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“I heard what Katara said to you in the afternoon,” Suki said as Sokka crawled into his tent, half-exhausted and wanting to cry really bad.
“How did you even do that ,” Sokka said. It was not even a question. He just wanted to distract himself from feeling like he was going to rot from the inside out, thank you very much.
Suki smiled like an enigma. “Come here, big boy,” she crowed and lifted up a corner of the blanket. His blanket. How was she not asleep already at this hour, why she came in here to wait for him, he had no idea. He obediently slipped under the blanket with her, instead.
A strange, unrestful quiet befell them. Sokka was no Toph, but the knowledge that Katara and Zuko weren't here in the camp but instead off to who-knew-where—into danger—made him even more aware of their absence, and in turn made him restless. He wanted to come on their suicide quest by no means, but Katara was reckless and Zuko? Even more so. It pained him that whatever happened, he would be the last to know about it.
His baby sister was out there, determinedly heading into danger. She was not supposed to be without him. He was not supposed to be without her .
“Hey,” Suki said, as if hearing his thoughts. “Hey. It’s gonna be fine. Katara knows her stuff. Zuko is fine, too, I guess. They’re gonna be okay.”
How would you know that? “Probably. But I’m still worried, you know? Call it a brother’s instinct.”
Suki snorted. “Out of the two of you, I trust Katara’s instincts more. Yours are buried six feet deep under cynicism and a giant perfectionist complex.” She put a hand on his jaw, and he leaned into her warmth by reflex, chasing the comfort it offered. “You should have more faith in your sister.”
He hummed noncommittally. Suki’s arms snaked around his back, engulfing him in her body heat. He curled up to her, snuggling close like an otter-kitten. This island’s high-altitude rocky plains provided nothing at night but terrible howling winds and opportunities to cuddle, and he could appreciate that. Judging by Suki’s contented sigh as she slipped a hand up the back of his shirt, she was not too bothered by it either.
He thought he could get lost in this feeling forever until Suki’s voice snapped him out of it. “So. Off they go, just like that.”
“C’mon,” Sokka whined. He already missed the quiet. “I was just done being sad.”
“No way you were.” Sokka could hear his bedroll rustle as Suki leaned in a bit, closing the already small distance between their faces. He could distantly feel warm puffs of her breath on his cheek. “You were just done repressing it enough that you will never talk about it again.”
Even in the dark of the tent, Sokka could make out the outline of Suki’s face, the shape of her sly smile. He grinned back, trusting that she could see him too. “Aw. You caught me.”
“Yes, I did.” A kiss on the corner of his lips. A hand moved up, playing between his shoulder blades. At this point Sokka had been reduced to little more than vaguely human-shaped putty. “You wanna talk about it? Fully confidential, no snitching, no using any of it against you later. What happens in the tent stays in the tent. You down?”
“Not—really,” Sokka mumbled. He tried to chase Suki’s mouth, but a finger on his shushed him into obedience instead. He obligingly settled down, but not without a playful huff.
Suki giggled. A hand retreated from his back, but before Sokka could mourn its warmth it had reintroduced itself on his arm, making its way up from his wrist with tiny finger-steps, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. He half-heartedly swatted at her hand, to no avail. “Suk, c’mon— you know I’m ticklish, stop, ugh—“
“That’s the point,” Suki said in between quiet laughs, but her tone was somber as she continued, “you don’t have to always act tough before me. You know that.”
“I know that,” Sokka acquiesced. The knot in his chest has loosened somewhat, replaced by a familiar warmth. “It’s just— hard, sometimes. It’s easier to indulge.”
“Yeah, I know.” The way Suki said it was so incredibly soft it made Sokka ache all over. He remembered her, too, standing guard in front of her beloved village, face painted and impassive, golden fan glinting as it made its deadly arching trajectory across a man’s jugular. Beautiful and lethal, but impossibly lonely, the way a too-young warrior often was, even as she had been surrounded by her teammates and friends. “I also know you can almost never bring yourself to look anything less than composed in front of the others—“ the kids — “but if anything, you still have me.” She flicked at his forehead. “Dumbass.”
“ Your dumbass,” he retorted, then hesitated. “Yeah— well, I’m still not too ready to talk about it, I’m still processing. It’s a low blow, y’know, one I would have never expected coming from her. But she probably had her reasons. I’ll just— yeah.”
“Yeah,” Suki echoed. For the first time, Sokka noticed that her fingers had completed their pilgrimage to his shoulder and now were cupping his face again. The bottom and sides of her palm were calloused, and they scraped along his skin. He reached out, too, and touched her on the side of her neck, where there was a blade scar he knew she got back on Kyoshi Island. She had told him that story, once, on the war balloon ride home after their prison break stunt, when everybody else had fallen asleep and they’d had that corner of the cabin all to themselves for a few precious hours. Everywhere on their bodies there were scars and bruises and marks, like cracks where pieces of a whole were glued together, time and time again after every break. Perhaps that was exactly what they were: a culmination of whatever left of their original selves they managed to preserve, patchwork tin knights on a suicide mission.
Perhaps there was still gentleness to be found, after all that. In the way their ankles interlocked, their legs all tangled up; in the way she was guiding his face in, now, kissing him fully on the lips, filling all his senses with her, her, her. Tomorrow when Katara and Zuko got back he would have to face whatever had been damaged today; tomorrow they would be one day closer to the comet and the destruction it would bring. But tonight—
“Shh,” Suki whispered. “Stop thinking, genius. It’s okay. It will be okay.” She ran the pad of her thumb along his closed eye. It came away wet, and she wiped it on his cheek, earning from him a startled laugh. “You with me?”
“I am,” he confirmed. He had never felt more grounded than in this moment. “I’m right here with you.”