A/N:

AU prompt challenge from Tumblr - Full Metal Alchemist. Requested by Focusas.

- Ghosts -

Resenbool never struck Azula as a particularly significant place.

As far as her eyes could see the rolling hills stretched out in all directions like a vast green sea, the tall grasses swaying gently in the spring sun, trees rustling in the breeze. She could almost pretend like the war never touched this place, if it weren't for the occasional crater the farmers in the area worked their fields around.

The parking brake groaned as she pulled the lever up, killing the engine with the turn of a key as the harsh metallic chatter of the pistons ceased. As Azula opened the door to her automobile she could hear bells clatter in the distance as a lone shepherd hurried his flock along, sheep baying as they trotted away.

Quaint living. Everything seemed so green. Hardly tarnished. The sands of Ishval seemed so far away, distant as a half-remembered dream.

Azula sighed, breathing in the air as her gaze settled upon the portly old shepherd, the past echoing through her. If only she could truly forget.

She didn't miss the look in the old man's eyes as he quickly turned away, waddling behind his flock. Disgust, fear, hatred, it didn't matter. It was all the same to her. She wasn't welcomed by most in Resenbool, but they would, under penalty of imprisonment or death, tolerate her presence. State Alchemists were, after all, backed by the power of the central government. She was living weapon, ready to be unchained and let loose upon Amestria's enemies.

Just as she was let loose in Ishval all those years ago.

Her boots crunched against the dirt path up to the small, run down cottage. Azula stopped in front of the door, just shy of knocking on the wood. Her automotive arm shook, joints grinding and chinking against steel plating. Little electrical pulses coursed through the wiring as her eye twitched painfully, grinding her teeth slowly as faces of the dead flashed through her mind.

She reigned herself in, pinching her eyes shut, clutching her metallic arm as she breathed through her nose, fighting the pain.

A tune-up. She just needed a tune up. Faulty wiring. That was the problem. A quick fix, and she was fit to go.

Her voice trembled for moment.

"Don't break."

Looking up, she opened her eyes to the sun shining above. Listening to the trees sway in the wind, she took a deep breath, swiftly matted out the creases in her royal blue uniform, straightened her garrison cap, and in one decisive motion tapped her metal fingers against the door.

]|||[

With a light grunt and a final turn of the screwdriver, Sokka tightened the last of the steel forearm plates.

"Okay," he said, wiping the sweat off his nose, "that ought to do it. Try it out and move it around a bit."

Azula swiftly spat out the piece of thick rubber she bit down on, getting up from her seat beside the workbench. Wiping the sweat trickling down her forehead, she smoothed the creases in her tank top.

She huffed, "Finally."

Sokka narrowed his eyes, "'Finally'? You can't rush this stuff you know."

Rolling her shoulders, she stretched out the steel prosthetic, mechanical fingers grasping at the air, "You take your time while I sit in pain."

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms, "You won't take the anesthetic. I keep telling you there's no shame in it. Just because you've got wires in that arm doesn't mean you can't feel anything. You know how careful I have to be installing that arm?"

A pause. She stiffened her back and her metallic fingers ceased to move.

She turns to him with a sharp glare, "I'm aware."

Sighing, Sokka threw his hands up, mimicking surrender, "Fine, whatever, you're the state alchemist, you obviously know more about the fine arts of mechanical engineering and surgical medicine than the guy who practices both."

Boot's shifted against the worn floorboards as Azula took a stance, jabbing her mechanical arm at the air. Again she did it, falling into a practiced rhythm, testing for any tension in the joints, wary for any rogue electrical spark that might throw her off balance.

It was smooth and effortless, as if the arm she lost during the war was never blown off. He certainly had the touch.

"Lucky for you I didn't have to do a complete overhaul," Sokka said, rising from his seat, listening for squeaks or screeches in the joints, "Wires in the bicep and joint connecting it to the pneumatic actuator were worn out, so it was just a matter of replacing and hooking them back up to your nervous system."

Folding his arms, he leaned against a wall and watched Azula deliver an uppercut to an invisible foe. She was sweating again, flaring her nostrils with each jab.

He smirked, practically talking to himself, "And then a routine oiling, a bit of polishing here and there. Oh, and I did have to replace the steel plating near the shoulder joint with something lighter. Just so happened to have some new aluminum alloy plates lying around. Figure that would take some stress off the ball bearings in the shoulder joint."

She stopped abruptly, looking at him through narrowed eyes, "Yes. It feels… different."

"It should. I mean, the plates are from an M1911F model, but the good thing about that line is that you can practically jury-rig it to the earlier M1910 series models without anyone being the wiser."

"Hm. Very resourceful of you."

Sokka covered his mouth, feigning coquettishness, "Oh, stop it, you! You're going to make me blush."

She rolled her eyes, groaning, "Your sarcasm is as grating as ever."

"I consider it a healthy sense of humor myself," he said, lifting himself from the wall as he strolled into the kitchen the next room over, "I fix up people's limbs for a living now, Azula, its messy work. Gotta laugh about something now and then!"

Leaving her to freshen up and put on her coat, Sokka browsed the cupboards for a few clean drinking glasses. He hardly had any and most of the dishes were in the sink, still dirty from the night before. Sighing, he took two from the top of the stack of dirty plates, slung a nearby dishrag over his shoulder, and rinsed out the glasses with some soap. Satisfied, he dried them off and set them on the nearby table.

As he was rummaging through the cupboards again he heard Azula's heavy footsteps against the creaking floorboards, taking her seat at one of the chairs near the small table.

"Hang on, I'll find it," he said, pushing aside cups and dishes, "Its here somewhere…"

He could feel her eyes on his back, judging him, "Don't you remember where it is?"

"Sometimes? I mean I like to switch it up from time to time, just to throw off any cops that might search my place. Ishval Whiskey is rare and illegal here. Resenbool is in a dry county after all."

"That's stupid, just keep it in a place you will remember."

He looked back at her, "I do remember where it is… I think."

She shook her head derisively, "Ugh. Idiot. Its in the last cupboard on the right."

Quirking and eyebrow, Sokka slowly made his way to the cupboard she specified. Rummaging through it and looking toward the back, sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

He blinked, "Oh. There it is."

Azula merely inspected the metal digits on her automotive hand, causally clinking them together, "I told you so."

"How did you know?"

"Because when I was here last week, you got a little too drunk. I set you on your bed and put the bottle there."

He searched his memory, tilting his head to the side, "Ah. Right."

"Indeed."

Gently, she took hold of a nearby glass, teetering it from side to side, "Now lets have that drink shall we? I'm parched."

Blinking, Sokka shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the dark blue bottle of whiskey from behind the stack of plates.

"I'll get the snacks then."

]|||[

The sun had set over the horizon and the stars began glinting in the night sky just outside the cottage window. Candlelights caught in the empty whiskey bottle. The cheese and crackers long since devoured. Time had slipped away, the waning hours filled with drinks, stories, and laughter.

As the kitchen grew dim, the last light of the sun snuffed out over the hills, Sokka was content to share the silence with Azula.

His finger traced a circle over the rim of his empty glass, his mind swimming in warm bliss, frogs croaking outside his window. Not a bad way to spend an evening, he supposed.

The chair Azula sat in creaked as she leaned back against it. She idly searched the pockets of her military coat and pulled out her silver pocket watch, flipping the lid open and checking the time. Even in the dim light Sokka could still make out the pentagram - the emblem - of the Amestrian state alchemists carved over the surface.

She sighed as she tossed the watch on the table, her voice alien and harsh, eyes glued to the half-empty glass in front of her.

"Do you remember it? Ishval?"

Sokka blinked, puzzled by her tone. She reached out and gently traced her metal fingers over the emblem on the watch.

"I… try not to. Its hard sometimes," he said, clearing is throat.

She slowly nodded her head, "It keeps you up at night, doesn't it?"

He winced at her words, lips tightly pursed, "Volunteers like me had it rough too, Azula."

"No doubt. Eight years of bloody attrition."

"And eight years of dying. Fuck. If I'd had known what I signed up for I wouldn't have joined the state army. I don't know how a damn fool like me made through."

She chuckled, without a hint of cheer, running her hands through her neatly combed hair, "Of course you don't. A little man like you hunched in a ditch, clutching his rifle, against the fanatical Ishvalans hordes. I bet you and your friends cheered as we alchemists came in and cut them all down for you."

His chest tightened painfully and a cold shiver snaked up his spine. The smell of cordite from spent shells thick in his nose, the course white sand blinding him, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue.

The sizzle and pop of burning flesh consumed by azure flames.

Sokka's eyes darted to the empty whiskey bottle, yearning for another drink. He looked to Azula instead, her gaze leveled at him, "… some of us did."

Azula scoffed, "Perhaps. Did you?"

He gulped hard, as if trying to swallow a rock lodged in his throat, "I don't remember really. Too busy keeping my head down or-"

The bone caved in as he bashed the bastard's head in with the butt of his rifle, the sand turning red. Again and again and again and again and-

"-trying to survive."

Sokka started to rub his hands together, feeling cold. He could still feel how his sweaty palms clenched the rifle, how the man squirmed under him, grasping at his uniform.

"You did what you had to do," she heard him say.

He turned to the alchemist. Her eyes were still fixed on the silver pocket watch, her metal fingers resting over the smooth surface.

"Was that all though? Just… following orders? Kill them all before they kill us?"

She fixed him with glare through narrowed eyes, "Orders. Hmph. Orders are what got us stuck in that quagmire in the first place. Command sends recruits into the most barren place in Amestria over a few scuffles, thinking firepower and numbers will win the day, and then they send in the state alchemists to fix their stupid mistake."

Her mechanical fingers tightened over the pocket watch. Sokka's eyes widened as the silver metal buckled under the pressure. He could hear the glass breaking and the little gears grind to a halt.

She spoke through gritted teeth, "And to fight what, Sokka? To kill what? A rabble of fucking civilians?"

He stared off into the shadows of the kitchen, trying to make sense of it all, looking for an answer, "I… I-I don't-"

He leveled his sights on her as she clutched her father's arm tightly, the old man's head covered in bandages, both their faces pressed against the stone wall.

God. No.

She looked like Katara.

"Aim!"

"For god sake, why!? Kill me, not them! I shot your friend, why should the rest die!"

His insides churned. The oldman's voice rang in his ears. He wasn't going to do it. He wasn't going to do it. He wasn't going to do it. He wasn't going to-

"Fire!"

He choked on a single word, "… yes."

And then it hit him. It hit him as hard as the bullet he put in the girl's head. He felt sick all over again.

Sokka turned to Azula, "That's exactly what we did. And now there's nothing left of Ishval."

Her eyes seared his soul, wrath drenched in grief. She started breathing through her nose and fixed a menacing glare on him.

Without warning, she shot up from her seat, teeth clenched, the silver pocket watch clutched in her automotive hand, ready to throw it at him. He jumped from his chair as he shielded his face, falling to the floor, glasses cracking against the wood as they fell.

He expected fire to conjure from her hand at the flick of her wrist. She could do it easily - the transmutation circle etched into her glove allowed her to conjure flames at her leisure. He had seen so many die that way, a trail of ash and bone left in her wake, blue cinders carrying on the wind.

But there was nothing. No fire, no smoke, no seared flesh. Only the sound of steel splintering wood as the table shattered to pieces under Azula's ferocious strength. Her eyes desperately searched the dim room, looking for a way out of the dark. She ambled about, finally collapsing to her knees, the drinks taking their toll on her. Gears and shards of silver fell through her steel fingers as she buried her face in her palms.

Sokka could barely hear Azula's voice as her shoulders bucked violently, her body slouched forward, "Are… a-are we monsters?"

He stared, unable to answer. His eyes stung and her words began to sink in.

"Murderers? W-Were-," she tried feebly to rein herself in, "Were we soldiers or exterminators, Sokka?"

In the dimness of the kitchen he could barely make out her form. Fighting back a painful headache as his vision blurred, he slowly got up and stumbled his way toward Azula, feet shuffling passed shards of glass.

He tried to speak, "I… want to believe we were soldiers, Azula."

With one swift motion and a hard pull, his father ripped the medal from his uniform and threw it to the floor. The flimsy bronze metal bent and the colorful ribbon was rend from the pin.

For bravery - for mowing down dozens with a maxim gun in a single afternoon.

Katara held her mother as they looked on, their faces hard and unkind.

"Get out! I won't have a murderer in this house!"

"Dad, wait, just let me-"

"I said get out!"

Kneeling down beside her, he wrapped his arms around her body, face nuzzled into the nape of her neck, "But it's hard to pretend we were. We can't keep lying."

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he pulled her in close. She was so warm and he felt so cold. The war only ever drained him of his strength, even after it was over, and it was a struggle just to keep it from his mind. He felt so selfish as he held her tight. He didn't want to let go.

His eyes widened as Azula's arms wrapped around his neck. He could feel her tears trickle down and touch his cheeks, her metal hand grasping tightly at the back of his head, the last pieces of the pocket watch falling between her fingers. She couldn't hold back anymore. All he could do was hold her, knowing it was just a futile gesture.

Time slowly passed away as the silence of the night crept by. He stayed like that with her, but for how long he didn't know. He just held her until the tears dried, until his grip around her waist slackened and their breathing calmed, the war heavy in their hearts.

Her voice was slow and measured, "I can still hear it. At night, when the crickets finally sleep."

Sokka's hand went to her head, gently running his fingers through her hair.

She breathed in his scent and stared off into the darkness, "Howitzers when they shake the ground, bullets when they pass over your head. That horrendous, deafening noise when the maxim guns open up. It just won't leave."

His eyes twitched at the memory and he sighed into her hair. He could still feel the vibration of the gun, how it shook him to the bone like a buzz saw through wood, how the muzzle flashes blinded him just before he tore men in half.

She continued, "… There was this platoon trapped in the heart of the Old City. I remember passing you by when we took the minaret over looking El Zeyd Square. You waved at me."

"… I remember. You didn't wave back."

"They we're pinned down. Going to be overrun. A runner from the platoon managed to get through. Said they needed a state alchemist. I rushed there as fast as I could."

Sokka closed his eyes, rubbing her head, remembering the sun baked ruins of the Old City.

"Runner took a bullet as we rushed down an alley. Died before he hit the ground. Didn't even hear where the shot came from with all the noise. I just kept running. I knew I was close."

She paused, her body tensing up.

"Azula?" he asked.

"… I rushed into a building, choking on dust. Started to…" she gulped, clearing her throat, "to clear out the rooms. I could hear them, the Ishvalans, on the next floor above me."

Another pause. Sokka didn't press her.

She soldered on regardless, "… They never saw me coming. Room by room, I burned them out. I didn't stop, not even when I choked on the smoke. I just kept going, kept burning everything I saw. I can't even remember how many I killed. Its all just a blur."

His hands started to shake as a cold shiver coursed through him. The Azure Flame Alchemist. That's what they called her. A walking, breathing flame-thrower.

"And in those flames I…" she stuttered, choking on her words, "I saw him. A little boy with glasses. Dancing. And screaming. Fire consuming him. Family burning up as he tried to escape."

Sokka's eyes widened. Her voice trembled as she continued, "He… rushed out of the room. Tackled me. I kicked him off with my boot and he… he hit his little head on the wall and started squirming. Crying…"

She buried her head in in the crook of his neck. Sokka could feel warm tears trickle down his skin.

"Tried to put him out. Made a special transmutation circle on the floor as quick as I could. Made some water for him. He just… he just wouldn't stop crying."

Azula's arms recoiled from around his neck as her automotive hand started to shake violently. She slowly rung her hands, as if trying to wipe some stain off of them.

"I tried to drag him away. His little shirt crumbled to ash. His flesh just…" she shook her head, "… just peeled off. Could feel his bones in the palm of my hands as I lifted him up."

Her voice cracked as she sniffed through her nose, "I ran with him in my arms. Left the platoon to die. Took him all the way back to our lines to a bivouac. He screamed the entire way. I laid him down in front of a medic, threatened him. Told him to save the kid."

She ran her palms over her face and breathed, rage in place of sorrow, "… he didn't even look at him. He just… called over a soldier and told him to 'do it'. And he ended the boy. With one, two bashes to his head, right in front of me."

She looked at Sokka, searching for answers he couldn't give, "I never did that again. I couldn't. So I followed orders. I made sure my kills were quick. Clean. That boy is my nightmare, Sokka. Reminds me that I'm a monster."

Her eyes were heavy and her head lolled from sheer exhaustion.

Azula looked away, "I'm so tired. So fucking tired. I just want a night where I don't see him."

Without thinking, with no words to reassure her, fatigue making him groggy, Sokka merely kissed her forehead. She barely registered the gesture.

"Stay here tonight. Got a spare cot," he said, helping her up as he lifted off the floor.

Nodding, she staggered through the dark out of the kitchen door, turning the corner down a short hallway, Sokka close behind. She struggled to turn the door handle, cursing under her breath as it finally opened.

He felt there was something he could have said, something to tell her that everything would be all right, that she wasn't alone. His head began to swim, the whiskey playing hell on his thoughts, and the words just wouldn't come out. It was a struggle just to stand straight.

As she entered the spare room, he bit his lower lip, desperately trying to say something.

But what could he say? How could he possibly help Azula if the same demons haunted his every thought? She wouldn't believe him.

He slurred the only words he could think of, "G'night."

Yet, just as he turned away, Sokka heard her call out to him.

"Stay."

He pinched his eyes shut. He didn't know what came over him. He just knew that a warm body beside him would make the cold nights a little bearable for a change. Keep the nightmares away. He felt so empty sleeping alone.

When he entered the room and closed the door Azula was already on the cot, her back toward him as she slept facing the wall. She didn't bother taking off her boots or her uniform. That suited him fine. As he lay down beside her he left his clothes on as well. He was too tired to even unbutton his shirt.

As he wrapped an arm around her waist she scooted in and arched her back to the curve of his chest, metallic fingers gliding across his forearm. They were surprisingly tender. He nuzzled his head in the nape of her neck, lips on her skin, arms holding her tight.

It was deep into the night before Sokka fell asleep. He listened to Azula softly breathe, fatigue finally claiming her, steel fingers twitching now and again against his arm. Her words still rang in his thoughts, keeping him awake.

Are we monsters?

He feared the answer. There was blood on his hands, on her hands, and nothing could wipe away the stains.

He fell asleep, silently praying for an answer, hoping for a way to take it all back, to anyone above who would listen.

The last thing he heard was a lone cricket's reply.

A/N:

Hey, hope you enjoyed!

If you'd like to read more Sokkla stories, then please check out Clarielparke, Purpleplatypusbear21, Focusas, LordStone and Seyary-Minamoto for more enjoyable Sokkla stories!

See you with the next installment!