A/n: @firelxrdsdaughter wanted Sokkla having lunch with her parents. The first part is mostly lead up. Will do the rest tomorrow.
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Lunch
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“You’re sure you don’t want us there?” Zuko is wringing his hands together in front of him. It’s an uncharacteristically nervous tic. Azula watches him in the mirror. He’s pacing. Zuko prefers not to pace. He stops to her left, meeting her eyes in the glass, “It’s not a problem. I can call Mai.”
Azula sighs, setting her brush aside. She half turns to look at him, “It’s just lunch, Zuzu. There’s no need for all this fuss.”
Her words don’t placate him. She’s understands. There isn’t quite enough conviction in her voice. She can’t…quite bring herself to believe it. Zuko purses his lips, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “It’s your first lunch. With Sokka. And mom and dad. That’s big.”
“It’s just lunch.”
He sighs, “Have you told Sokka anything about…you know…?”
“Our family? No. Not yet,” she winds a stray bit of hair around her finger, “It’s never come up.” The subject is always awkward. Azula prefers not to talk about herself. Her family was private and her life was private. She guarded both zealously. And…more selfishly, people changed once she divulged the details of her family life. People wanted money and power. Her family had both in excess.
Zuko must notice the line of her thoughts. He interrupts her, softer, “Sokka isn’t like that. He won’t care about the money. Or anything else.”
She knows that. In her heart, she truly does. Azula nods, picking up her brush again, “Maybe.”
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They’ve been dating six months now. He’s been patient with her, careful not to push or bring up anything to make her uncomfortable. Azula is…grateful. For as many similarities as they share, he is far more open, emotionally…stable, open. She can never decide on the correct word. When she suggests, tentatively, almost guarded, that he meet her parents, the Brave just grins.
That’s it. He smiles. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Just nods and presses a quick kiss to the back of her knuckle before he goes back to his dinner.
She likes to think she’s learned how to read him over the course of their time together. Sokka is silent, drumming his fingers against his knee. He keeps glancing out the passenger window, scanning the city. He doesn’t talk. Not even to babble. He’s nervous.
Azula clears her throat, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel, “You’re quiet today.”
“It’s called introspection,” he flashes her a lopsided smile. It never quite manages to reach his eyes. Sokka purses his lips, tapping one finger against the glass, “So uh…I don’t wanna pry. But. Kind of flying blind here. Is there anything I need to know? About…”
“My parents?” He nods. His typically expressive face is blank. She doesn’t like the change. Azula takes a breath, tongue flicking out to smooth along the seam of her lips. “They are a typical couple, I suppose. Father met mother when he was away from the family at college. They’ve been together since.”
“Naw, I meant more. What are they like? Are there any landmines I should be avoiding?” She winces, just slightly. He catches it. “Oh. Oh, no. That’s…not a good look. I’m the landmine, aren’t I?”
“My father can be…exacting…”
His tries for a smile, “I’m very charming?”
She shakes her head, focusing on the road. Sokka shifts beside her, muttering to himself, his long legs looking too cramped in her car. She reaches over and takes his hand without thinking.
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Mother picked the restaurant. It shows. The decor is light and airy, rich without looking pretentious. Dad would have wanted something more…striking. Sokka clears his throat, glancing down at his blazer and jeans. He’s not…criminally under-dressed. The look the hostess shoots them suggests he’s towing the line. Azula squeezes his hand.
“Miss Huo,” the young woman behind the counter smiles at them, radiantly bright. She makes a fluid gesture with her arm, indicating the room to their left, “The rest of your party has already been seated. If you will follow me.”
Sokka nudges her shoulder with his own, “I thought we were early?”
She grits her teeth, “We’re Water Tribe early, Sokka. My father…”
“Can be more exacting, yeah, I got it.” He tugs at his undershirt, “I should have bought a suit.”
They follow the hostess to the back of the restaurant and through another side door. It leads to a secondary parlor, more private, sequestered away from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant proper. Azula counts three tables in total. Only one is set for lunch.
It’s been…longer than she cares to admit since she saw her parents. The months haven’t changed them in the slightest. Her father stands, hands linked at the small of his back. In his dark suit, he cuts an austere image, expression stern. His dress shirt is a deep red, an exact match to the shade of his wife’s summer dress. Ozai nods to her.
Her mother is more forthcoming. She holds out her right hand, taking a few steps towards them, “Darling, you’re more beautiful than ever.” Azula sets her hand in the other woman’s, biting back a smile as she’s pulled into a gentle embrace. Ursa is taller woman, more delicately built. She presses her lips to Azula’s temple, voice barely more than a whisper, “I’ve slipped your father a few drinks already to smooth the process.”
Her mother steps back. Her gaze sweeps over Sokka betraying a momentary shock before she schools her expression. She’s placid, no emotion, a consummate businesswoman, “And you must be Sokka.”
“That’s uh…that’s me,” he holds his hand out to her.
Ursa smiles. The gentility of the expressions sets Azula on edge. In some ways, it’s more dangerous than her father’s outward severity. Her mother takes his hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek, “Azula didn’t share any details about her family, did she?”
“I…knew she had parents.”
She laughs, “Well, I suppose that’s a good start. You may call me Ursa. And that brooding oaf is my husband, Ozai.” She loops her arm through the young man’s, walking him towards their table. “Azula, you never mentioned he was Water Tribe.”
Her father’s attention is fixed on her, expression hard. She feels…very young again, very foolish. Azula squares her shoulders, refusing to shift under his attention. Something flickers in his eyes, there one moment and gone the next. Ozai’s voice is droll. He turns to help Ursa into her seat, “I expect there are a great many things our daughter has been hiding from us.”
“Hush, dear. There’s no need to get prickly.” Ursa motions to the seats opposite of them, “Please sit.”
Azula takes a steadying breath. Sokka pulls her chair out for her before taking his own seat. It’s just lunch. She makes a show of inspecting her menu, the fingers of her free hand curling in the fabric of her skirt. Sokka shifts closer. He sets his hand over hers, squeezing.
Fanwright 