[Rabbithole: Loo and Sokka, post Mikideath]

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The Fire Palace is techincally a series of much smaller buildings grouped together and locked by walled footpaths and ornate gardens. The Imperial audience chambers are in the centre, near where the Royal family live in a smaller, heavily walled domicile. Guests are quartered in expansive rooms in one of the outer rings, a short walk away from the temple, used by all who live in the Palace.

One of the low buildings in the temple itself is dedicated to memorials to the departed. Smoke rises in thin worms from a thousand incense sticks, set before rolls representing the dead, individually or collectively. At the front, facing the worshipper as he enters, are twin rolls representing the parents of the current Fire Lord - one handsome king with his face marked by a hug burn scar, and one exotic looking blue eyed woman, sporting a scar of her own. As only four people in the world have ever met Melaka Fray, no one's arguing the likeness.

The victims of the recent border attack are in a temporary position next to Zuko. Each name is written out in perfect and careful calligraphy grouped by nation, and not one is left out, no matter who they might have been or which element they subscribed to. The sand in front of that scroll burns with more sticks than anywhere else, today.

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Five of them, at least, have been set by the man kneeling before them now.

Sokka has been in this room many time, more than any other part of the palace, and he has always knelt in the same spot: just inside, in front of Zuko and Mel. Iroh assured his privacy and Lu occasionally enforced it with guards outside the doors and he spoke to his long-deceased siblings without fear of anyone questioning his sanity.

Today, he kneels before the newest scrolls with his head bowed and eyes closed.

Today, he can't look at one pair of blue eyes that smile back at him.

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She didn't know he was here. It was probably a good guess, but Louise has been so busy with visiting diplomats and trial arrangements and overseeing

torture

interrogation, that she hadn't been monitoring the only visitor she trusts and loves like the family he is.

If she'd known, she would have left her visit for later, but it's rare she gets a moment to herself and she's coming at leats daily at the moment, setting two sticks together lit by her own fingers.

She just kneels next to him for a moment, head bowed to the shrine.

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He doesn't look over at her, or even open his eyes, but once she's settled, Sokka sighs at his niece's side and lifts his head. His eyes move over the painted blue ink in front of him, over to the black of Loo's hair.

"...where are they?" he asks, voice quiet, calm.

His one request, before joining her on the ironclad, was that he be able to see the men who did this.

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There's a pause before she answers, voice tight.

"Dungeons. My man says they've told him all they're going to."

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"You're sure?"

He speaks in the same quiet, calm voice, but Sokka's hands are on his knees and his knuckles are white.

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"He is."

Louise's head doesn't move from staring at the floor.

"He's the best I've got."

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Nodding slowly, Sokka sighs and finally lifts his gaze. His son stares back at him, smiling Steph's smile, looking at him with his father's eyes. And beside him...

One hand is up, curled around the back of his neck. The other, as he looks to the grey eyes of his daughter-in-law, reaches over to settle over his niece's.

"When can I see them?"

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At first Louise doesn't respond. Then her hand twists around and grabs his tightly, heat rising against his skin.

"They're..." not in a state ot see anyone right now. "I'm going to be sent a messenger when they regain consciousness."

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He doesn't argue. There's no point in seeing them while they're still unconscious.

His hand squeezes hers, the other lifting to pat the back of her hand. "All right. And you'll let me know?"

He has to check.

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"I said I would," Louise says bluntly, her voice still not rising above a whisper.

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"And you know exactly why I have to ask and make sure."

He squeezes her hand but Sokka doesn't look any further than the paintings in front of his face.

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"Sure."

Louise's hand relaxes against his, but the temperature of her skin doesn't fall, her pale skin turning pick at her palm.

"This is going to be done right. I'm not going to let them win."

Her dead tone suggests letting him see them will hinder that.

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His hand is uncomfortable beneath hers, slowly burning. Sokka's fingers curl around her wrist instead, keeping contact without hurting himself. After a long pause, he looks up and right at Loo.

"I didn't come here to tell you how to run your trial. I know I have no place in it. And I'm not here to tell you how to punish your prisoners either. All that I asked was to be able to see them. You don't even have to leave me alone with them.

"I'm not going to get in your way."

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Eyes closed, Louise lifts her head slowly to face the scrolls, and nods slowly.

"I know. I'm glad you're here."

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Nodding once in reply, Sokka pats her hand again. He gives the paintings a final glance, one longer than the others, and then starts to stand, ignoring creaking knees that prefer not to be on the floor so long. "I would have come just for you, Lu," he replies quietly, swallowing back a groan as he straightens.

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"It's not just me," Louise says, standing slowly in a practiced motion that keeps her graceful regardless of her knees' protests. "It's never just me."

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"If it had been," his hand is on her shoulder, a heavy weight rather than warmth with her armor in the way, "I would still be here.

"I'd probably be more helpful, at that."

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Weight or not, her head turns to it, still looking down.

"If it had been I wouldn't have failed her."

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"Don't. This was not your fault. She knew that and she never would have blamed you." Taking a deep breath, Sokka nearly deflates with the exhale, letting his hand pass over her hair where she can feel it. "She knew you loved her and she knew you had other responsibilities. She was too responsible herself - too much like you."

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"Was she?" Louise asks slowly, and steps towards him, armour and all, into his arms.

"I don't know. You knew her better than me."

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Wrapping his arms around her, Sokka drops his chin to his chest, eyes closing halfway. "She knew you. She used to ask about you all the time - don't worry, Steph and I were glad to tell her as many stories as we could think of.

"She was proud of you," he says quietly, petting her hair, "proud of where she came from."

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Louise inhales deeply, and exhales slowly, catching occasionally.

"Jesu, Uncle. I'm such a mess."

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"You're allowed to be." He hugs her a little tight, bowing a little more, trying to curl around her almost. He wishes Iroh was here.

He loves Lu but Iroh was his introduction to having a son and he wants to hold onto that, too.

"Don't worry what you look like. Break down now while you have the time, I'm not going to tell anyone, Louise."

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She had been fighting it, but calling her 'Louise' just breaks the last thing she had, and the thirty-six year old woman gasps in sobs as she curls into her uncle's arms.

She was seven when her mother died, fifteen when her dad followed. She's buried an Uncle, sent a sister off to uncertain death, and submitted a child to the Earth Kingdom for the look of it.

And finally something's managed to knock the wind out of her.

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Sokka may be Water Tribe, but he takes that wind without breaking a step, holding her tightly, stroking her hair and back. His head is bowed, his eyes half-closed, he holds her and encourages her to break down...

He doesn't break back, murmuring low toned words against her hair while he holds her up.