WATER TRIBE

                  he’s there almost a full hour before the agreed upon time. sokka’s not necessarily   an early riser   but when he focuses on something he   REALLY   gives it his all, and he really couldn’t sleep with the buzz of it in his overcrowded mind. he’d watched every youtube video, annoyed katara for 23 of the 24 hours in a day as he rolled around various fruit on his (katara’s words) disgusting, dirty feet, and even knocked out a window he’s definitely got to pay for after getting a bit generous with his totally ironic and not at all serious back kicks. all pebbles in the pond or whatever parable you choose. if the boy’s teams’ crushing defeat last thursday was anything to go by, sokka could come back as the spirit of pele, messi, and maradonna combined and he’d still be wiping his face in the grass every time suki got control of the ball again.                     he’s balancing the ball almost absentmindedly when he realizes she’s there.       “ oh! ”           he says, as if it was   SUCH   a coincidence they were meeting at a pre-approved time and spot. there was only a small   (big)   part of him that thought she might not come. after all, why should she? katara would leave him there to teach him a lesson. sokka himself would’ve been fashionably late just to prove a point --- but he’s pleasantly surprised and happy he doesn’t have to textually beg and plead his case again that he drops the ball. literally, not like, a metaphor or anything.              “ hey! check it out, i think i’m getting that foot spinny thing you guys were doing for warm ups. ”         he’s excited to show her, and a little bit less so when he nearly trips on the ball on its come down.          “ i got it earlier i swear. ”

                      sokka has to physically suppress the urge to slap his hand on his face and roll his eyes to kingdom come. and it’s probably a testament to sokka’s waning mental stability that he actually DOESN’T suppress anything, even adding on a meaningful eyebrow raise he’s sure brings the message home. sokka’s not sure if it’s   BECAUSE   all his friends are benders or that’s just a coincidence but benders and their shocking disbelief that things can actually hurt them is beginning to be a major problem with   team boomeraang   (that’s going to stick, okay). but right now, considering all they have to patch zuko up is a whole lot of ice and a fire nation prison uniform sokka’s only kind of   BORROWING,   they’ve got to make do with what they have. it’s not like he can call in a medic, or god forbid a certain southern water tribe bender to clean up the mess that is this wonderfully throughout escape mission. so far it kind of goes: plan guy: 0, world: 39897385748.6. and sokka considers himself at least relatively good with numbers so it’s safe to say he’s not winning any awards yet. and that kind of ineptitude is   KIND OF   driving him crazy, and while that’s probably the last thing this little field trip needs, it has sokka pacing the length of the cell like the crown prince of the fire nation is his imaginary friend/                        “ oh sure--- famous last words   ‘it’s just a flesh wound’!    “   he turned one way. “    ‘sokka, did zuko say anything about the comet in his dying breath?’   “ he turned the other.    “    ‘no, but he did say it’s not that bad, no worries!’.”               he’s stressing out, and he knows he’s stressing out and he knows he knows that--- and   spirits, what he wouldn’t do to have a   PLAN   right now. is he really prepared to risk it all  .  .  .   risk   EVERYTHING   for the chance his father might be there in the morning? if he’s wrong, he’s doomed them all. he, suki, and chit sang will probably never see the light of day again and zuko  .  .  .   well, sokka doesn’t know the exacts of what will happen to him but he has the sinking feeling a freezer might be the least of his worries.                         on the   OTHER   hand, if he leaves now  .  .  .   if they continue with the escape, he won’t see his father again. at least, not until the war is over and sokka considers himself a relatively optimistic guy but even he has to see the margin of error here. leaving now, if he’s wrong and his dad DOES come here... he’ll spend the rest of his life in this furnace of a prison and sokka will forever live with the knowledge he had only been a sunset away from saving him.       he grabs his head and groans with frustration. he’s used to knowing what to do, even if hindsight shows it wasn’t right and now, when they needed him most his head is just swimming with the knowledge he’s destined to fail no matter which path he takes. and honestly? he’s kind of getting tired of failing. like, at everything.                   sokka sighed, his breath swirling up in the chill as he moved to sit down on the cold floor. there was a weird sense of calm going through him now that tasted faintly of repression, but he was going to figure this out. like it or not, it’s HIS decision to make and not only will HE have to live with the decision but so will the people he cares most about. he just needs a second to think.           sokka motions across from him as if the signal was obvious.            “ sit down and i’ll bandage you up. if the cooler is meant to de-power you, it’ll probably take you longer to heal naturally. ”    he says, holding a hand out expectantly. 

                  he’d probably be more embarrassed and a hell of a lot more defensive had he known he was right. but they’d got their asses   HANDED      to them.     actually, that was too nice--- it had been filleted, sauced, and plated up complete with a little garnish that could only be properly summarized in the fact that their goalie had   CRIED.   all the excuses in the world and sokka would never find a better explanation than   THEY WERE BETTER.   really, it was simple.                    even though you’re a girl.         he bites that back-- because isn’t that the whole point? she was a girl, and she was better. so sokka just nods instead,           “ please. ”            because let’s be honest, he passed the point of any remaining dignity when he let their third stringers score  .  .  .   twice.               “ thank you! ”            he said instantly perking up, a wide smile taking over his morose features. he didn’t deserve it--- not even a little, but he wasn’t one to look a gift athlete in her  .  .  .   cleats?            whatever the appropriate spin on the proverb be, sokka takes it grateful to even have the chance.                “i’m free anytime. seriously, name the time and i’m there. well, early mornings would suck.    --- and late nights might be hard because they turn the lights off at ten but---- ”            shit. getting ahead of himself again, she’d only JUST even agreed to help him, but already sokka was itching to ask how she did that spin kick move from the first half. he readjusted, straight-backed and eager.         “ whatever you say. i’m yours. ” 

                        F I N D      I T .      there’s a double meaning in there somewhere.   ‘not at all’.   maybe it was a power play? to show how worthless he thinks of sokka’s presence --- not at all meaning sokka’s joining would hold the same weight as a vacant chair.   maybe it’s sarcasm.   in the same way azula says   ‘better luck next time’   when she hexes the hair from your head that really means         ‘next time you’ll be lucky to HAVE a head’.         dry, and pointed and only in the dark recesses of the night following will you remember the scene and say ‘hey  .  .  .  ’.                      or maybe he’s taking too long to answer that   THAT   was the play. outsmart sokka. throw him off his game from the first interaction, show that zuko was leading this mental game of chess.   BASTARD.                   sokka finally looks away. nonchalantly opening his book as if he and his bestie friend zuko had always planned on meeting up on this fine wednesday night. he really hadn’t meant for this to happen but he’d brought the muggle engineering book he’d bought back home to cross-reference with some of the arithmetic that might coincide, and he feels like the scoreboard is rising simply by putting something so inherently   MUGGLE   near the fingertips of ozai’s heir. it’s nowhere near the scoring zuko’s little   ‘not at all’   mental power play gets, but it’s something. enough to show sokka’s not going down without a fight.   sure you didn’t,   hufflepuff.                   but still, sokka shrugs, leaning back slightly in his chair and dragging the top knot down on his tie. might as well make himself comfortable for what was sure to be a long night of stalemates.              “ i don’t have like  .  .  .   an   ATTACHMENT   to it or anything. ”            he lies. but never show your hand, right? bato taught him that one. in fact, the little ‘SOKKA RULEZ’ is probably hovering above where zuko’s leg now occupies. warfare. everything is a chess move.          and because there’s really no pretending they don’t at least vaguely know each other, sokka adds:      “ what brings you to this corner of the library anyway? i thought the puffs had that whole ‘study buddy corner’ thing going on in the common room. ”     purely as reconnaissance. it has absolutely nothing to do with curiosity. 

                      sokka spent all of two seconds untying his laces while he thought about it. i mean, he’s a   logical   guy. the logical, practical answer was staring him right in the face. actually it was tackling him at full speed, knocking him down and then scoring in a blaze of glory in front of his face but whatever, that part was just semantics.        pride wasn’t hard to swallow, but the aftertaste was bitter.                       sokka walked over, purpose heavy in his steps and sweaty hair curling out of his tight wolftail.           “ good game. ”           he said it a slight, uncharacteristically sheepish smile to suki--- ignoring the impulse to kneel like he was at some messed up kind of confessional with the need to beg weighing down his knees. which, maybe that’s because it   was.        sokka was   WRONG,    about a lot of things, but especially about her, and this next part, while not easy is more than necessary. if he wants to get anywhere in soccer   (and he does, scholarships mean he can go to better engineering colleges in the future)   he’s going to need to learn how to play like   THAT.   specifically, he wants to learn from the best. and without a doubt the best is suki.                   “ do you think  .  .  .  ”          he rubs the back of his neck, blush high on his cheeks despite the full confidence in his words and what they imply. sokka’s bad at asking for help, but he loves to learn.               “ think you could give me some pointers? ”

                      it really shouldn’t come as some great stereotype-shattering epiphany that the ravenclaw common room is the world’s   WORST   place to study. it’s like if a campus starbucks and a children’s interactive museum had a love child that was definitely banned by all countries but one. no matter how many times kids try, how much sokka   FOCUSES  , there is no shortage of distractions, explosions, and impassioned tangents that mean one singular sentence can take all night to even start. he’s not known for letting things go, meaning his rather  .  .  . flighty attention span needs the one thing a common room can’t give: quiet.          and if that’s his goal than scratch aang, katara, suki, and toph’s usual lakeside spot as well.                    that’s why he’s got a table.   ONE,   secluded, well-worn, fabulously ventilated table sitting pretty in the hogwarts library. it’s even got sokka’s name hexed into the underside, because sokka’s been called a lot of things, but humble is only something spoken into a mirror. and really there’s nothing more coveted than   ONE   spot away from all the commotion in a castle with this many children.        and sokka’s arithmatic homework, while not particularly difficult would be time consuming (in a good way), pairing nicely with a new invention he’s been cooking up-- so he’s got just the right amount of pep in his step as he follows the complicated twists and turns it takes to get to his little back pocket nook. he’d outright whistle if he could, but he’s been kicked out of the library too many times to not have the threat of permanent punishment looming over his wolftail, and really it’s not like much could ruin his-----                  it would almost be better if the   grim reaper   itself had their dirty grimy bloody boots pushed up onto sokka’s corner, smoking a pipe and maybe even physically beating sokka up. but it’s worse. so much worse. sokka’s steps literally stutter like he’s in some old school cartoon because not only is sokka’s table   OCCUPIED  .  .  .   it’s   TAINTED.     he only spends about a half second of time   CONSIDERING   turning right around before he realizes that’s exactly what the little prodigy of ozai   WANTS.   and it’s not like sokka has him mistaken for someone else--- zuko is pretty recognizable. all long limbs, and amber-gold eyes that are only highlighted by the brightness of his tie. nowadays his hair falls just far enough to cover his eyes--- both the scarred and unscarred one, but it does nothing to hide his face really. if sokka’s being honestly--- it really just enhances it, but that’s not the   POINT HERE.     the point, dear brain,  is that it’s a seige, and sokka has never been one to back down from a fight. crown prince of blood supremacy zuko is obviously trying to intimidate him.              sokka absentmindedly turns his chin upwards, and soldiers forward. if zuko wants to play this mind game stealth war then he’s in for a world of stealth warfare. game on, pureblood. sokka tosses his books down like they’re two old school friends. if zuko was as good at playing mental risk as sokka was, then this would all rely on who was first to break the facade. sokka smiled.     “ mind if i join? ”