FIC: Caught By A Thread (AtLA, R)
Caught By a Thread
By Keelywolfe
Zuko/Hakoda, Zuko/Sokka
R
Part Four in the Insomniacs series
Fathers and Sons
Sins of Your Fathers
Hunted
He heard it, only just barely over the snores and sleepy noises of the others. Soft movement, steps moving around him and Hakoda automatically slit his eyes open, kept his breathing even until he saw who it was.
A familiar form, walking silently towards one of the nearby rooms. He didn't look back, didn't wait, but Hakoda felt the weight of his invitation nonetheless and after a moment, he took it, moving quietly although he doubted very much anything would wake the others. If they could sleep through Chit Sang's snoring, then footsteps weren't likely to be a problem.
"I didn't think you'd come," Zuko said, quietly. He was sitting against the wall, his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees, chin resting atop them. It made him look smaller, younger, and that guilt, the heavy knowledge that he had done this boy no favor by continuing their ill-timed affair rose up again thickly in his throat.
It hadn't been a choice, not a conscious one, but he could hardly call it an accident. A man didn't stumble across a boy, unsleeping in the darkest part of the night, and end up pushing him to the ground, baring that pale, silken skin to his own hands and mouth, by accident. A mistake, to be sure, a disaster, but no accident. He'd simply wanted Zuko and his interest had been returned, had been obvious in those oddly-colored eyes that had watched him since that night they'd first touched.
A mistake but the blame was his. Zuko was young and confused, and his family...his father. No, Hakoda could only blame his loneliness, his years at sea, away from home for his errors in judgment, but never this young man.
"Would you rather I simply avoided you?" Hakoda asked him, settling to the ground next to him. Spirits, he was too old for this, any of this. The stone beneath him was hard, the coolness seeping through his thin prison clothes to chill his bones.
Zuko shrugged, turning his head a little away. The crisp moonlight outlined his face, letting Hakoda see only the sharp silhouette of it, the dips and contours of his nose and lips. There was no question he was a handsome young man, the scar he kept half-hidden behind his hair gave him no shame in Hakoda's eyes; a warrior had scars; it was the way of things.
"So...Sokka?" Hakoda prompted, as though idly curious. "Care to explain?"
"I can't." Softly. He was utterly still but for his hands, fingers moving restlessly against each other. Flameless but there was potential in them, always. Somehow, that no longer unnerved Hakoda the way it had before, potential was not a threat and skill was not always a danger.
"Hm," Hakoda mused, considering that tiny statement. He hadn't expected much, not with Sokka's close-mouthed treatment of the subject whenever Hakoda had subtly probed for information. If his son didn't care to explain with anything but shining eyes and a too-bright smile then he could hardly expect more from a young man who barely spoke at all.
What to make of it, he wasn't sure. Running into the pagoda, he'd thought they were under attack, had been shocked to see his son and Zuko grappling on the floor. Their excuse had been thin to say the least and he might have question them further on it, if he hadn't looked back and seen. Them.
His son in another man's arms, the young man who wasn't so much a lover as he was someone Hakoda had exchanged loneliness with, once. Their mouths had moved together with the tender eagerness of the young. His son. Too young, far too young, especially for this one, his heart had squabbled. But his mind knew that Sokka had been without a parent to guide him for the better part of a year and their kiss hadn't spoken of inexperience as much as it had of new lovers learning each other's touches.
He'd left them to it, ignored the pang in his own heart at his small loss. It would be better this way, better to end things that were never meant to be quickly. Whatever they had been arguing about had surely been heated and Hakoda had suspected at first that Zuko had perhaps told Sokka about their one night together. But the way Zuko had leaned into the kiss, his hands eager on Sokka's shoulders told him a different story; that they were still learning each other and boys had strong hearts and emotions, ones that occasionally lashed out.
"I hope you realize I'm not angry with you. I'm glad you found someone your own age to be with, even if it is my own son. However," his voice hardened, "I do not approve of lying, even by omission. You should have spoken to me before you became involved with Sokka."
Zuko flinched so hard that Hakoda felt it, a ripple of motion as he hunching his shoulders in, "I didn't...we weren't..."
Hakoda softened helplessly at the boy's obvious shame, far too much for such a little indiscretion as a kiss and yet, he resisted the urge to touch him because the memory of his taste, of the hot clasp of his body was still far too recent.
"It's all right," he said, gently, frowning when Zuko didn't unbow, only cringed just slightly away from him. This was not going as he'd intended. "Certainly you shouldn't lie to him about us. I'll speak to him about it tomorrow."
"No," Zuko said, his voice a little choked. "I'll handle it."
That, Hakoda was certain, would be a very bad idea. He should speak to his son about it before he misunderstood. Such mentoring relationships were common in the water tribe, although surely much less so in recent years with few young men to mentor. If Zuko had been water tribe, if had been a little less obviously lonely, Hakoda would have had no qualms about being with him for a time, teaching him this path and leading him into adulthood. It might be better for him to remind Sokka of that before it ruined their budding relationship. Only a mentor, nothing more, and hopefully he wouldn't let it interfere.
"I'm sure he'll understand," Hakoda told him, encouragingly, in case that was what had the boy so glum. He'd known their affair had been ill-timed but he couldn't have possibly expected any of this to crop up and Sokka was an easygoing boy. Surely hearing it from his father rather than Zuko would help. "There's nothing to be ashamed of--"
Zuko's head snapped up and he turned to look at Hakoda for the first time. He was taken aback at the anger glittering in those golden eyes, banked fury, "I am not ashamed of anything I've done."
"No?" Hakoda asked, skeptically. That he doubted, and perhaps he should have left it at that but Hakoda was a straightforward man and solved his problems head on. "Zuko, I don't know if you want to hear this, but you should at least once; what your father did to you was wrong."
"My father?" he said, one hand jerking automatically to his face. Obviously confused, bewildered eyes meeting Hakoda's own blue ones, mirrors of his son's. "What does he have to do with--" Zuko sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening in dawning horror. "You think--my father would never!"
"But..." But he had said, he had spoken of his father...
"I doubt my father has laid a hand on me since I was a small child! Even when he did this," he gestured savagely at his own face, "He didn't touch me! That's why you wanted to be with me? You thought my father had...had hurt me?"
"No, of course not." But there was no strength in the words, shock coloring them weak because he had suspected it, had believed it, and part of him had wanted to erase that terrible memory for Zuko. A memory that it seemed didn't exist.
"My father," Zuko repeated it, tasting the word, and his laughter was obscene, humorless. "You really believed he was fucking me. What, is that a common thing in the water tribe? Something you aren't telling me about Sokka? Or maybe it's Katara?"
For a moment his words were too horrible to comprehend, Zuko passing his broken anger back to Hakoda, filling him to the brim with it, and angry, bitter words rose on his own tongue to be bitten off, unreleased. Something wasn't right here; Zuko was lashing out like a wounded moose lion, desperately hurting before he could be hurt. Everything he'd thought he understood, every answer he'd found was collapsing in on itself like a tiny boat in icy water.
Zuko was climbing to his feet and Hakoda grabbed his upper arms, holding him back, shaking him slightly, "Wait. If your father didn't hurt you, then who did?" Someone had, this boy had the look of a raw wound behind his eyes, a memory that haunted him.
"Even if someone did, it's not really your concern anymore, is it?" he replied, coolly, trying to pull away from Hakoda's tightening grip as he tried to cling to something, to get some answers. Everything was slipping away from him, so much powdery snow in a windstorm.
Perhaps Zuko was not his concern, but there was someone else involved who was very much so. "Then tell me what is happening between you and my son. Explain it to me."
"Ask him," Zuko said through gritted teeth. "He's your son. You aren't my father, remember? Now let me go!"
He did, watching mutely as the boy walked stiffly away, rubbing one arm almost absently as he made his way back to the little circle of sleeping forms. Hakoda didn't follow, only moved into the moonlight to stare at the silvery crescent with unseeing eyes.
A mistake, to be sure, a disaster but no accident. That there were to be consequences should not have surprised him so very much. He was far too old for this, Hakoda decided wearily, sinking down to the stone floor to watch for the return of the sun. There would be no more sleeping for him, not tonight.
-finis-
Next Chapter
By Keelywolfe
Zuko/Hakoda, Zuko/Sokka
R
Part Four in the Insomniacs series
Fathers and Sons
Sins of Your Fathers
Hunted
He heard it, only just barely over the snores and sleepy noises of the others. Soft movement, steps moving around him and Hakoda automatically slit his eyes open, kept his breathing even until he saw who it was.
A familiar form, walking silently towards one of the nearby rooms. He didn't look back, didn't wait, but Hakoda felt the weight of his invitation nonetheless and after a moment, he took it, moving quietly although he doubted very much anything would wake the others. If they could sleep through Chit Sang's snoring, then footsteps weren't likely to be a problem.
"I didn't think you'd come," Zuko said, quietly. He was sitting against the wall, his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees, chin resting atop them. It made him look smaller, younger, and that guilt, the heavy knowledge that he had done this boy no favor by continuing their ill-timed affair rose up again thickly in his throat.
It hadn't been a choice, not a conscious one, but he could hardly call it an accident. A man didn't stumble across a boy, unsleeping in the darkest part of the night, and end up pushing him to the ground, baring that pale, silken skin to his own hands and mouth, by accident. A mistake, to be sure, a disaster, but no accident. He'd simply wanted Zuko and his interest had been returned, had been obvious in those oddly-colored eyes that had watched him since that night they'd first touched.
A mistake but the blame was his. Zuko was young and confused, and his family...his father. No, Hakoda could only blame his loneliness, his years at sea, away from home for his errors in judgment, but never this young man.
"Would you rather I simply avoided you?" Hakoda asked him, settling to the ground next to him. Spirits, he was too old for this, any of this. The stone beneath him was hard, the coolness seeping through his thin prison clothes to chill his bones.
Zuko shrugged, turning his head a little away. The crisp moonlight outlined his face, letting Hakoda see only the sharp silhouette of it, the dips and contours of his nose and lips. There was no question he was a handsome young man, the scar he kept half-hidden behind his hair gave him no shame in Hakoda's eyes; a warrior had scars; it was the way of things.
"So...Sokka?" Hakoda prompted, as though idly curious. "Care to explain?"
"I can't." Softly. He was utterly still but for his hands, fingers moving restlessly against each other. Flameless but there was potential in them, always. Somehow, that no longer unnerved Hakoda the way it had before, potential was not a threat and skill was not always a danger.
"Hm," Hakoda mused, considering that tiny statement. He hadn't expected much, not with Sokka's close-mouthed treatment of the subject whenever Hakoda had subtly probed for information. If his son didn't care to explain with anything but shining eyes and a too-bright smile then he could hardly expect more from a young man who barely spoke at all.
What to make of it, he wasn't sure. Running into the pagoda, he'd thought they were under attack, had been shocked to see his son and Zuko grappling on the floor. Their excuse had been thin to say the least and he might have question them further on it, if he hadn't looked back and seen. Them.
His son in another man's arms, the young man who wasn't so much a lover as he was someone Hakoda had exchanged loneliness with, once. Their mouths had moved together with the tender eagerness of the young. His son. Too young, far too young, especially for this one, his heart had squabbled. But his mind knew that Sokka had been without a parent to guide him for the better part of a year and their kiss hadn't spoken of inexperience as much as it had of new lovers learning each other's touches.
He'd left them to it, ignored the pang in his own heart at his small loss. It would be better this way, better to end things that were never meant to be quickly. Whatever they had been arguing about had surely been heated and Hakoda had suspected at first that Zuko had perhaps told Sokka about their one night together. But the way Zuko had leaned into the kiss, his hands eager on Sokka's shoulders told him a different story; that they were still learning each other and boys had strong hearts and emotions, ones that occasionally lashed out.
"I hope you realize I'm not angry with you. I'm glad you found someone your own age to be with, even if it is my own son. However," his voice hardened, "I do not approve of lying, even by omission. You should have spoken to me before you became involved with Sokka."
Zuko flinched so hard that Hakoda felt it, a ripple of motion as he hunching his shoulders in, "I didn't...we weren't..."
Hakoda softened helplessly at the boy's obvious shame, far too much for such a little indiscretion as a kiss and yet, he resisted the urge to touch him because the memory of his taste, of the hot clasp of his body was still far too recent.
"It's all right," he said, gently, frowning when Zuko didn't unbow, only cringed just slightly away from him. This was not going as he'd intended. "Certainly you shouldn't lie to him about us. I'll speak to him about it tomorrow."
"No," Zuko said, his voice a little choked. "I'll handle it."
That, Hakoda was certain, would be a very bad idea. He should speak to his son about it before he misunderstood. Such mentoring relationships were common in the water tribe, although surely much less so in recent years with few young men to mentor. If Zuko had been water tribe, if had been a little less obviously lonely, Hakoda would have had no qualms about being with him for a time, teaching him this path and leading him into adulthood. It might be better for him to remind Sokka of that before it ruined their budding relationship. Only a mentor, nothing more, and hopefully he wouldn't let it interfere.
"I'm sure he'll understand," Hakoda told him, encouragingly, in case that was what had the boy so glum. He'd known their affair had been ill-timed but he couldn't have possibly expected any of this to crop up and Sokka was an easygoing boy. Surely hearing it from his father rather than Zuko would help. "There's nothing to be ashamed of--"
Zuko's head snapped up and he turned to look at Hakoda for the first time. He was taken aback at the anger glittering in those golden eyes, banked fury, "I am not ashamed of anything I've done."
"No?" Hakoda asked, skeptically. That he doubted, and perhaps he should have left it at that but Hakoda was a straightforward man and solved his problems head on. "Zuko, I don't know if you want to hear this, but you should at least once; what your father did to you was wrong."
"My father?" he said, one hand jerking automatically to his face. Obviously confused, bewildered eyes meeting Hakoda's own blue ones, mirrors of his son's. "What does he have to do with--" Zuko sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening in dawning horror. "You think--my father would never!"
"But..." But he had said, he had spoken of his father...
"I doubt my father has laid a hand on me since I was a small child! Even when he did this," he gestured savagely at his own face, "He didn't touch me! That's why you wanted to be with me? You thought my father had...had hurt me?"
"No, of course not." But there was no strength in the words, shock coloring them weak because he had suspected it, had believed it, and part of him had wanted to erase that terrible memory for Zuko. A memory that it seemed didn't exist.
"My father," Zuko repeated it, tasting the word, and his laughter was obscene, humorless. "You really believed he was fucking me. What, is that a common thing in the water tribe? Something you aren't telling me about Sokka? Or maybe it's Katara?"
For a moment his words were too horrible to comprehend, Zuko passing his broken anger back to Hakoda, filling him to the brim with it, and angry, bitter words rose on his own tongue to be bitten off, unreleased. Something wasn't right here; Zuko was lashing out like a wounded moose lion, desperately hurting before he could be hurt. Everything he'd thought he understood, every answer he'd found was collapsing in on itself like a tiny boat in icy water.
Zuko was climbing to his feet and Hakoda grabbed his upper arms, holding him back, shaking him slightly, "Wait. If your father didn't hurt you, then who did?" Someone had, this boy had the look of a raw wound behind his eyes, a memory that haunted him.
"Even if someone did, it's not really your concern anymore, is it?" he replied, coolly, trying to pull away from Hakoda's tightening grip as he tried to cling to something, to get some answers. Everything was slipping away from him, so much powdery snow in a windstorm.
Perhaps Zuko was not his concern, but there was someone else involved who was very much so. "Then tell me what is happening between you and my son. Explain it to me."
"Ask him," Zuko said through gritted teeth. "He's your son. You aren't my father, remember? Now let me go!"
He did, watching mutely as the boy walked stiffly away, rubbing one arm almost absently as he made his way back to the little circle of sleeping forms. Hakoda didn't follow, only moved into the moonlight to stare at the silvery crescent with unseeing eyes.
A mistake, to be sure, a disaster but no accident. That there were to be consequences should not have surprised him so very much. He was far too old for this, Hakoda decided wearily, sinking down to the stone floor to watch for the return of the sun. There would be no more sleeping for him, not tonight.
-finis-
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