s half the reason the podcast ever took off. More than half, really. The podcast is nothing without him.”

A bee buzzed around them but did not land anywhere nearby. Zuko wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, except that it made him love Sokka even more.

“Have you ever seen that tattoo on his wrist?”

“The moon? Yeah, I’ve noticed it.” Zuko had to force the memory from his mind, of kissing over every inch of Sokka’s tattoos the first time they slept together. Kissing the moon tattoo had produced the loudest moan.

“Then you’ve noticed how he rubs it, right? When he’s stressed.” Zuko nodded. “Has he told you what it means?”

“He just said it was a memorial tattoo, and I didn’t think it was my place to ask.” He’d been curious, of course, but pushing Sokka to confront and explain his traumas was not high on Zuko’s to-do list. “Frankly, I thought it was about his mom.”

Aang shook his head. “It’s his first girlfriend. They dated for a few months right after high school. It ended really badly.”

“What happened?”

Zuko could see Aang look at him through the corner of his eye, and turned to meet his eyes.

“She died.” Aang swallowed thickly. “In a car accident. Sokka was driving.”

Zuko took a deep, unsteady breath. That would explain a lot. The way Sokka refused to be in the passenger seat, the way he wouldn’t even change the radio until he was at a red light, the way he’d always sent an email (or text) when Zuko left to make sure he got home safely.

“He really, really likes you,” Aang said after a beat of silence. “I know there’s nothing I can say to stop him from diving head first into this. But it’s not...it’s not fair if you don’t know why he’s so broken.”

“I don’t think he’s broken at all,” Zuko muttered. “I think he’s been hurt and he has trauma, but we all do. I think he’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

Aang put a hand on Zuko’s arm. “You need to tell him that.”

“I doubt he wants to see me right now.”

“No, but he needs to. Come on.”

~~~

Sokka tried to turn around and go back upstairs, but Katara blocked his path.

“Move, Katara,” he grumbled.

“No,” Aang said from behind him. “You two need to talk.”

Sokka whipped around. “What is there to talk about? I have work to do.”

“Work, right,” Katara said. “That’s what you were doing. Not just sulking in your room.”

“Please.”

Zuko’s voice was quiet, his voice uneven. It was the pain Sokka heard that finally changed his mind. As upset as he was, he still had feelings for Zuko, and the least he could do was hear him out.

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t want you two here.”

“Don’t have to tell us twice,” Katara said, grabbing Aang’s hand and leading him out the front door.

Sokka didn’t sit down right away, instead moving to stand awkwardly by the TV. Zuko looked like a wreck, but he knew he didn’t look any better.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said. “I didn’t...I didn’t intend for any of this to happen today.”

“Who was he?”

Zuko looked at his hands. “When I was in college, I met him in the theater department. He was always so much cooler than me, so much more sure of himself. I really liked him at the time, but I was so deep in the closet...none of my family know I like guys. Still, to this day. I broke it off because I couldn’t commit. Today, he just...showed up. I wasn’t expecting him.”

It was a small comfort that Zuko hadn’t sought this person out, that he wasn’t seeing other people behind Sokka’s back. More than a small comfort, really. If Sokka saw someone from his past like that...well, that someone was dead, but at least he could understand the sentiment.

He rubbed the inside of his wrist, and noticed Zuko watching him.

“I’m not going to say I’m not upset,” Sokka said. He pulled his hand from his wrist with great effort. “I know we’re not...we’re not supposed to be anything. But it’s not your fault that I’m upset. It’s a me thing.”

“You have every right to be upset,” Zuko said. “I would be too, in your shoes.”

Sokka finally sat beside him, the proximity making his heart do somersaults. The closer he got to Zuko, the less upset he truly was. If it really was a random encounter, an ex showing up unannounced and catching Zuko off guard, then what was there to be upset about?

He reached up and rubbed his thumb over Zuko’s earlobe. He saw goosebumps pepper over the sensitive skin of Zuko’s neck.

“I guess I’m sorry, too,” he said quietly. “I should have let you explain yourself.”

Zuko turned to face him, bringing his own hand to Sokka’s wrist and rubbing the tattoo himself. “I don’t want to be nothing, Sokka.” He brought Sokka’s wrist to his mouth, kissed the tattoo gently, and then leaned in to kiss Sokka.

How could he deprive himself of this? How could he ever think that not doing this was the better course of action? Kissing Zuko felt like the most natural, the most beautiful, the most fulfilling thing in the world.

All good things must come to an end. The front door opened, and Sokka broke the kiss to see who it was.

“So you made up?” Katara asked, trying to look both supportive and not disgusted.

“Enough,” Sokka said. He entwined his finger’s with Zuko’s. “I suppose I should thank you two for your treachery.”

Aang, at least, had the decency to look ashamed. Katara just grinned.

“We’re going upstairs,” Sokka said, pulling Zuko along with him. “For research.”

Katara gagged.

~~~

Zuko wasn’t sure if he was upset or not that they actually got started doing research, once they were in the recording room.

There was always time later.

“What did you want to show me, anyway?” Sokka asked as he pulled something up on his computer.

“Oh, right.” Zuko pulled out his phone and gave the list to Sokka. “I’d seen a file, before we...stopped.” He blushed, remembering exactly why they’d stopped. “And the name intrigued me. So I went and found it, copied the information, tried to see if I could figure it out.”

Sokka took the phone, looked over the list, and pursed his lips. He looked so damn kissable, it was driving Zuko to distraction.

“What does this mean? Executive severance?”

Trying to find something to do with his hands, Zuko picked up a small 3D-printed object from the desk. It looked like a red dragon from one angle, a blue dragon from another. “My father’s company has levels of severance packages,” he explained, letting the toy run over his hands. “That’s the highest level. I’ve never known it to be used, though.”

“And what does it offer?”

Zuko shrugged, setting the dragon back down. “I’m not sure exactly. The platinum package offers enough stocks to set you up for life. The gold package pays, like, a salary.” He didn’t mention that even the gold package paid a larger salary than Zuko earned.

“So, a severance package so lucrative it’s never been used, given to seven people all at once?” Sokka looked up at Zuko, the fire of the hunt back in his eyes. “Right after your mother disappeared?”

When he put it like that, it was obvious.

“I don’t know what these letters are,” Zuko said, pointing to the three names with letter codes. “Initials? Cities? No idea.”

Sokka stared at the letters, grabbed a piece of paper and wrote them down himself, stared at them some more. Everything about the way Sokka looked when he was thinking was incredible to Zuko. His tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek, the line between his eyebrows, the way he was both looking at the paper and at something behind it, his fingers tapping on the desk.

“Airports,” Sokka said finally. “This one, IAD, that’s Dulles. ATH, that’s gotta be Athens. And this one…” He quickly typed in his computer. “GIG is in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.”

“Brazil?” Zuko felt his stomach drop. “My father has a vacation home just outside Rio.”

Ozai had vacation homes across the world, on all six inhabited continents. In fact, he had one near Athens, as well. Washington, DC, was the only odd one out.

Sokka grabbed Zuko’s file from the cabinet, dug through it for a second, and produced a piece of paper. “I found this,” he said, “this morning. Just a random set of expenses, except it’s the day after the disappearance. Look. Three plane tickets.”

Three plane tickets. Three airport codes.

The realization hit Zuko before it hit Sokka, because Sokka was still sitting there with a massive grin on his face, clearly excited to have found these leads. Zuko, meanwhile, felt like all of this was for nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Sokka asked.

“He’s throwing us off,” he said. “Three plane tickets. Far-flung destinations. Traveler’s checks. Executive severance. That’s three leads we have now.”

Sokka stood up, kissed Zuko’s nose, and smiled. “Three is better than none.”

He started to turn away, but Zuko grabbed him, pulled him close, kissed him hard.

They didn’t get much research done that afternoon.

~~~

Sokka convinced Zuko to stay for dinner, where they endured giggles from Aang and Katara. Clearly left out of something, Hakoda cornered Sokka after dinner, while Zuko stopped by the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” Hakoda asked. His tone was even, friendly, but Sokka could hear the undertone of anxiety.

“What do you mean?”

“Between you and that boy. Zuko.”

Sokka opened his mouth, but couldn’t come up with an answer. There was no acceptable answer, other than the truth. But if the discussion with Aang had been hard, this would be impossible.

“That’s what I thought,” Hakoda sighed, setting down the pot he was washing and leaning against the counter. “You’re an adult now, I can’t control you or tell you what to do. I know it worked out with Suki despite my doubts, and I trust you. But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Sokka tried not to think about everything his father had sacrificed over the years for them, or what he must have gone through after Yue. Hakoda had lost his parents, his wife, and almost lost his son. Sokka wondered if he knew exactly how many times he’d almost lost his son.

“I appreciate your worry, Dad. I always do.” Sokka rubbed the tattoo. “I won’t say it’s not complicated. It is complicated, not least because of the podcast. But he makes me happy.”

Zuko chose that moment to reemerge, looking between father and son with a small smile. Sokka could see the newest hickey he’d given Zuko, barely peeking above his shirt. He felt like a teenager again, wanting nothing more than to spend days in bed with Zuko.

“At least I don’t have to worry about pregnancy,” Hakoda said. “You’re welcome here anytime, Zuko. I hope I don’t have to tell you to take care of my son.”

Zuko blushed slightly, took Sokka’s hand in his, and gave it a small squeeze. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said. “I plan on taking good care of him.”

Before the conversation could go off the rails, Sokka pulled Zuko back upstairs to the recording room. It still reeked of sex, but he wanted to get back on the investigation. He had three names now, which was much, much easier to research than the entire flash drive.

“So you told him?” Zuko asked, sitting on the couch and opening up the laptop.

“He guessed,” Sokka replied. “What are you doing?”

“Well, while you look for those names, I’ll go through the rest of the flash drive. I might see something you missed.”

“Good plan.” Before sitting back down, Sokka leaned down for a quick kiss.

They worked in silence for a couple hours, broken only by the sound of clicking or writing. Sokka decided to investigate all the names on the list, just in case the plane tickets had been a false flag.

Researching people was much easier than researching events, especially in the digital age they lived in. Almost everyone had a digital footprint. It was only a matter of tracing it.

Hakoda knocked on the door to wish them a good night, giving Sokka a meaningful stare before closing the door again.

“It’s late,” Zuko said once the door was shut. “I should head home.”

Sokka whipped his head around. Somehow, in all the commotion of the day, he’d forgotten that Zuko wasn’t staying here. In truth, he’d hoped that Zuko would just move in, once they figured out what they were.

Then again, they still hadn’t put a name to it.

“I wish you could stay,” Sokka said, watching Zuko put his two phones in his pocket.

“My father would be suspicious,” Zuko replied, looking around for anything else he might have left.

A heavy silence fell until Zuko stood by the door, looking at his hands.

“I wish I could stay, too,” he said quietly.

Sokka got to his feet, pulled Zuko into a tight hug. The podcast wasn’t the only thing making this difficult. Zuko’s father threw a pretty big wrench into things as well.

He hadn’t even thought about what life might look like for Zuko when the episode released. Hell, it would probably be another multi-episode story, with how difficult it had been to research. What would Ozai do? Would he deny everything, try to silence Sokka through whatever means he could? Would he kick Zuko out, cut him off, or hurt him again?

The prospect of Ozai hurting Zuko because of Sokka’s podcast reopened old wounds, wounds he didn’t want to think about this late at night.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” he muttered. Was it a reassurance or a promise? Sokka didn’t know.

They finally broke apart, shared a sad kiss, and Zuko left.

The thought of doing any research without Zuko in the room was more than Sokka’s tired brain could handle. He packed up the papers, closed and locked the filing cabinet, and slunk off to his bedroom.

~~~

Ozai usually had a very early bedtime. He woke early and ate early and worked early and went to bed early. Even on weekends, if he wasn’t up by sunrise, he seemed to feel the whole day was wasted.

Zuko was counting on his father being asleep so much that he barely tried to mask the sound of coming home late. By all rights, Ozai should have been asleep at least an hour ago.

Except that, like his son, he was paranoid.

Zuko didn’t see him when he first stepped in from the garage. From the garage, he usually went through the coat room, which connected to both the staff and house kitchens, before getting to the stairwell. The house was relatively dark, and he wasn’t focusing on his surroundings.

So when Ozai stepped out from the staff kitchen and blocked his path, Zuko felt like his heart was plunged into ice.

“Sneaking out at all hours of the day,” Ozai said, his voice quiet but full of rage. “Spending days at a time away from your only family. Lying to me. Lying to your uncle. You’re lucky I don’t turn you out to the street.”

Shock, fear, adrenaline kept Zuko rooted to the spot. He felt every heartbeat, like a clock counting down until his ruse would be up.

“Nothing to say? No excuses this time?”

Ozai was larger than life in this dark hallway, backlit by the house kitchen, taking up the entire space.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Zuko finally choked out.

Another sharp slap across his face.

“How dare you take advantage of my hospitality this way,” Ozai growled, stepping closer. “You’ve always been an ungrateful son of a bitch, ever since the moment my wife popped you out.”

Zuko clenched his jaw. It was bait. Insulting his mother, implying that Zuko wasn’t Ozai’s son, it was all bait. He couldn’t let it get to him.

Ozai grabbed Zuko’s wrist, twisted it hard. It was a pointless endeavor, because Zuko never ran away, but the pain was the point. He swallowed thickly, trying not to make any noise, trying not to give Ozai any reason to escalate.

If his father did have a pressure valve, it must be in the red right now.

“And you still won’t talk!” Ozai’s voice rose, booming in the small space. No one would come to Zuko’s rescue. The household staff knew their place. He was alone.

“Father?”

Almost alone.

Azula, impossibly, was standing in the doorway to the house kitchen, arms folded across her chest. Zuko felt he had barely seen her in the past few weeks, mostly because of Sokka. She looked tired. She looked older, somehow.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Ozai growled, not letting go of Zuko.

“If I tell you what he’s been doing, will you let him go?”

Zuko tried to meet Azula’s eye. How did she know? When had she figured it out? How long had she known? And what the hell was she doing, telling their father? Azula and Zuko were not close by any means, but this was setting Zuko up for banishment.

Or worse.

“Do you see what loyalty looks like, Zuko?” Ozai asked, mirth barely disguised in his voice. “Go ahead, Azula. Rat out this pathetic rat.”

“He’s dating a boy.”

The silence in the hallway was absolute. It felt as though even the air conditioner held its breath. Ozai stared at Azula, his face hidden in shadow. Zuko stared at Azula, trying to catch her eye. Azula simply stood in the doorway, almost bored, looking only at their father.

She said nothing else. She said nothing of the podcast or the disappearance of their mother. Zuko suddenly doubted that she knew anything about them at all. But how had she known about Sokka? True, they hadn’t put the specific label of “dating” on their relationship, but it was only a matter of time. Zuko thought he’d covered his tracks so well.

“Not only an ungrateful son of a bitch,” Ozai growled, “but an abomination as well.” He slapped Zuko again, shoved him backwards into the wall. Zuko’s shoulder hit a decorative art piece, some metal monstrosity that had cost more than a car. “Get out of my sight.”

It wasn’t banishment. There would be hell to pay tomorrow, and the next day, and every day for the rest of his life, but he wasn’t kicked out. Wincing as he felt blood drip from his shoulder, Zuko slid past his father, tried to make eye contact with Azula as he passed her, and made his way to his room.

The adrenaline coursing through Zuko’s blood was starting to abate the closer he got to his room. By the time he opened the door, he was shaking so hard he could barely walk. He collapsed on the bed, took several deep, uneven breaths. His shoulder was bleeding, his face stung where he’d been hit, he felt like he was about to pass out...but his father didn’t know about the podcast.

It took him ten minutes before he could stand. He slipped into the bathroom, carefully lifted off his shirt, and inspected the damage in the mirror.

The wound was superficial, had already stopped bleeding. His face would be slightly bruised, but it was better than it could have been.

Zuko cleaned up the wound, went back to his room, and froze again when he saw Azula sitting on the bed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He tried to sound brave and sure of himself, but his voice cracked.

“I want in.”

It was such a nonsensical reply that Zuko merely blinked. “What?”

“You and your little boyfriend.” Azula grimaced. “I could tell Father the whole truth, if you’d rather. I know what you’re doing with him.”

Either she knew what was happening, or she suspected and wanted him to give up the answer. The safest option was to say nothing at all, but he was too exhausted to even try.

“Why should I let you in on it?”

She finally looked at him, really looked at him, met his eyes and maintained the eye contact. It was the first time in a long time that he felt like she really saw him.

“Because she was my mother, too.”

~~~

Sokka barely slept that night, tossing and turning, waking in a cold sweat from a horrible nightmare that he couldn’t even remember. He felt like he knew, in his bones, what happened in the nightmare, but he wasn’t eager to find out for sure.

He heard Hakoda bustle around the kitchen before work, Gran Gran starting up her morning yoga tape, Katara and Aang giggling silently as they made their way down for breakfast. Outside, a garbage truck was working its way through the neighborhood, a couple of dogs on a walk barked at each other, the sound of the freeway just barely audible in quiet moments.

Sokka couldn’t get Zuko’s face out of his mind, the way he looked when he left. Like he was walking away from a safe haven and towards certain doom.

He had known, ever since Zuko demanded a burner phone, that Ozai was a bastard of the highest order. Zuko had bruises and a half-burned face from Ozai. But somehow, in his head, Sokka always imagined the end of the podcast episode would lead to the speedy arrest and permanent imprisonment of Ozai before anything bad could happen. Somehow, it was only last night that changed his mind.

How could he go through with this episode? How could he release all this information, to a law enforcement agency that had been thoroughly paid off, to a local government who needed Ozai’s money, to a public who had never asked in fifteen years where the local rich guy’s wife went?

How could he do that to Zuko?

Sokka’s eyelids were so heavy, so outlandishly heavy, that every blink was longer than the last.

When Sokka’s mother died and Hakoda briefly fell apart, Sokka had stepped up. He was young, incredibly young, but he became almost the man of the house. The role was one he was good at, although it taxed his emotional stability more than anything he’d ever experienced. He needed to protect the people he loved. “Need” wasn’t even a strong enough word.

Eyes still closed, Sokka felt for the tattoo on his wrist.

All of his other tattoos were traditional Inuit tattoos, received the traditional way. This one, this crescent moon, was all he had left of Yue.

Sokka met Yue during his brief, unsuccessful attempt at going to college. They hit it off immediately, the closest thing to “love at first sight” that happened outside Hollywood. She laughed at his terrible jokes and puns, she never minded when he went on unrelated tangents, she loved his family as much as he did.

They hadn’t even been together for a year.

They’d been coming back from a party off campus, driving back to Sokka’s dorm. They had barely escaped the party before it was busted. Yue was humming along to the pop song on the radio. The night was dark, cold, utterly silent. It should have been snowing, but it wasn’t.

According to the police report, Sokka did nothing wrong. Someone they didn’t know, escaping the party at a much faster pace, who would later test positive for alcohol and cocaine, was coming up behind them at breakneck speed. Whether he was trying to pass them, race them, or didn’t even see them, Sokka wasn’t sure. He remembered hearing tires screeching, and then his world ended.

The car had swerved, over-corrected, and slammed into the passenger door. Sokka lost control, jumped the median and the opposite curb, and smashed into a retaining wall.

He ended up with a concussion, several broken ribs, and enough emotional trauma to last a lifetime.

Yue wasn’t so lucky.

He remembered pulling her from the passenger seat, over his lap, out the driver side door. She was broken and bloody, her impossibly blonde hair forever stained, the light in her eyes fading fast. She gasped her last breath in his arms.

The next two weeks were completely gone. Sokka could never be sure if it was just the concussion, or if his brain was protecting him from the pain. He remembered nothing for two weeks after the accident, nothing of the ambulance arriving or EMTs tending to him or the hospital stay. He didn’t remember when he last saw Yue.

He didn’t even remember her funeral.

The months following the accident were spent with doctors and physical therapists and regular therapists. The other driver survived, was arrested, was charged with vehicular manslaughter. Sokka couldn’t care less what happened to him. Despite what everyone said, would continue to say for years to come, it had been his own fault.

He hadn’t protected her.

This, he knew, was why it was so hard with Zuko. Aang and Hakoda, having been the main ones to put Sokka back together again after the crash, were understandably concerned. Suki, who came into his life a year later and acted as a calming beacon, simply wanted to see him happy.

But how on earth could he do this, if he couldn’t protect Zuko?

The next time he opened his eyes, the quality of light was distinctly different. His bedroom faced east, but the sun was much too high in the sky. Wasn’t it just sunrise a moment ago?

His phone was ringing. It was Zuko.

“Are you okay?” Zuko asked. “I’ve been calling for half an hour.”

Jesus. Sokka glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly noon. “I overslept,” he said. His voice was hoarse, his throat dry. “Couldn’t sleep last night. What’s up?”

“Did you get any further with those names?”

Sokka wracked his brain, trying to remember what he’d been researching the night before. Right, the names from the layoff document. “No, I didn’t. Couldn’t focus.”

Zuko paused. “I’ve had some breakthroughs on my end. I can’t explain right now, but I can’t come see you today. Earliest I can get out is Saturday.”

Three days away. Sokka rubbed his eyes, his mind waking up more. “Did something happen?”

Silence. The silence of someone who didn’t want to lie but couldn’t answer the question.

“I’m on my way.” Sokka was already on his feet, digging through his dresser for clean clothes.

“Sokka, don’t. I can handle it.”

“I told you I wouldn’t let him hurt you—”

“And if he hurts you, it’ll kill me. Meet me at Iroh’s Saturday morning.” Zuko paused, took a deep breath. “I...I’ll see you later.”

Zuko hung up before Sokka could respond. He felt cheated, like Zuko had started a sentence and given him something completely different. Deep in his bones, he hoped he knew what Zuko was trying to say.

If he had said it, Sokka might have said it back.

~~~

Trusting Azula was much, much harder than Zuko anticipated. They had been pitted against each other for so long that he doubted everything she said. It didn’t help that she had lied to him more than she had ever told him the truth.

The only times she told him the truth where when the truth would hurt him.

Like Sokka, Zuko found it hard to sleep that night. His shoulder hurt, his paranoia convinced him that Ozai would sneak in and find the burner phone, and his mind was racing.

He had to drink two cups of coffee the next morning before he felt like he could tackle any of it.

Ozai had another board meeting, so Zuko and Azula had some free time to talk. Ever paranoid, Zuko insisted on going out by the pool, just in case there were listening devices in the house, or one of the staff would report to Ozai.

“You worry too much, Zuzu,” Azula said, but she acquiesced and followed him outside.

They sat on the edge of the pool, socks and shoes off, feet in the water. It was a nice pool, especially in this hot weather.

“What do you know?” Zuko asked, looking at the ripples in the water’s surface. Looking into Azula’s eyes would be too vulnerable.

“I know about that podcast,” she said. “You’ve mentioned it so many times, I’m surprised Father hasn’t figured it out. And right after the anniversary, you’re suddenly being secretive and sneaking out all the time. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist.”

Zuko pursed his lips. “And how did you know about Sokka?”

“Lucky guess.” She laughed. It wasn’t a kind or gentle laugh, but it wasn’t her normal cackle either. It was something else. Zuko couldn’t place it. “I always had a feeling, anyway.”

“Why now?” He finally looked at her, searching her face for any tell, any clue. “Why are you suddenly wanting to work on this now? You haven’t cared for fifteen years.”

Azula reached out and tapped Zuko’s nose. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”

“Trust you? Are you insane? Why should I trust you?”

“You have no choice. Even if I didn’t know what you were doing, you just confirmed it all to me.”

He couldn’t help but agree with her. She knew about the podcast because he’d talked about it. She either guessed or figured out that he was working with Sokka. Even if she didn’t have proof, she could have taken it to Ozai and been rid of Zuko forever.

“What do you know?” he asked, watching a flock of birds fly across the sky.

“About Mother’s disappearance? More than you do, I’m sure. You never figured out that simply asking Father is not the right way to get information from him.”

“Then tell me something. Something that I couldn’t know otherwise.”

Azula paused, kicking her feet in the water gently. She was quiet for so long that Zuko thought she didn’t have an answer.

And then, impossibly, miraculously, she spoke.

“Mother was alive, when she left. I don’t know where she went or what happened, but she was alive that night.”

A feeling bubbled in Zuko’s chest, starting in his heart and growing, expanding, filling his whole body, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Hope.

“How can you be sure?” he whispered. He felt like he could fly, like he could open his mouth and birdsong would come out.

“Because he told me so. After he burned your face.”

The list of names and airline destinations didn’t seem so pointless now. A whole world opened up, a world Zuko hadn’t let himself believe in. He had always desperately hoped his mother was alive, but never fully let himself believe it, because if she wasn’t...well, it would have destroyed him. Again.

It wasn’t much of a lead, but it lit a fire in his heart that Ozai couldn’t easily put out.

“Why now?” Zuko asked, looking at his sister. “Why are you...doing this now?”

How many times had he taken the blame for her misdeeds, as young children? How many times had he taken a beating for her? Even now, the thought of Ozai putting his hands on her made him rage. She was still his sister, after all.

Azula’s face, which had been relaxed, rearranged into her normal put-together grin. Whatever vulnerability there had been, it was gone. For now.

“You’re terrible at hiding things, Zuzu,” she replied. “When you were in the shower the other day, I found that autopsy report.”

Zuko sighed, rubbing his face. He knew it had been a bad idea to bring it to his house. Frankly, he was surprised it took Azula this long to mention it. At least Ozai hadn’t gotten hold of it.

“It wasn’t so much the drugs,” she continued. “Father wouldn’t have wanted that getting out, regardless of the rest of it. It was the bruises.”

Fingertip contusions. Evidence of strangulation. It painted a very dark picture of that night.

“But why are you helping me?” he asked, swatting a fly off his leg.

“While you were off with your little boyfriend, I asked him about our family history. I told him I was worried about his heart health, you know, because of how his father died.” Her smile turned sour. “He insisted that I had no reason to worry about him, that whatever Grandfather had wasn’t genetic, but refused to back down and admit he didn’t die of a heart attack. I can’t recall a time he lied to me so blatantly.”

Ozai lied all the time. He worked in lies, played in lies, every interaction was like a game to see how many lies he could get away with. He lied in business and then lied about it to the government. If the government didn’t believe the lies, he paid them enough money to see differently.

Zuko had never known his father to tell the truth. What different lives they had, he and Azula.

“I couldn’t very well tell him about the report,” Azula continued. “Whatever he did to cover that up, whatever lengths he went to, he wouldn’t want to risk it coming out. I might’ve gotten caught in the crossfire.”

“You only ever think of yourself, don't you?” Zuko grumbled.

“Who else thinks of me?”

He had no answer to that.

~~~

Sokka shouldn’t have been surprised that he didn’t hear from Zuko again, but he was. He had gotten so used to daily, or almost-daily, communication. Especially after everything they’d been talking about for the past few days, the relationship, the sex.

But he now had a deadline. If Zuko really had made a breakthrough that couldn’t be discussed over the phone, Sokka felt he had to come up with something just as good. He had those names that he hadn’t finished researching, as well as the flights.

Five security guards. Two landscapers. Security guards made sense, given that they were presumably posted around the mansion and might have seen something. But landscapers? Why would they be included in this layoff? Had they seen something? How? It was late at night, from Zuko’s recollection. There was no reason to be gardening at that point.

The two landscapers were easier to find than the security guards. The one who had flown to Athens had an active social media presence, although he didn’t mention anything about Ozai’s company. It was only by virtue of his unique name that Sokka found him. By all appearances, he had set up a wonderful life for himself in Greece, complete with a wife and children. Sokka doubted he was involved.

The other landscaper had not left the city that night, but his social media had him about three hours away. Again, though he didn’t mention Ozai, Sokka knew it was the same person. He still had a successful landscaping company, with a sleek website and high reviews.

Deep in his bones, so deep he almost didn’t give voice to the thought, Sokka worried that the landscapers had been involved in digging a grave that night.

The security guards, however, were a whole different beast. Their job was keeping things secret and safe, and their various online presences confirmed that.

One of the ones who stayed had died of cancer a few years after the disappearance. The other two who stayed had minimal presences, only a few public posts.

The two who got on planes, however, had very different footprints.

One was listed as Bob Wilson. It was so obviously a fake name that Sokka only searched it for the sake of completeness. Even if it hadn’t been fake, it was too generic. It might have been a red herring, or it might have been Ursa herself, or anything in between.

The other was named Zhao Chen. Whereas some of the security team had almost no online presence, Zhao was prolific on multiple social media sites. He had flown to DC, but was back in the city, as far as Sokka could tell. His social media did not have a current job, but the most recent job was in the city. He even listed Ozai’s company on his employment history.

This, again, could be a red herring. Someone to research deeply, someone with enough presence to occupy a long time without revealing anything at all.

But Sokka still found the wealth of information to be suspicious.

The traveler’s checks added another piece to the puzzle. If they were all set up with this executive severance, surely they could have set up bank accounts wherever they went. Why the traveler’s checks? Why that specific amount?

Sokka tried all his normal tactics to figure it out. He laid the paper on the floor, tacked it to the ceiling, shuffled them randomly to see if a pattern emerged, asked Aang to a second set of eyes. Neither of them could come up with a solution.

Even in his sleep, amidst nightmares of car crashes and bloody corpses, he dreamed of the problem. As skeptical as he was, Sokka started keeping a dream journal, to see if maybe the solution just needed him to be unconscious.

When Saturday finally rolled around and he started driving towards Iroh’s house, Sokka felt like the problem had no solution at all. That all of this was a smokescreen to hide what really happened. But what really happened was either so convoluted that it wouldn’t occur to him, or it was so dark that he didn’t want to think about it. He hated arriving empty-handed, but the folder of printouts didn’t feel like it would measure up to whatever Zuko brought.

The Rolls was in the driveway when Sokka arrived. He parked next to it, did a once-around because it was a beautiful car, then knocked on the front door.

Zuko answered, smiling so widely that Sokka couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m glad you could come,” Zuko said, stepping forward to press a quick kiss to Sokka’s lips. “I have a bit of a surprise for you.”

Sokka followed to the living room, stopping short when he saw who was there.

Iroh sat in the same comfortable arm chair he had for the interview, but on the couch—

“This is my sister,” Zuko said. “Azula.”

~~~

Zuko could see right away that Sokka wasn’t happy with the surprise. He couldn’t blame him, really. Everything Sokka had heard about Azula was negative. Until today, Zuko had never had anything positive to say about his sister, especially not with relation to their mother’s disappearance.

He hoped that Sokka also being an older brother would help his case.

“What the hell is going on?” Sokka asked. He stood there, folder in one hand, glancing between the three Sugitas with a growing frown.

“Would you like some tea?” Iroh asked. He didn’t wait for Sokka to respond before going off to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Now Sokka looked only at Zuko, and he began to see that it was not just shock or surprise. Sokka was angry with him.

“I can explain,” he said. “She wants to help us.”

“Help us? Are you—” Sokka broke off, the hand not holding a folder clenching into a fist. “I busted my ass for three days trying to find something to match your surprise, but your surprise was just a target on our back.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Azula said dryly from the couch. She was watching the conversation with interest, almost glee.

Sokka glanced at her, stared at Zuko, tossed the folder on the couch, and left out the front door.

“Sokka, wait!” Zuko followed close behind, stopping him right before he opened the car door. “Wait, please, I can explain, okay?”

“Fuck you and your explanations, Zuko,” Sokka spat. He was rubbing at his wrist tattoo. “After all the precautions and hoops we’ve jumped through, you just throw it all away and ruin a perfectly good investigation.”

“Look, she knows about the autopsy report, okay? She knows and she didn’t tell Father.” Zuko reached out, tentatively touching Sokka’s elbow. He didn’t pull away. “She and I have been talking a lot, we’ve gone over so much, and I really don’t think she’s going to turn us in.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you don’t think she’s going to turn us in, Zuko, that makes me feel so much better.” Sokka’s eyes were still on fire, his breath coming quick and shallow. “Why don’t I just publish all my research, then, since clearly it doesn’t matter who knows?”

Zuko pulled his hand away. He imagined this going differently in his head. He knew Sokka would be shocked by the sudden presence of his sister, but he hadn’t thought it would be this bad.

“You request to meet in public,” Sokka continued. “You refuse to use your normal cell phone to communicate with me. You tell me to drive different cars. You lie and say you’re staying with your uncle. All of this so your father doesn’t know what’s going on. I don’t fucking understand why you’d throw it all away.”

“What exactly do you think is going to happen? My father is going to descend on us and execute us on the spot? I’m the only one in danger here—”

“Exactly!” Sokka shouted.

The volume of his voice, the pain, took both of them by surprise. Sokka stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Zuko took a step back, feeling like he was beginning to understand what the problem was.

“Look,” Sokka said, his voice quieter, “I can’t—I can’t do this if I can’t protect you.”

“It’s not your job to protect me.” Zuko moved forward again, taking Sokka’s hand, moving his hand from the tattoo. He brought Sokka’s wrist to his mouth, kissed the tattoo gently. “And it wasn’t your job to protect her, either.”

He didn’t know what happened, beyond a car crash. Aang hadn’t explained further, and he felt it wasn’t quite time for Sokka to relive that experience. But it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. His heart broke at how much pain Sokka must have gone through.

To his surprise, Sokka pulled Zuko into a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder. They stayed for a moment, intertwined, before Sokka pulled away and wiped his eyes.

“Okay,” he said shakily. “Okay. If you trust her, I trust you. But for the record, I don’t like this.”

“Understood.” Zuko kissed his cheek. “Come on.”

They went back into the house, this time holding hands. Iroh was back in his chair, there were two untouched teacups on the coffee table, and Azula was looking through the folder Sokka had brought.

“This is good,” she said, as though she hadn’t wanted to compliment him. “Doesn’t get us anywhere, though.”

Sokka just pursed his lips, sat in the other armchair, and pulled his tea towards himself.

“I’ll confess,” Iroh said, “that I am also confused about Azula’s presence. They did not explain it much further to me than they did to you.”

Sokka’s expression softened. “How about you enlighten us, Zuko?”

Zuko swallowed, everyone’s eyes suddenly on him. Unlike with acting, he wasn’t really prepared for this role. “Well, when I got home the other day...Father cornered me. He’s as paranoid as I am, and I haven’t exactly been acting my usual self, so he was bound to figure something out.”

“But I stopped him,” Azula said, still looking through Sokka’s folder. “Told him a little bit of the truth, enough to get him off our backs.”

“What truth?” Sokka asked.

“Well, when he comes home with barely-disguised hickeys, it isn’t hard to add two and two. To tell you the truth, I was more shocked that he dated Mai than that he’s dating you.”

Sokka blushed fiercely, looking down at his hands. Zuko’s own face burned. Iroh’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

Zuko was never sure why he hadn’t told Iroh that he was attracted to men. Iroh must have suspected, given how often he got some sort of talk about how it didn’t matter who Zuko was on the inside.

Neither of them corrected Azula saying they were dating.

“So what now?” Azula asked, finally setting the folder aside. “There’s nothing of use in there.”

“Zuko said he made a breakthrough. I’m assuming he meant you.”

Zuko nodded. “She has insight that I don’t. Because of Father.” He looked at Sokka. “And...she found the autopsy. When I had it.”

He should have known to never have it at his house. He also should have known to not leave it unattended in his room to shower. But if the autopsy report is what got Azula on their side, he couldn’t be mad at himself.

“Autopsy?” Iroh asked, sitting forward so abruptly that his tea almost spilled. “What are you talking about?”

“Grandfather died of a drug overdose,” Azula said calmly. “And someone had tried to strangle him.”

Iroh stared at Zuko, who couldn’t meet his gaze. He should have told Iroh about it. It was Iroh’s father, after all. How many years had he been concerned about a heart problem? He had suspected all along that it wasn’t a heart attack, but had never seemed to doubt that there was no autopsy.

“I see,” Iroh said, leaning back in his chair. “Any other revelations you’d like to let me know about?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Azula tilted her head towards him. “She called you that night.”

The air disappeared from the room. Zuko stared at his sister, not believing what she had just said. This was not something they had discussed. If it was true, how did she know?

If it was true, why had Iroh hidden it?

As the shock gave way to understanding, Zuko rounded on Iroh. “She what?”

Iroh’s eyes were closed, his lips pursed. Whether he was regretful or just steeling himself, Zuko wasn’t sure. Yet another thing that he had hidden from Zuko, another piece of the puzzle that could have shed light years ago. How often would Iroh use the excuse of protecting him? How many nights had he found Zuko in the garden?

“We’re all liars in this family,” Azula said. She didn’t sound sad or angry about it. It was simply a fact. “Some of us just hide it better than others.”

“What you have to understand,” Iroh started.

“Oh, shut up with that,” Zuko snapped. “You think I don’t know what he’s capable of?”

Everyone in this room knew what Ozai had done to Zuko. What could he possibly have threatened Iroh with, to hide this important truth?

“Let’s all take a breath for a second,” Sokka said, eyes watching both Zuko and Iroh. “We don’t want to say something we’ll regret.”

“When I told you that I did it to protect you, I meant it,” Iroh said. His pleading eyes sought Zuko’s. “Can you imagine what you would have done with this ten years ago?”

Zuko caught Sokka’s eyes. He remembered what Sokka had said during their first interview with Iroh. People do things to protect others that don’t make sense. Sokka, consciously it seemed, rubbed his tattoo.

“What happened? No more lies, Uncle. Please.”

Iroh nodded. “I truly wasn’t in the house. But she did call, after my father died. She mentioned nothing of an overdose or...anything like that. But she asked me to look after you, protect you from him. Then I heard a man’s voice, and she hung up. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes.”

It was nothing. It was a lead that hit the same wall they’d hit over and over again. A strange man’s voice in the room with his mother. It was just as useless as three plane tickets to far-flung destinations, just as useless as an autopsy report.

“Do you think you know who the man was?” Sokka asked. He’d taken out a notebook and pen at some point and was furiously taking notes.

“All I heard was a deep voice. I couldn’t make out a single thing they said, much less who it might have been.”

“And she only wanted to protect Zuko,” Azula spat. “Perhaps you can see now, Zuzu, why I never missed her as much as you did.”

He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. For fifteen years, he’d assumed Azula was just cold, too much like their father, too deep in his pocket. He’d resented her lack of compassion, her lack of visible mourning.

When had their mother ever shown Azula the same level of care as she had shown Zuko? It was obvious even to outsiders that both parents had a favorite. Sure, Ozai was controlling and abusive even before Ursa disappeared, but he still poured affection onto Azula in the same way Ursa poured it onto Zuko.

If the roles were reversed, would he not feel the same way Azula did?

“How did you know she called your uncle?” Sokka asked.

At this, Azula actually smiled. Not her fake smile, reserved for pictures; not the smile she used when she got her way. A true, genuine smile.

“I like this one, Zuzu,” she said. “He knows how to ask the right questions.”

~~~

Sokka had always been known to ask the right questions. It’s the only reason he had any solved cases at all. He glanced at Zuko, but couldn’t read his expression. It had been an emotionally taxing interview already.

“I snuck downstairs,” Azula continued. “After Mother put us to bed. I’m honestly surprised that you didn’t, but Mother probably told you to stay put.”

“What did you see?” Sokka wanted to keep Azula from taunting Zuko too much.

“I saw Mother and Father in the hallway, and then they went into the kitchens where Grandfather was. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. This was before we had the floors updated, you see, and the old wood was creaky. It was quite a while before anything else happened. Then, Father came out with a piece of paper, Grandfather’s new will, and Mother went to call Uncle.”

Sokka scribbled furiously, barely able to read his own handwriting. Why hadn’t he brought the recorder? This was priceless testimony, the kind of thing he would kill for. This was more knowledge of anyone’s movements than he’d ever had before.

She’d kept this hidden for fifteen years. But then again, what did she have to gain by telling? It was clear that Ozai favored her in every way.

“I followed Mother,” Azula said. “She’d gone to the staff kitchen, and called Uncle from there. I almost got caught by that man you overheard.”

“Who was it?” Zuko asked. He was leaning forward, staring at his sister, fire and intrigue in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she answered. She didn’t seem to be lying. “But based on how he was dressed, I would say he was a security guard. One of the secretive ones we never got to see.”

“Can you recall what he looked like at all?” Sokka asked, his hand almost cramping with how fast he was writing.

“Shorter than Mother. Dark hair. He was Asian, like us.”

He froze. While he hadn’t been able to find pictures of all the security guards on the layoff list, there was one he did find who matched that description exactly. He pulled out his phone, brought up the picture of Zhao, and handed it to Azula.

“Do you think this might have been him?”

She looked at him, then at his phone. She tried to keep her face even, but he noticed the slight raise of her eyebrows, the small inhale.

“It was a long time ago,” she said, giving him the phone. “Maybe.”

It was good enough for him.

All of that research into the security guards and landscapers now seemed much more useful. Like all clues, they were only useful to someone who had the right background knowledge.

The thrill of the chase was back on, and Sokka was ready to get back on the trail. If he had been raised less polite, he would have walked out right then and gone straight home for more research.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Sokka said to Iroh, drinking the rest of his tea. He packed up his notebook and stood up. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you could tell us that would help?”

Iroh, who had learned in the past half hour that his father was murdered and his nephew was gay, didn’t seem to be able to say much else. If anything, Sokka knew where to find him.

“And you have nothing else?” Zuko aimed this at Azula. He sounded so strangely conflicted and hurt, despite the enormous gains they’d made in the case.

“Not that I can recall,” she said. She had resumed her neutral face, which gave off the vibe that she would rather be anywhere in the world but here.

He picked up the folder of his research, tapped Zuko on the shoulder, and motioned outside. Sokka was almost vibrating with excitement. He felt like they were getting close.

“That was a lot,” Zuko said, watching Sokka set the notebook and research into his passenger seat.

“Are you okay?” Sokka asked. He knew he couldn’t let himself get carried away, not like before when he’d found the autopsy report. He didn’t want to ruin whatever they had going on. The outburst from before the interview felt like it happened in another life.

“I don’t know.” Zuko smiled tightly. “I’m sorry for springing her on you like that.”

Sokka kissed him, pushed him back against the car door. If the interview left him feeling excited, kissing Zuko made him feel at home. Completely and utterly, like he was designed to be right here.

“You didn’t correct her,” Sokka said, pulling back just enough to speak.

“Neither did you.” Zuko’s pupils were wide, his lips so desirable.

Sokka kissed him again, then stepped back. “This shit is complicated, but I know how I feel about you. If you still want me, that is.”

Zuko laughed, a pure, unadulterated laugh, the kind Sokka hadn’t heard before. It was joyful and complete and made his heart swell.

Sokka kissed him again, and then once more, and a final time for good measure. But he knew he had to act on this enthusiasm for the research.

“Look,” he said, tangling his fingers in Zuko’s hair. “I have to go figure out what this security guard knows, okay? And I need you to be safe.”

He thought Zuko would argue, would complain that it was his mother’s disappearance, that whatever Sokka was doing could be no more dangerous than living with Ozai. Instead, he nodded, his eyes soft and understanding.

“I know,” he said. “Someday, I hope you won’t feel that you have to protect me, but I’ll let you do it today.”

Sokka paused. He looked down at his wrist, then back at Zuko. “How did you know about her?”

“Aang mentioned it,” Zuko said. “After you saw me kissing Jet. He said I needed to understand you, understand why you were hurt so much. He didn’t tell me everything, but he told me enough.”

Aang had been Sokka’s rock, the only person other than Hakoda that Sokka wanted to see on some days. He hoped, someday, to be able to repay him.

“Her name was Yue,” Sokka said, opening his car door. “You remind me of her.”

~~~

Zuko stood in the driveway, watching Sokka leave and waving. He felt so much lighter, so much freer than he had even that morning. Sokka had a solid lead on the disappearance, his whole family knew about Sokka, and it seemed like they’d finally put a name to it.

He finally went back inside. Unsurprisingly, neither Iroh nor Azula were talking. The two of them had never been close, and certainly the information that came out today didn’t help.

“I appreciate your cooperation,” Zuko said to Iroh. “I may not understand why you hid this stuff from me, but I’m glad it’s coming out now.”

“Everything I did,” Iroh said emphatically, “was to protect you. Every decision I made, every piece of the story I didn’t tell you. If I thought you would be able to handle it, I would have told you before. You have to believe me.”

“I do. I’m still...upset, I guess, but I believe you.”

“Well this has been a joy,” Azula said, getting to her feet. “Shall we head home, Zuzu?”

He had insisted on driving, on the off chance that Azula was going to bring him somewhere other than Iroh’s house. Now that they’d had this conversation, now that he was starting to see the ways Ursa had hurt his sister, Zuko wasn’t as afraid anymore.

The drive back to the mansion was quiet. This was the longest they’d spent together without fighting in a long, long time. Since she was born, really. Ozai’s influence had started almost immediately. Azula, even as an infant, a toddler, a young child, could do no wrong, and Zuko could do no right.

“What is your goal for this?” Azula asked a few blocks from the mansion.

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you don’t expect him to put this on the podcast. Can you imagine what Father would do then?”

It had occupied most of his mind since Azula outed him, to be truthful. A law enforcement agency and local government that overlooked these things in the past would absolutely turn a blind eye now. Who knew how deep Ozai was willing to dig for this? How much he would spend, what kinds of tricks he had up his sleeve?

“What do you suggest?” he asked carefully, pulling into the driveway. The person operating the gate recognized his car, so he didn’t even need to roll down the window and show his face.

“Oh, Zuzu, you are truly too innocent for this business.” Azula laughed. “You blackmail him, of course.”

Of course. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world, to blackmail your own father. To even need to blackmail your own father.

“How do I do that?” They were in the garage now, parked, the car off, but neither of them moved.

Azula looked at him, and he again felt like she was seeing him for who he really was, not the image their parents had created.

“I think your boyfriend should be able to figure that out. He’s smart enough.”

They didn’t run into Ozai when they went back into the house, which was a relief. Zuko hadn’t even thought of a good reason for the two of them to be out, together, on a weekend. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this kind of business.

He retreated to his room, buried the burner phone in his mattress, and lay on his back. He felt closer to his mother than he had in a long time, even though they still weren’t sure if she was still alive. Yes, she had been alive when she left. But it had been fifteen years, and who knows what happened to her since? Maybe Ozai had sent her away and then sent someone after her, to keep her quiet. There were plenty of places where the cops were more corrupt even than here, and killing someone could look like an accident.

Zuko thought back to Sokka, to the look on his face when he left. He looked like he had the night Zuko stole the autopsy report, but he knew Sokka wouldn’t lose sight again. Clearly, if he was willing to take on the relationship despite the complicated nature of the podcast and the investigation, then he understood what was at stake.

And now that they had both finally, finally accepted that this was a relationship, Zuko felt, for the first time in many, many years, like he had a reason to wake up tomorrow.

The next few days were, if not enjoyable, at least not torturous. No longer having to hide his sexuality, or his relationship with Sokka, made Zuko feel so much more at home. Ozai still hated him, of course, and spared no opportunity to tell him that he was an abomination, but it was like water off a duck’s back. The theater sent out the next audition schedule, and the upcoming show was one of Zuko’s favorites. Every night before bed, Zuko would discreetly call Sokka, just to hear his voice.

A week after the interview at Iroh’s, Zuko received a text from Sokka on the burner phone.

I’m going to interview the security guard. Aang has my location. No, you can’t come with me. I’ll check in later.

His paranoia, which had abated somewhat during the week of good feelings, came back in full swing. It was the fact of Aang needing Sokka’s location that upset him most. Was he not meeting the guard in public? Or was he so concerned about his safety that even meeting in public wasn’t a good enough deterrent?

Zuko simply wished him luck, buried the phone in the mattress, and went downstairs to dinner.

Ozai had insisted on having dinner with his kids for the past few days, despite never wanting it in the past. His paranoia must be at an all-time high as well. The gate guard had been instructed not to let Zuko and Azula leave the premises without Ozai’s permission.

The dinners were almost completely silent. Azula and Zuko didn’t have anything to talk about that was safe to discuss in front of their father, and Ozai didn’t like his kids enough to take an interest in their lives. It was, yet again, a measure of control. He would know where they were during dinner, just like he knew where they were at every second of every day.

Today, however, Ozai had some things to say.

“You mentioned your little theater,” Ozai snarled, cracking open crab legs with more force than was necessary. “I don’t think you should be doing that anymore.”

Zuko had to bring auditions up, since Ozai wasn’t letting them leave the house. He desperately wanted to go, both because he had nothing else to do and because he loved acting. His fellow actors would miss him, and he wanted Sokka to see him act once the play was debuted.

“Father, please,” Zuko said, eyes on his plate. “It’s not far, and I swear I’ll drive straight there and back. I won’t even stop to eat anything.”

Here he was, 25 years old, with a degree and a boyfriend and a car, begging his father to do something he enjoyed. He burned with shame and hatred.

“You leaving the house is what got you in this mess, Zuko. Did you think I’d never find out about your perversions? I know you call that boy every day. I’m tempted to rid you of your phone.”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Azula said unexpectedly. “You knew he was gay when he was a child, Father, don’t pretend this is a surprise.”

Both men froze. Azula never talked back to their father. While Zuko stared, trying to silently plead for her to stop, Ozai seemed to expand with fury.

“Don’t you speak to me like that,” he growled. “After everything I’ve done for you, giving you a place to live, a secure job—”

“Yes, a job that exists only on paper. I don’t do anything here, Father. You and I both know that.”

Several things happened so quickly that Zuko’s head spun.

Ozai slammed a fist on the table, making the dishes shake. He grabbed Azula’s forearm with enough force that she gasped and tried to pull away. Zuko pushed away from the table, on his feet without being aware that he stood up.

“Don’t touch her!” Zuko said, his voice finally even and calm, loud but not angry.

Ozai slowly turned his head towards Zuko. A younger Zuko would have cowered, shrunk back, at the expression on Ozai’s face. It was the same expression he’d had when Zuko’s face was burned.

“How dare you,” Ozai said quietly. “How dare you tell me what to do in my own house. Would you rather I take you to the kitchen, then? Did you want the rest of your face burned off?”

Zuko clenched his jaw. “Get your hands off her. We’re both adults. You can’t treat us like this.”

Ozai let go of Azula, slowly got to his feet. Even though Zuko was fully grown now, Ozai still towered over him. Zuko had gotten none of the Sugita height. Like Iroh, he took after his paternal grandmother, who was five feet even at her tallest.

“Maybe if you didn’t act like petulant children, I’d treat you like adults.”

Zuko scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from a man so incompetent he can’t even admit he’s a terrible father.”

Before anyone could react, Zuko left, slamming the door behind him.

He had never, ever spoken to Ozai like that. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t imagine having the courage. Adrenaline and fear coursed through his veins as he climbed the stairs two at a time. He had to get out, before Ozai came to find him, before he was trapped forever in this awful home.

Back in his room, he quickly threw together a few items of clothing, grabbed the burner phone from the mattress, opened the window, and kicked out the screen. Walking on the roof was a favorite pastime of his during the summer, so he knew how to get to the garage without falling. He carefully jumped from the roof to an air conditioning unit, then to the ground, and shoved open the garage door.

Ozai wasn’t there yet. Good.

Much to his surprise, the gate guard didn’t stop him as he drove past. He had probably been tipped off, told to let Zuko out but not in.

That was fine by Zuko. He didn’t want to come back until he had what he needed to be free.

Iroh was shocked to see him, but let Zuko move back in, as he knew he would.

All that remained was waiting for Sokka to call.

~~~

Sokka didn’t get the courage to email Zhao until two days after interviewing Azula. He was aware it could all be a trap, that Ozai might have set Zhao up to be perfectly visible to lure someone in. But there were no other leads to follow, so he eventually bit the bullet and sent a message.

He hadn’t expected a reply at all, much less within an hour.

Zhao did not seem to find it strange that someone would message him out of the blue about a job he held fifteen years ago. He did not find it strange to be asked about Ozai’s business and Ursa’s disappearance. He was open and forthcoming, although Sokka did not ask anything specific for fear that it was too good to be true.

Sokka raised the thought of an in-person meeting the next day, more nervous than he had ever been. Zhao was fully open to the idea, and even suggested a public place to meet.

It was either the most obvious trap in the world, or someone who had no regard for his own safety.

Sokka set up the meeting for that weekend, then went about preparing. He would need notes and his recorder, he would need Aang on standby in case things went sideways, and he would need some kind of protection. They were meeting in public, but Sokka felt he couldn’t be too careful.

He couldn’t bring a gun. For one, he didn’t have one. But he also thought it would set the meeting up on a bad foot, give the wrong impression of who he was.

So he packed a hunting knife his father had given him, hoping he would never have to use it.

Thankfully, Zuko didn’t protest when Sokka told him about the plan. Sokka wasn’t sure if he would have been able to tell Zuko “no” twice.

Sokka drove in silence to the meeting place, which was half an hour away. It was roughly halfway between where Zhao lived now and the city. Aang followed behind in his own car, with instructions on where to park so he would be almost invisible, but able to keep an eye on things.

Their designated meeting place was a public park, coincidentally across the street from a police station. That eased Sokka’s anxiety somewhat.

Sokka parked by the playground, grabbed his supplies, and made his way to the dugout on the small baseball diamond. No one was playing today. The hot weather had given way to torrential rainstorms over the past few days. The sand of the field was more like mud. It wasn’t raining yet today, but the forecast and the horizon promised it.

He saw Zhao before Zhao saw him. He was the kind of person that, if he’d been in a crowd, would be invisible. He was boring, in a sense. Boring clothes, a boring overcoat, a boring umbrella leaned against his leg. But it was a practiced boring. A boring that came from knowing how to hide.

“You must be Zhao,” Sokka said as he approached, stepping over third base carefully.

Zhao looked at him. Even his face was boring, dull to the point that Sokka wasn’t sure he’d be able to describe it to a police artist.

“And you must be Sokka,” Zhao replied, standing to shake hands.

He had a firm handshake.

“I appreciate your cooperation,” Sokka said, not wanting to be the first to sit down. He was more scared now than he had been when the person he interviewed flashed a gun on his belt.

“Did you want to check me for a wire?”

He really shouldn’t have been shocked, but he was. “No, I think if this were a trap, you would’ve sprung it on me by now.”

Zhao laughed, a cold laugh that didn’t do much to lift Sokka’s spirits. He sat down, which gave Sokka permission to sit down.

“I’m going to record this,” Sokka said. Normally he asked, letting the decision rest on the interviewee. The way he phrased it didn’t leave a lot of options, but at least the person felt like they were in control. He didn’t want to give control up today, however.

“By all means,” Zhao said.

Sokka pulled out the recorder, turned it on, and began his most terrifying interview yet.

~~~

An hour later, Sokka drove home, Aang following in his car, in utter silence.

The recorder sat on the passenger seat, looking inert but holding the most important interview he’d ever conducted. Beneath it, a printout of an email with a death certificate attached, and a name written on the back.

After all of this, Ursa was dead. She hadn’t been murdered, she had survived for years and may have even been happy in the life she built, but she was now dead. For five years, as long as he’d had the podcast, she had been dead.

How could he be the one to share the news with Zuko? How could he be the one to tell him that all their work was for nothing?

But it wasn’t for nothing. Zuko would know, now, what happened. He wouldn’t have to lie awake, wondering if she was still out there, wondering if his father had finally snapped and sent someone after her. He would know, and that was something.

Besides, the investigation had brought the two of them together, and that had to count for something.

The name on the paper, what Zhao had written shortly before saying he had no more information to give, was everything Sokka could dream of. He’d been wracking his brain for a while, ever since he realized he couldn’t make a podcast episode of this, trying to figure out how to bribe Ozai. He never expected it to fall into his lap like this.

He and Aang parked in the driveway, but Sokka didn’t move. He felt glued to the seat.

If he got out of the car, he’d have to do something about this. As it was, he could simply sit in the knowledge that he had, sit in a world where Zuko didn’t know his mother was dead.

Aang knocked on his window. Sokka rolled it down.

“Are you okay?” Aang asked.

“No,” Sokka said. He rubbed the inside of his wrist. “I think I have to do the rest of this on my own.”

Thankfully, Aang didn’t argue.

~~~

When Sokka finally texted Zuko back, Zuko could have cried from relief. He’d been beside himself, both from Sokka’s continued silence and fear of his father’s retribution.

Iroh was cooking dinner, filling the house with delicious smells and wonderful music. It felt like it had during that wonderful period of Zuko’s life, after the burn, before he graduated. He hadn’t been happy, in a traditional sense, but he had been happier, which was something.

Sokka texted him that he was safe and back from the interview. Zuko immediately called him.

“Are you okay?" Zuko asked as soon as Sokka picked up.

"Yes, I'm fine," Sokka replied. He sounded exhausted. "The interview went well."

Zuko leaned back on the couch, tension releasing from his shoulders. "Thank God. What happened?"

"I'll tell you about it later, okay? I've had a very long day."

Something in Sokka's tone made Zuko's skin crawl. It wasn't just a long day, it wasn't just the drive and the interview. There was something else going on, and it terrified him. What happened in this interview? What had this security guard had to say?

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked gently.

"Zuko. Babe." Sokka sighed, which didn't help Zuko's nerves. "I promise you that nothing bad happened to me. And I promise you that I'm okay. But it's complicated."

"Can I see you?"

"Tomorrow, maybe. I need to figure some stuff out first. You can come over in the morning, okay?"

Zuko swallowed thickly. "I'm at Iroh's now, actually."

"What? What happened?" Now Sokka sounded wide awake, like he was already packing a bag, like he was halfway to the mansion and ready to deal with Ozai himself.

"I told him he was a terrible father and walked out." He tried to hide the pride in his voice.

"Are you safe?"

"As safe as I'll ever be." Zuko paused, lowered his voice. "Do you think we're almost done?"

Sokka paused for a moment. “Yeah, I do. Look, I’m exhausted, I need to eat something. I’ll call you later, okay?”

The pure relief of hearing his voice, knowing he was safe, and knowing they were almost done...Zuko couldn’t stop himself.

“Okay. I love you.”

This time, when Sokka paused, he could hear a small chuckle. “I love you too.”

Zuko hung up, skipping into the kitchen to help Iroh with dinner.

~~~

Despite all the secrecy and caution, despite the burner phone and secret emails, Sokka felt that this next task was going to be the hardest, dirtiest of all.

He had to build a blackmail case.

What Zhao had given him, at the end of the interview, was simply a name. It was a name that was normal enough at first glance, but would probably send a shiver down Ozai’s spine.

It was Bob Wilson’s real name.

From what Zhao said, Bob Wilson was somewhere between a spy and a hitman. He had dozens of fake names and fake passports, associated with government officials, the CIA, MI5, and had even worked with the KGB. He was known in the business as the Combustion Man, and everyone in the world was afraid of him.

Zhao had told him that Ozai was among the few people who knew his real name, and that Bob Wilson had killed half a dozen men who tried to reveal it in the past.

The name alone might not be enough. The rest of what they knew had to be enough to support it.

Sokka ate a quick dinner, downed two Red Bulls, and got to work. He compiled all the best evidence he had, including transcripts of interviews, into a single document. The name was at the beginning, but the rest of it was just as damning. Even if it wouldn’t have stood up in a court of law, it needed to stand up in the court of public opinion.

They had to convince Ozai to leave Zuko alone, for good, while not cutting him off. The only way to Ozai’s heart was through his bank account. If any of this got out to the press, if the stakeholders felt that their investment was at risk, it would ruin Ozai. That was not the goal, but rather the premise of the blackmail.

The final page of his blackmail docket, the pièce de résistance of the project, was a contract. It was a contract that stipulated Zuko's financial freedom, the terms that would finally get Zuko out of that damn house. It was a contract that would be filed with the business itself, such that reneging would get Ozai in trouble with his stakeholders.

Sokka felt disgusting doing it. This was lower than he ever intended to go, when he started this podcast. He’d always wanted to do everything above-board, keeping his humanity first and his investigative journalism second.

Falling in love with his client had changed everything.

He finally fell asleep well past midnight, and woke again when the sun started to shine through his window.

It was Sunday, which meant he couldn’t complete the plan just yet. He needed access to his bank, to the safety deposit box, in order to feel secure. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t see Zuko.

He brought the recording and a photocopy of the email and death certificate to Iroh’s. (He’d edited out then explanation of Bob Wilson at the end of the recording. Sokka knowing the name was one thing; Zuko knowing the name put him in undue danger.) As unfortunate as it was to be the bearer of this news, Sokka didn’t want to reveal it in front of Ozai. He wanted Zuko to have the chance to come to terms with it.

Zuko met him at the front door. He had no visible bruises, so whatever argument he’d gotten into with his father hadn’t been physical. Sokka kissed him and hugged him and never wanted this moment to end.

But it had to.

“How’d the interview go?” Zuko asked. The two of them were side by side on the couch, while Iroh made tea for everyone.

Sokka took Zuko’s hand in his, kissed his palm. “It went well,” he said. “God, it went better than I could ever imagine. I brought the recorder with me, I want you both to hear it.”

Iroh was necessary for this conversation. He was the closest thing to real family Zuko had, and would have to help support him once he found out.

Sokka didn’t want to play the recording, but once Iroh returned with the tea, he set it down on the coffee table, turned the volume up, and pressed play.

~~~

Sokka: This is Sokka Tungilik, here with Zhao Chen. Zhao, I appreciate you agreeing to meet. Why don’t you tell me a little about your involvement in this.

Zhao: Many years ago, I was approached by the head of security at the Sugita firm. I’d done some small private security jobs, and they were hiring after one left for family reasons. The head of security was introduced to me as Bob Wilson.

Sokka: Oh.

Zhao: I see you recognize the name. You really did your due diligence. He does come up later, I promise you. Now, at the time, I knew it was a fake name, but I wasn’t in a place to challenge him. They offered more money than I could dream of, in exchange for very little work. I even met with Azulon—that was Ozai’s father. I started that week.

Sokka: How long before Azulon’s death was this?

Zhao: About two years. I was to be the kind of security guard who had no contact with most of the family. I maintained the perimeter, hid in crowds during speeches and events, that sort of thing. It was a wonderful job, to be honest.

Sokka: So what happened the night he died?

Zhao: I’m getting there. Azulon had two sons. Iroh and Ozai. By his father’s wishes, the business should have gone to his elder son, Iroh. But Iroh only had one son, and when he died overseas, Ozai raised hell. I had to be called in on multiple occasions in the months leading up to Azulon’s death, just to separate them and send Ozai somewhere else. There were times he got violent, even with me. Then, one night, Bob Wilson called me in because it was getting worse.

Sokka: This Bob Wilson, was he your boss?

Zhao: In a manner. My boss was Azulon, ultimately, but Bob was a go-between. He was the best spy I’ve ever seen in my life. This night, they’d gotten into another shouting match. I showed up, expecting to take Ozai somewhere he could get his energy out and bring him back when he was sober. But it was different. For one, Ozai’s wife was there.

Sokka: Ursa.

Zhao: Yes. She was a beautiful woman, far too kind for Ozai, but had been trapped in the marriage by her family and then by her children. I came after the children were sent to bed, and for the first time, I had to pull Ozai off his father.

Sokka: So Ozai tries to strangle Azulon. What then?

Zhao: Ursa took him to another room. Bob told me to stay put, to give Azulon some water. We couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but after about twenty minutes, Bob came back in with a syringe and a piece of paper. He forced Azulon to sign a forged will, injected him, and left him.

Sokka: Jesus. I—fuck.

Zhao: It was a horrible death. Bob came back after Azulon was—after he stopped breathing. He told me I was to receive a severance package, on the condition that I left that night with Ursa and never spoke of it.

Sokka: With Ursa?

Zhao: Yes. I was to take her to the airport. Ozai, ever the paranoid bastard, would leave nothing to chance, so he let go of several of us, including Bob. The severance package was beyond my wildest dreams. I would never have to work again. I could set up a life anywhere in the world, completely above-board. All I had to do was put Ursa on a plane.

Sokka: My research only uncovered three plane tickets. Yours, Bob Wilson’s, and the landscaper. How did you get her on a plane?

Zhao: She bought her ticket at the airport, to a destination known only to her. That’s what the traveler’s checks were for, a way for her to start a new life somewhere else.

Sokka: So you only went with her to the airport? She didn’t fly to DC with you?

Zhao: I’m impressed by your research, I have to admit. No, she didn’t come to DC. Her flight left after mine, and I wasn’t supposed to know where it was headed.

Sokka: But you do know.

Zhao: Before we went through security, she told me everything. She told me that Azulon had wanted to cut Ozai out of his will entirely, that he wanted it to go from Iroh to Zuko. She told me Ozai had planned on killing his own son that night, to prevent this.

Sokka: Are you fucking—

Zhao: Bear with me, please. Ursa came up with the idea of a new will. And the idea of killing Azulon. He had a doctor in the mansion, with access to a lot of controlled medication. Forge a new will, force Azulon to sign it, and kill him, in exchange for Zuko’s life, and her freedom. She was allowed to live because she gave him what he wanted.

Sokka: I don’t know what to say. Fuck.

Zhao: Believe me, I understand. It’s only because I knew Ozai well enough at that point that I believed her. It’s why I let her call Iroh, before we left the house. But then she told me her plan. She was going to Tokyo, where her family originated. Her parents were long dead by this point, but that actually made it easier for her. She knew, for Zuko’s safety, that she could never come back. She and I maintained somewhat regular communication through email, for many years.

Sokka: Maintained? Past tense?

Zhao: You said you were close with Zuko, yes?

Sokka: What happened?

Zhao: You see, she met a man in Tokyo. They hit it off, got married, tried to start a family. I don’t know if it was her age, stress, or something else, but they were never able to have children. But they were happy, so very happy.

Sokka: Zhao, get to the point.

Zhao: I knew her, I considered her a friend. This is much more difficult for me than it is for you.

Sokka: ...I’m sorry. Go on.

Zhao: They had a perfectly happy life. They moved from Tokyo to the countryside. And then, a few years ago...there was an earthquake.

Sokka: Oh, God.

Zhao: Her husband knew of me, knew that I was a friend from her younger years, so he sent me this. I’m sorry to be the one to share the news.

Several moments of silence.

Sokka: Why are you telling me all of this?

Zhao: You’re the first person to ask about her since she disappeared. After the earthquake, I told myself I wouldn’t be bound by Ozai anymore.

Sokka: Aren’t you afraid of what he’ll do?

Zhao: Are you afraid of what he’ll do?

Sokka: Petrified.

Zhao: You say you have a podcast. Are you going to put this investigation on it?

Sokka: God, no. I couldn’t do that to Zuko.

Zhao: Then what’s your goal?

Sokka: I need to get Zuko out of that house. I need him to not be under Ozai’s thumb anymore.

Zhao: Give me that paper.

~~~

The three of them sat in complete silence when the recording stopped.

Zuko couldn’t believe it. Fifteen years of wanting, of begging, of not knowing. And now it was over. Now he knew.

Part of him had always known his mother wasn’t alive. It was the part that remembered what Ozai had done to his face. The part that understood that a man like his father would leave nothing to chance.

But Ozai hadn’t done it. Sokka set two pieces of paper down on the table just as Zhao mentioned them in the interview, and Zuko read through them with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Ozai hadn’t gotten to his mother; nature had. She’d tried to rebuild a new life, a life far away from Ozai, and then an earthquake collapsed her house with her inside it.

The hope he’d felt when Azula first told him what she knew had been snuffed out like a candle. He would never see his mother again, never hear her voice or talk to her, never tell her about Sokka, about the wonderful things he’d managed to do with his short, pitiful life.

He felt Sokka pull him into a hug, and he let himself be hugged. He was crying without realizing it.

“I’m so sorry, Zuko,” Sokka mumbled, speaking into his hair. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you like this.”

And yes, it was terrible, it was a horrible thing to happen, but didn’t Sokka understand what he’d done? He’d given Zuko closure, he’d made sure Zuko didn’t die wondering.

“My God,” Iroh said, his own voice thick with emotion. “Of everything I imagined…”

Zuko pulled away, wiping his face. He always felt better after crying, and now the question was answered. He would never have to wonder again.

“What did he give you?” he asked. “At the end, what did he say?”

Sokka bit his lip. “Something that will convince your father to let you go.”

“But what was it?”

“I can’t tell you that yet. It’s part of the plan, okay?”

Zuko felt he had no choice but to trust Sokka on this. “So what is the plan?”

Sokka looked up at the ceiling. “Well, I need to go to the bank for it, so I can’t put it into motion until tomorrow. Which reminds me.” He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket. “Iroh, could I trouble you to put this in your safety deposit box tomorrow?”

Zuko and Iroh both stared at the small piece of plastic in Sokka’s hand. Why would he want something in Iroh’s deposit box? Wouldn’t it make more sense to go in his own?

“I take it this isn’t the only copy,” Iroh said, answering the question Zuko hadn’t asked.

“No, sir. I have the originals somewhere safe, and I have two other copies as well.”

He looked uncomfortable, scowling as he explained it. It did feel more like a spy movie than anything else they had done so far.

“Of course I’ll put it away,” Iroh said, taking it from Sokka. “We all know what my brother is capable of.”

“After the bank,” Sokka said, “I want you to come with me to your father’s house. We can end it.”

The burn tingled a bit, although it must have been his imagination. Confronting his father with evidence, after what he said, after storming out...if he hadn’t feared death before, he did now.

His father had been willing to kill him rather than let him get the business. His father had been willing to kill a ten-year-old child.

“Are you sure it’ll work?” he asked quietly.

“It’s the only hope we have.”

~~~

After stopping by the bank the next morning, Sokka drove to Iroh’s to pick Zuko up. He held a folder with all the evidence, and tried to stop his hands from shaking.

They spent a moment together in the house, hugging and kissing and simply being together. Whatever happened now, they would always have this moment.

“Let me do the talking,” he said as he got into his car, Zuko taking the passenger seat.

“That won’t be a problem,” Zuko said with a small smile. His hands were shaking. He held the folder on his lap, but agreed not to look at it.

Zuko directed him to the mansion, which was even more impressive in person than any of the images Sokka had seen of it. The gate guard stopped them, but when he saw Zuko, he reluctantly let them through.

“I thought I wouldn’t be allowed back,” Zuko said. “I thought we’d have to make a bigger fuss.”

Sokka just shrugged. Perhaps Ozai hoped he could just kill them and be done with it.

He parked by the front door, on a sweeping circular drive that reminded him of old movies and old Hollywood. Even his relatively new Porsche looked like it was too poor to think about driving here.

Zuko led the way through the front door. It was good he did, because the first person they saw was Azula.

“Zuzu, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked. She looked genuinely surprised and almost unbalanced. When she saw Sokka, and what he was holding, something clicked. “Oh, it’s today, is it? Finally. Give him hell.”

Then, unbelievably, she hugged Zuko before disappearing around a corner. It seemed to give Zuko some extra bravado, because he wasn’t shaking anymore.

Sokka couldn’t help staring around them as they made their way to Ozai’s office. This was the largest house he’d ever seen. Every room had multiple doors leading from it, every hallway looked like a Scooby Doo cartoon where villains would go in one door and appear in another. The floors were spotless, the artwork was exquisite, and the view of the city was to die for.

Finally, they stopped in front of a set of double doors, and Zuko took a shaky breath.

“Now or never,” he said, and opened the door.

Ozai’s office had floor-to-ceiling windows covering an entire wall, a massive glass desk with a sleek computer on top, and Ozai himself, sitting right behind the desk, looking at them over the top of folded hands.

“I was wondering when you’d come back,” he said to Zuko. “I see you’ve brought company.”

“Sokka Tungilik,” Sokka said, not offering his hand. “I’m the host of a true crime podcast. Unsolvable with Sokka. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Ozai just scoffed, barely glancing at Sokka. His eyes were trained on Zuko. “So this is the one poisoning your mind into believing you can escape me?”

“The only one poisoning my mind was you,” Zuko said. His voice was, thankfully, even and sure.

“We’re here to negotiate his freedom,” Sokka said.

“He’s free to walk away whenever he wants,” Ozai spat. “He made sure of that the other day.”

“Oh, but don’t you think that’s terribly rude? To completely ignore your own father’s wishes?” Sokka stepped forward slightly. “He gets the executive severance. For life, no strings. His own bank account, his own cell phone plan, all of it.”

Ozai stood but didn’t move. “And why should I do what a pathetic pair of faggots wants me to do?”

Sokka clenched his jaw. He hoped Zuko wasn’t reacting behind him.

“This is why.” Sokka slapped the folder down on the desk. “These are copies. I have originals in a very safe location, and additional copies spread out over several deposit boxes in several different banks.”

Ozai stared between them, slowly sat back down, and opened the folder. He reacted immediately, slamming it shut and recoiling.

“How did you get this?” he gasped.

Sokka smiled, a genuine smile because he had been terrified it wouldn't work. “The question you should ask yourself is, what will he do if that goes out from your firm?”

Something like fear crossed Ozai’s face, but only for a moment. “That could never work. Our computer security is too good.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. If I’m able to get a copy of your father’s autopsy report, surely I’m able to find hackers.”

Ozai frowned, opened the folder back up, and started flipping through the pages. His frown only deepened the further he got. Sokka waited, not wanting to ruin this moment of surprise, not wanting to give any sign that he was still nervous it wouldn’t work.

“All of this could be forged,” Ozai said finally. “They’d never believe it.”

Sokka just laughed.

Ozai seemed to find his lack of fear infuriating. “I could easily have you and Zuko and this damn security guard killed for this, and make it look like an accident!”

Sokka stepped forward again, only a foot from the desk. He felt tall and powerful, standing over Ozai like this. “If I don’t leave this house,” he said carefully, “every page of this is public. You can’t kill the world, Ozai. Besides,” he continued, flipping the folder back to the first page, “how do you think he’d react?”

It was subtle, but Sokka noticed: Ozai’s shoulders dropped.

It was working.

“Zuko gets the executive severance package,” Sokka repeated. “Completely free of strings, and no chance of it being rescinded. And no retaliation for Zhao, either. Just sign that last paper. We can all pretend nothing happened and go on with our lives.”

Ozai looked up at Sokka, then over to Zuko. Sokka didn’t want to give up his powerful position or show any weakness, so he couldn’t move, but he hoped Zuko looked strong behind him.

“I never wanted you,” he spat. “I should’ve just killed you and your mother that night.”

“Fuck you,” Zuko said. “Sign it.”

Ozai looked like he wanted to say something else, but what was there to say? He was cornered and he knew it. He flipped to the last page, read through it, and reached for a pen.

~~~

THREE MONTHS LATER

~~~

Sokka had not been out of the country until this trip. He’d never had the opportunity, nor a reason. Everything he needed was right in his city, or at least online. Now, he had both opportunity and reason in spades.

He’d had to bust his ass on the podcast, recording a month in advance to give himself a month of vacation. He could have simply taken the time off, he knew his audience would support him, but he didn’t want to leave them with nothing. The episodes were not his usual multiple-hour investigations, but they were still very good, and he knew his audience would love them.

Japan was absolutely gorgeous. Sokka and Zuko spent a full day in Tokyo, just exploring whatever they could, before they arranged to meet the man who would take them to their final destination.

He met them outside a public library, bowing deeply and then hugging Zuko. Zuko, for his part, looked awkward and uncomfortable, but he still hugged back. It was a big day for both of them.

The man, in fairly good English, told them about the past fifteen years as they drove out of the city, through the countryside. Two hours later, they arrived at the man’s house, all of them crying and laughing in equal measure at the stories.

Sokka and Zuko dropped off their suitcases, then piled back in the car for another short drive. This was more somber, with much less laughing.

The car pulled into the cemetery, parked in the grass a few dozen yards from the entrance, and the three men got out of the car and started walking.

“Here she is,” the man said, pointing to a grave a few spots away. “I give you time.”

He held back while Sokka and Zuko, holding hands, moved forward. The grave had Japanese characters, and beneath them, an English sentence.

Love never dies, it merely finds new form.

Zuko knelt on the ground, touched the stone, tears falling from his eyes without a sound. Sokka knelt beside him, put an arm over his shoulder.

“Hi, Mom,” Zuko said. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend.”