Summer Camp

Chapter Thirteen- Rain

That night a soft rain slowly started to patter down over the camp. It drummed gently on the roofs and windows of the buildings. But soon the peaceful drizzle turned to a heavy downpour.

Zuko woke to a bright crack of lightning, panicked. He sat up, his heart pounding wildly. Rain. It was raining. Rains was a trigger. It brought with it the painful memories of his mother, his father. They haunted him, swirled in his head like demons - unrelentless.

He tried to focus on good things -his uncle, his uncles tea shop- but the bad outnumbered the good ten to one. As another bolt of lightning flashed outside a searing pain shot through his scar.

The deafening blast of thunder that followed woke Sokka, who sat bolt upright with a sharp inhale.

Zuko opened his mouth to speak but another stab of pain cut off his unspoken words.

Sokka realized it was raining and hurriedly glanced over towards the other boy. "Zuko-"

"They hated me."

"What?" Sokka asked.

"Correction: They hate me."

"Who?"

"My father, my sister, basically everyone on the face of the planet."

Sokka crossed to sit beside Zuko on the cot, "No. That's not true. I don't hate you. Aang, Katara, Toph- they don't hate you. Your uncle doesn't hate you."

"My mother left me! She left and she didn't even say goodbye-"

"I know... It's not fair. But maybe she had a good reason."

"Yeah, sure. Maybe she didn't hate me. But Sokka, my father held my face in a wood stove. He fucking pushed his thirteen year old son headfirst into a wood stove." Zuko said this with a detached rage, as if he still couldn't quite believe it.

Sokka was silent at this, knowing that there was nothing to say, nothing he should say. So, instead of speaking, he simply took Zuko's hand.

Both were quiet.

Then Sokka spoke into the silence, "My mother died. She was a police officer."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok," Sokka replied, "I don't remember her that much. I do remember that she smelled like lavender and fresh snow. And you know the necklace that Katara always wears? That was hers."

"My mother always smelled like incense and jasmine. When she left, my father erased her. He sold all her things, all of her belongings... gone. But he can't erase memories," Zuko sighed. "He can't erase my memories."

And they sat there in the dark for a long time, shoulder to shoulder, holding hands and listening to the heavy rain pouring down outside.