Chapter Text
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
Red Sand Island, Present
There were very few times in Katara’s adult life where she was completely surprised. Speechless. Fully taken aback. In the last twenty years, Master Katara, Renowned Healer and Ender of the Hundred Years War, could count the number of times she’d been truly shocked on one hand. Among them, was the the first time she found out she was pregnant, the day they realized Tenzin was an air bender, the night they found Kya illegally entered in a pro-bending competition, and today, when their son stood confidently in front of his parents telling them he wanted to represent an entire nation.
“What?” Aang sputtered next to her, wide eyed. Tenzin stepped towards his parents, wearing a look of determination that was annoyingly familiar.
“This way, you and dad can stay and the meeting will still go the way we want,” their son answered calmly. Katara didn’t like this. His stature, his reasoning, the way we want.
“No.” She said, definitively. He pressed on.
“Bumi needs to go to Caldera anyways, so I’ll just be there a week or so early,” Tenzin reasoned. Katara massaged the bridge of her nose, still trying to wrap her mind around the sincerity of his plan.
“That’s not just ‘going early,’ sweetie. You’d be in official meetings, I don’t think you understand-”
“I do.” Tenzin interrupted. Katara raised an eyebrow. A small part of her was almost proud of his boldness, but the part that was upset was far, far larger. “I can meet with dad before I go to make sure I know specifics, and Sokka can help me when we’re there,” Tenzin continued. He turned to face his father, who had been fairly silent in the discussion, “like you said, we really just need to be represented. I won’t do any real debating.” A million thoughts were racing in Katara’s mind. It felt like she was watching a storm strike, piece by piece.
“It… it could work. Maybe.” Sokka pipped up. Katara had nearly forgotten he was there, observing patiently from the chair beside Bumi’s bed. She was dumbfounded. How could he not see what she was seeing?
“Sokka.” Katara warned. Her brother shifted in his chair.
“What?” He questioned. Katara shot him a look. She’d kill him. She’d kill him right now.
“You’re thirteen.” Aang said, finally. It was just too close.
“Bumi started going to meetings around my age,” Tenzin said, defensively. He had all but lost the professional persona he’d greeted them with, just minutes before. In a small way, this was a comfort to Katara, a welcome return of normal, childish frustration. While tried her best to separate her work and her children, certain things tended to sneak in, even unconsciously. She had been to enough debates to know when an opposing side was running out of moves.
“He started going a shadow, Tenzin. You can’t vote in a United Alliance meeting.” Katara stated. It was a poor defense and he knew it. She could see how this would play out. Her son would realize his parents were right, and they could comfort him and thank him for trying his best. Katara wished so badly to wrap him up and hold close, like she would when he was a baby, shielding him from the rest of the world. This wasn’t his to fix. However, what happened next was not what she pictured. Instead of deflating, Tenzin stood up straight, and took a breath deeper than she could imagine. His face turned stern, his grey eyes met theirs, undaunted.
“I am one of two air benders in the entire world.” Tenzin said, firmly. “If there is anyone who could represent our people in an unequivocal position, it’s me.” The room was silent. Tenzin hadn’t been out of moves at all. He just the gravity of his tiles. A pit began to form in Katara’s stomach. She’d need two hands to count now.
“He’s right.” Kya said, suddenly from her perch on the foot of the bed. Katara sighed as the early morning secret came flooding back to her. Through hushed whispers and darting eyes, he had relayed the plan just under her nose. I’ll back you up.
“Okay.” Aang started, his brows furrowed as he thought, “your plan… it’s iffy, but it could work. Still…you don’t need to do this. You’re… you’re a kid.” Katara took her husbands hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“Honey, he’s right,” Katara started, moving toward Tenzin. She placed one and on his shoulder and cupped his face. “Even if you can do it, it doesn’t mean that you should.”
“I’m not just a kid,” Tenzin said, gently moving his mother’s hand off his face. Katara didn’t like how firmly held her hand in his, like he was trying to comfort her. “This will be my job someday anyways, right? I don’t see why I can’t start now. Please, I want to do this for our family.” Katara’s eyes widened. This was too much. Too close.
“Aang.” Katara said, ignoring her son’s plea. Her husband, equally mortified, understood and moved to leave. With an absent-minded we’ll be right back, Katara left the room. Her mind was racing as Tenzin’s words swirled in her brain.
I want to do this for my family.
“He can’t do this, right?” Katara confirmed, shutting the door hastily. Aang nodded in agreement.
“Well, maybe hear him out,” Sokka countered, shoving himself through a small slit left in the door. Katara jumped back.
“Sokka!” She yelled, exasperated. Her brain was buzzing. It was all too much.
“This,” Aang stated, motioning to the hospital, “is still my first. But what just happened. That is my second worst fear.” Katara knew. Tenzin’s idea, his manner, his words. It was like looking in a twisted mirror.
“There’s no way. He’s not going.” Katara exclaimed.
“Everything we wanted to avoid is playing out right now,” Aang continued, rubbing his temples. Sokka opened his mouth to refute, but another voice beat him to it.
“Okay, so I know it sounds like a bad idea-” Kya started, weaving through the crack in the door.
“Tui and La. Kya, go back in the room.” Katara instructed, running a hand through her hair. She cursed herself for not moving outside to speak with Aang. Her family was now blocking the hallway.
“Do you have another option?” Kya questioned. Katara raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t realized she’d been pacing, but her daughter’s words stopped her in her tracks. She looked to Aang, who had lifted his head from his hands, equally stunned.
“What?” Aang asked.
“Our options right now are no one goes and it doesn’t get passes, dad goes, or Tenzin goes, right?” Kya continued. Katara watched as Aang nodded.“And if dad goes, Bumi will say it’s fine and that he doesn’t mind but that will be a lie and he’ll be sad and suck it up because he already feels so guilty about dragging us here in the first place, or you let Tenzin go.” Katara blinked. Her children were full of surprises today.
“Kya,” Katara started, softer, "we appreciate you both trying…, but your brother just can’t do this yet.”.
“But he wants to.” Kya reasoned, adding earnestly, “and I think he’s ready.” Under different circumstances, Katara and Aang would be celebrating the (at times) seemingly unattainable goal of their two younger children not only getting along, but supporting each other. But that victory would have to be celebrated another day.
“He’s thirteen, honey.” Aang added, once more.
“But Tenzin isn’t you, dad. He’s not either of you.” Kya challenged, raising her voice. Katara froze. Aang’s back stiffened. Kya looked between her parents and took a breath, slowing as she continued. “Going to this meeting… it’s not going to scar him or burden him, because he’s choosing to. He wants to. And the fate of the world doesn’t hang in the balance if he doesn’t, but it makes our lives easier, so he wants to go.” Kya paused, letting her words sink in. “Okay, I’m leaving. That was it.” Katara watched as her daughter slipped back through the door, closing it firmly shut on her way out.
“I’ll give you guys a moment,” Sokka said, finally, “but whatever you decide know that I’d be with him, the whole time.” With that, her brother went back inside, leaving Katara and Aang in the hallway once again.
“I don’t. I know-” Aang started, not meeting her eyes as he tried to find the words, “I don’t think any of them…are me.”
“I know… me too.” Katara leaned back against the wall beside Bumi’s door, letting her head rest against the cool concrete.
“But she’s right.”Aang said, joining her against the wall. “This wouldn’t hurt him. It’s not the same.” He didn’t have to say it. She knew.
“I just hate the fact that he thinks he has to fix this.” Katara sighed. Hate was an understatement. It was closer to a gnawing ache she could feel deep in her bones. The feeling was nestled beside the memories of tiny shoulders and baby faces forced to argue with undeserving bureaucrats in peace talks that determined the fate of the world. “It terrifies me.”
“Me too.” Aang agreed. Katara leaned over on the wall to rest her shoulder on his arm.
“It’s crazy,” she stated. Aang chuckled lightly. It was a welcome sound.
“Yeah.” Aang reasoned, “but the meetings only last for a week, right?”
“So… only seven days of crazy.” Katara said, laying her head on his shoulder.
“And we’ll all be heading to Caldera in two weeks anyways.” Aang added.
“True.” Katara mused.
“Sokka would be there the whole time.” Aang continued, he took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers.
“And Zuko. And Mai, and Toph, and Suki.” Katara listed. They stood in a comfortable silence. The storm which had wrapped her attention had all but subsided.
“So we’re going back in?” Aang asked, stepping off the wall with a tired smile. Katara, hand still folded in his, let him pull her back up.
“Yeah,” she reasoned, “I guess we are.”
Her children had been right. They couldn’t hold him back. It could work.
Fire Nation Palace, Present
One of the best parts of the Fire Nation palace, was family breakfast. Lin was told once by her auntie that it was a tradition Uncle Iroh had started when Zuko first took to the throne. But she didn’t quite mind how it started, she was grateful. The practice reminded her of dinners on Air Temple Island. All of her aunts and uncles always discussed whatever official business they had during the day, and it made her feel important, like she had the inside scoop on global affairs. While she didn’t always partake in the commotion, she liked to observe it all. At times she often felt like a fly on the wall of her chaotic family, but in a way she liked, knowing that if she wanted, it would be easy to join the fray. Today, the table seated her Uncle Zuko, Auntie Mai, Auntie Suki, her mother, and sister. It was nice to see everyone all at once, right when she started the day, especially now.
“All I’m saying,” Lin’s mother said, waving her fork in Zuko’s direction, “is that if you had let me move that statue when I offered, it wouldn’t have a Su-sized dent in it right now.” Zuko’s eyes widened in mock-frustration. Suki stifled a laugh.
“And if you had told me,” Zuko said, scoffing, “that you’d be using artifacts as training dummies, I wouldn’t have let you practice in my garden.”The event in question had taken place earlier that morning, when Toph had her daughters run through a new set of group drills. Personally, Lin hated having to navigate a routine with her younger sister, but her mother had insisted, at the accidental expense of a Fire Nation relic.
“Hey, I tried to fix it!” Su pouted. Zuko’s face softened at her concern.
“Oh no, don’t worry, Su,” he said, turning to Lin’s sister. “It was pretty ugly.” Su’s face brightened, giggling in response.
Before anyone else could speak up, the door swung open. Lin’s eyes widened. First, unsurprisingly, Uncle Iroh stepped with a gentle smile, but behind him was a young woman, dressed in a red tunic, with trim as golden as her eyes and her long hair dark hair pulled into a low ponytail. Izumi. Lin hadn’t expected to see her at breakfast, after what she had heard the night before. When they arrived yesterday, she had been given a quick hug and hello from the princess before she disappeared back into the library. Lin had overheard her uncle explain that Izumi, like everyone, had been very affected by the news about Bumi, and after they received their letters from Sokka, had buried herself in medical and mental health books to prepare for his possible arrival. The table fell silent.
“Good morning my friends,” Iroh started, smoothing the front of his moss green robe as he took his seat. “I found our little shirshu in the library this morning and thought it might be nice for her to come and take a break. I’ve always found that spending some time with those I love gives me the best clarity.”
“I’m okay, Uncle, I promise.” Izumi said gently, taking her seat beside Lin. “Have we gotten any more news?”
“Not since Sokka’s telegram.” Zuko replied, pouring her a cup of tea.
“And he hasn’t when he would send again?” Izumi questioned. For years, there had been a question, in the minds of nearly every member of their family, as to what Bumi and Izumi were to each other. The two had kept their year-long relationship fairly private from their parents, aunts, and uncles. Only a select group, made up of friends, siblings, and, due to one particular ‘girls weekend,’ Lin, were told that they were together. Until now. While Izumi had not said anything outright, watching her process Bumi’s accident gave anyone more than enough insight into the nature of their relationship. She loved him.
“I don’t think so.” Zuko responded, frowning.
“Sokka should be coming in a few days anyways for the conference,” Suki interjected, “so if we don’t hear anything else before then we will soon.” She reached over to squeeze Izumi’s hand reassuringly. Izumi smiled in appreciation.
“Do we… know if Aang or Katara are coming?” Mai asked. Lin sat up, intrigued. This had been a topic of discussion since before the Beifongs arrived in Caldera. She had her own opinion, naturally, on what the best course of action was for Bumi and their family. She also wished, selfishly, that they would end up coming so that she could spend time with them again. It had been a few days since they had broken the routine, and Lin was missing them, noise and all.
“They better not be.” Lin’s mother responded, setting down her cup. “If they are I’m sending them back.”
“If Aang doesn’t show the vote won’t pass. He knows that.” Zuko sighed.
“To hell with the vote, they both need to stay with Bumi.” Toph declared.
“I’m just worried that because it’s about Bumi and his safety he’ll want to take some sort of action,” Zuko responded, taking a sip of his tea. Noticing it’s lackluster temperature, he placed a gentle hand on the edge to reheat it, before moving to do the same for his daughter’s cup.
“I’m sure they will come to whatever decision is right for their family,” Iroh said, weighing in. Lin glanced around the table, noting that his statement seemed to calm everyone down. She, like the rest of her family, loved Iroh. His words of wisdom and endless patience never seemed to falter or cease, even when things were hard.
“Bumi might need to come anyways, right?” Suki asked, after a moment.
“Sokka said he might, but they may need to hold him longer.” Izumi pipped up, “of course we don’t know why or what those are or how bad anything is…” The princess took a breath. Lin was confused. She looked around the table, expecting someone to interject. When no one did, she cleared her throat.
“Isn’t it because the third degree burn on his chest isn’t taking to treatments how they want? I think his doctors want to wait another two weeks or so before exposing him to the elements.” Lin stated, watching the eyes of her family members widen.
“What?” Izumi asked, shocked.
“That… and because it would be difficult to move him without opening any cuts, or without shifting his broken knee.”
“How do you know that, honey?” Suki asked. Lin’s brows furrowed. All of this information had been in the letter. According to hers, they should’ve all known the why, and what the treatments were and how bad everything was. And then it hit her. Her letter was written by someone else.
“Um… I got a different letter. From Tenzin, I mean,” Lin said, looking down, suddenly embarrassed. Of course the nut brain had filled her letter with all the medical jargon he could get his hands on.“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was that different.”
“No, no it’s okay. Can we see it?” Izumi asked. There was something more in her eyes now, a brightness that wasn’t there before.
“Of course, I’ll grab it,” Lin said, getting out of her chair. She liked being helpful, especially with the night they all found out, with the telegram, and the silence, and the yelling, still playing in the back of her mind. She liked bringing hope.
“How come Linny got her own letter?” Su asked, tugging on their mom’s shirt as Lin headed towards the door.
“Because airhead junior’s sweet on her,” Toph replied, without missing a beat. Lin’s heartbeat spiked.
“Mom!” Lin yelled, still walking, more quickly now, out the door.
“Do or don’t,” Toph hollered back to her daughter as she walked faster down the hall, “but that boy likes you!”
Red Sand Island, Present
When Bumi was eleven, Tenzin caught him tracing air bender tattoos onto his arms with an ink brush. He had been so embarrassed, he leapt up and into the washroom, slamming the door in his brother’s face. But the ink wouldn’t come off. He scrubbed harder and harder between quick, shaky breaths until his skin was flushed. But the scraggly black lines still stared back at him, mocking his failures. Bumi had all but given up, on the brink of tears he prepared to begin his walk of shame downstairs. The last thing he wanted to do was have to show his mother. But when he opened the door, Tenzin was there, waiting. Silently, he took Bumi’s hand and led him to his room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Bumi’s heart was beating loudly in his chest, suddenly unsure as to what was about to happen. Was he going to tell? Had he overstepped? Was he about to receive some weird, five year-old’s lecture on how undeserving he was to pretend he could ever bare the tattoos of an air bending master?
Instead, Tenzin told him to have a seat on the bed. Bumi sat. He watched as his brother disappeared into his dresser, returning again with a small bottle and a cloth. Methodically, Tenzin emptied some of the liquid onto the fabric, and took Bumi’s arrowed hand. With a few careful rubs, the ink started to come off. Bit by bit, what would’ve been a humiliating event disappeared before his eyes.
“Thank you.” Bumi had whispered, as his brother whipped off the last of the ink.
“It’s okay,” Tenzin replied, closing the bottle, “I practice too, sometimes.”
At the time, Bumi assumed his little brother was merely preparing for when he would get his tattoos. It would make sense, seeing as he would, one day, actually bare the marks of their ancestors. But it wasn’t until now, when he watched his younger brother stand up to their parents and propose a plan so hopelessly mature and juvenile at the same time, that he realized they had been doing the same thing all along. They both wanted to be like their dad. Tenzin was not only fixating on his tattoos, but all that came with them. And now, because of Bumi, he had the chance to take on all the responsibilities that already hung heavy on his shoulders. The very premise of the plan was nauseating. It brought a tightness to Bumi’s chest that rivaled his physical injuries. He tried to stop his siblings before they even brought the idea to their parents, but the words had fallen on his tongue. That kept happening. His mouth wouldn’t move as fast as his head, and his head wasn’t moving all that fast. Bumi felt trapped in his mind, chained to the confines of his cot. But he was okay. He was fine. He just needed Tenzin to stop.
In truth, Bumi didn’t even know his dad had even been called into a meeting until he’d woken up that morning, which stung more than he’d ever admit. Before the United Forces, he used to accompany his parents to political meetings in the city, and abroad. Shadowing had been his father’s idea. After getting suspended again at fourteen, a plan was created in lieu of his traditional punishments. Aang felt that Bumi needed direction, another outlet to work his brain which could be accessed during the school year, when seasonal training with Sokka and Suki felt out of reach. He loved it. While the practice did not curb his delinquency in the way his parents had hoped, it gave Bumi purpose and drive. He had a front row seat to the global stage, and before long he had a better understanding of domestic and international politics than some politicians. Overtime, he even became someone his father would come to if he needed a new perspective on an issue. He would’ve been one of the first people to know before. But not anymore. Now, the issue was him.
However upsetting the revelation was, Bumi’s panic was stifled by the indisputable fact that his parents would never say yes to the idea. He knew them, and even more he knew how interlaced their own demons were with each decision they made, for better or for worse. They guarded their children’s kid-hood as fiercely as their bodies. His dad would have to go. Bumi had accepted that truth from the moment he was told about the plan. It would be okay. He couldn’t complain, really. It was his mess. He tried not to think about the ache it would bring. He was nineteen, he didn’t need his dad. It was okay. It was his mess.
But they said yes. And now his baby brother was cleaning it up. The blurry figure with his mother’s voice outlined all the conditions to Tenzin’s trip, and everything got fuzzy. It was like his head was in a fishbowl, like he was watching his family on the forgotten, disjointed sidelines.
His mother, father, and uncle left after a time, to get breakfast and prepare for the departure. They could’ve been talking for ten minutes, maybe an hour. Bumi wasn’t sure. Either way, he was left again in the company of his painfully misguided siblings. He had to speak up.
“Guys,” Bumi started, gathering the attention of his siblings. Thankfully, they were both close enough to be clear in his eyes. He watched as Tenzin perked up from his chair, and Kya, who was seated at the base of his bed, gave him a glance. “I gotta say…the plan… you’re sledding with a tiger seal.” Bumi took a breath, trying not to think about how much concentration had to go into each sentence.
“I thought you’d like it, Atta.” Kya said, poking fun at his use of the old Water Tribe saying. Bumi wanted to roll his eyes. He had tried to soften the blow, but clearly, his message was not received. How could he want this?
“Yeah isn’t ridiculous kind of your style.” Tenzin chimed in scooting his chair closer to the bed.
“Not… not like this.” Bumi insisted.
“This way everything works out.” Tenzin protested. His face started to scrunch and his brows furrowed, like they always did when he was worried or nervous. But Bumi saw something new there, too. There was an edge behind his eyes.
“I just…” Bumi started, trying to find the words. It was hard to concentrate with all the noise, buzzing around him. After four days in the hospital, he’d think he’d be used to it. He felt Kya shift in her seat to lean in.
“What?” Teznin asked, raising an eyebrow. Bumi hesitated.
“You shouldn’t do this.” He said, firmly. This wasn’t Tenzin’s job.
“It’s not up to you.” Tenzin retorted.
“But I put you in this position, so it is up to me!” Bumi protested. Tenzin’s eyes widened. All the guilt and shame had finally boiled over, spilling into the laps of his brother and sister, who once more had to clean up his mess. He’d said too much.
Bumi watched as Tenzin and Kya gave each other a look. Kya got up, excusing herself for something, leaving the two of them alone. Tenzin moved to sit on the bed. Bumi waited.
“Bumi.” Tenzin sighed.“You didn’t put me in any position. I just… I’m trying…to be more like you,” he added, in a small voice.
“What?” Bumi asked. He was caught entirely off guard. He didn’t think of his siblings as the type to idolize each other. They had so many better options in their family. Bumi felt more like a fun-loving confidant than a good example.
“I… I can never help out the way you can. I’m too… stuck.” Tenzin explained. He was looking at his hands, twisting the end of his tunic with his fingers. “But then I realized, maybe being stuck is how I could help, you know. It’s what you would do, I think.” Bumi was speechless. His head was swirling with all he wanted to say to his brother.
“Tenzin.” Bumi began, unsure of how to continue. One piece of him wanted to shake Tenzin, and recite every lecture their uncle ever gave the young non bender on the importance of self assurance, insisting that he didn’t need to be anyone but himself. Another, smaller, impulsive piece wanted to buy Tenzin a one way ticket to the middle of nowhere to start anew. This part was fueled by the overwhelming urge to protect his younger brother, to help him escape all the burdens he already bared. He took a breath.“You don’t… you shouldn’t be like me. You’re you, and that’s… that’s fantastic.” Tenzin nodded, giving a small smile. Bumi opened his arm slightly, motioning for a hug. Tenzin came in willingly, wrapping himself impossibly gently around his injured brother. Bumi held tighter. He needed this. They both did.“If you do this… just know you’re not stuck you know? You have a whole life ahead of you,” Bumi added. He knew now that there was no stopping his brother, but he had to say it. Tenzin’s face faltered slightly as they pulled out of the embrace.
“Sure,” Tenzin said, dispirited. Bumi wanted to raise an eyebrow.
“Tez-” He started, before being interrupted by the door sliding open. A small, blurry figure stepped in.
“Hey I-” a familiar voice started. “Am I interrupting something? I can come back.” It was Mei. Bumi wanted to tell her that yes he and his brother were not done unpacking, but Tenzn beat him to it.
“No, come in.” Tenzin said, standing to greet her. Bumi’s eyes narrowed. Tenzin knew what he was doing, the flighty hog monkey.
“Tenzin, is my friend Mei,” Bumi started. “Mei, this is my little brother.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tenzin said, bowing traditionally. Mei raised her eyebrows, seemingly amused by his brother’s endearing professionalism.
“It’s great to meet you too,” Mei replied, returning the gesture. Bumi opened his mouth to inquire the nature of his friend’s visit, but he was interrupted once again by a far less courteous visitor.
“Hey are you guys-” Kya started loudly, barging in. She stopped shortly, seemingly at the sight of their guest. “Who is this?” She asked, intrigued. Though Bumi could not make out her features, he could take a guess as to what face his sister was making. From his brother’s response, he’d been right. Tenzin immediately rolled his eyes and jumped into action.
“Oh, absolutely not.” Tenzin started, shoving his sister out of the room. “Out. I’m not doing this again.” Bumi held back a laugh, wondering briefly what situation they were alluding to. He knew, due to many, many, factors, including the age difference, that Mei would never be anything to Kya, but it was still comical to watch their younger brother nip even the slightest advance in the bud. Albeit ridiculous, Bumi was proud of his sister’s confidence and security in herself, having watched her journey for many years.
“Hey!” Kya yelled, holding herself in the doorframe as Tenzin rammed awkwardly into her side. Mei and Bumi watched (or squinted in their general direction) as the two fought chaotically at the doorframe before Kya, surprisingly, gave in.
“Mom said she’d be back in a few minutes, we’re leaving!” Tenzin called as he began to shut the door. “Mei,” he said, pausing briefly to give what Bumi could make out as a farewell bow. His freaking brother. After his siblings left the room, Bumi turned his attention back to his friend, who seemed charmed by the entire interaction.
“He’s adorable.” Mei said, finally. She took a seat in the empty chair beside his bed.
“It’s why we keep him around,” Bumi joked, before adding more seriously, “how are you?” Since she was sitting closer, he could better make out her face.She was wearing a basic red tunic with her black hair tucked into what was traditionally a man’s headwrap, which was in classic Mei fashion. While her arm was still wrapped, she already seemed healthier than when she’d come in just days ago. Even still, he had to ask.
“Much better, actually,” she started. “They told me I’m getting discharged tomorrow.” Bumi exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. Being discharged was a goal he only recently became familiar with, and was something he knew he was far from.
“I’m so glad,” Bumi said earnestly. While he wished he was leaving with her, this was a victory. “Really… that’s… fantastic,” he stammered. Bumi could feel a headache coming on, it was almost time for his two-hour check in, but he didn’t care. He was with his friend.
“Yeah,” Mei agreed, “did they say when you could get out of here?” Ah. The fateful question that he’d only recently been able to answer.
“I’ll be leaving in two weeks,” Bumi started, “but I don’t go home, I’m going to Caldera for more treatments and physical therapy.” While technically, his parents were still acting as though they had made the decision, Bumi too realized that what would be best for him was more time healing physically before leaving the hospital. He felt it was best to be able to get safety into a wheelchair before embarking across the sea.
“Oh!” Mei said, enthusiastically. Bumi raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah?” Bumi commented, confused. For a moment, he was worried his head was worse than he realized.
“Sorry!” Mei started, clarifying, “I just- I’ll be there. My mom moved back to Caldera, so I’ll be on leave in the capital.”
“Oh.” Bumi said, connecting the dots, “so…. Maybe I’ll be able to see you then.” A warm feeling erupted in his chest. It would be nice to see his friend during recovery. Even more, very few of his friends had ever really seen or been apart of his family life, as he tried his best to keep the two separate. It would be nice to properly introduce Mei to some of his favorite people, to Izumi.
“I’d love that,” Mei said, smiling. “Do you know where you’ll be staying?” Bumi hesitated.
“Yeah…” Bumi began. It was a simple question, but the answer felt… controversial. “Um… the palace.” Mei blinked.
“Seriously?” She questioned, eyes widened.
“You promised you wouldn’t be weird!” Bumi yelled back. If he the strength, he would’ve thrown his pillow at her with impeccable aim.
“Hey. I was just really cool about meeting your air bending brother, so I feel like I’m allowed to react to this,” Mei countered. Bumi mock-gasped.
“Wow. Low blow.” Bumi replied, cooly.
“Am I wrong?” Mei laughed, throwing her hands up defensively.
“Consider yourself uninvited.” Bumi said, turning up his nose.
“Oh you can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“I feel like I can,” Bumi smirked.
“Doubt it.” Mei said, decisively. With that, she got up to leave, pausing briefly at the door. “Two weeks?” She asked. Bumi smiled.
“Two weeks.”
Fire Nation Palace, Present
Izumi hadn’t been sleeping. It felt too… inconsequential, lately. Every time she felt herself starting to drift off, be it at breakfast, in the library, or in her room, she would be interrupted by the awful, unchangeable reality of her current existence. One thought would rush through her, shooting her glowing eyes open. Bumi’s hurt.
And she couldn’t do anything. Izumi was a doer, and she couldn’t quite accept the state of limbo which had engulfed her life. The only thing that seemed to quell the ache, was action. Izumi took to the library, scavenging for every book on injury and trauma she could find. She read anything she could find from every corner of the globe, even digging into her own notes tour she took of Katara’s hospital during the summer she spent in Republic City, which now felt decades away.
When her eyes began to droop, and the words on the page twisted into knots she didn’t have the bandwidth to untangle, she switched to another kind of action. Her training room. At just eighteen, Izumi was one of the greatest fire benders of her time, taking a seat at the table aside masters like Katara, Toph, and, albeit controversially, her aunt Azula. Years ago, when her mother’s grandmother passed and she felt too empty to go through her forms, her auntie, Toph, ran a gentle hand over her arm and told her that if she stopped moving her body, even when times were hard, it would be like holding her breath.
Now, as each step away from the library felt like a wicked betrayal, she tried to remember that advice. She had to breathe.
The training room was her sanctuary. The space had been built specially to accommodate multiple fighting types and styles; fire and knife, wide range and short, solo and spar. Shutting the door behind her, Izumi set her glasses aside and took her first stance. Weaving through practiced motions, her mind was left to wander. She’d grown up in this space. All that she’d learned started here, with her family. Izumi jumped into her second form, spinning her legs into a firmer stance before smoothly throwing her hand forward, flicking her wrist to mimic throwing knives. She paused. Nearly a decade ago, Bumi had been visiting the first time she combined the two forms, metal and fire, into one single kata. Her eyes blurred as she pictured his little face, beaming with excitement and pride. At the time she’d blushed in return, her heart beating just a little faster when he ran to give her a hug. Had they known, even then?
Izumi felt her legs hit the floor. Her heart was pounding. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped, much less that she’d started to fall. The princess let out a shaken breath, squinting, she saw more blurry teardrops hit the floor. The sanctuary was compromised. Izumi's hands became fists on the mat, her breath, hotter with every exhale. For a moment, she cursed how intertwined her life was with his. He had been stitched into the fabric of her clothes, her walls, her forms, to the point where he was as much her home as the house she was raised in.
Izumi sat up. Her black hair, which had once been pulled into low ponytail, was now falling forward, sticking to the tears on her cheeks. Izumi sighed and wiped her face. She felt foolish. Bumi was alive. There were people across the world who had lost more and shed less tears. She’d been born to people who had shed less tears. Who was she to hurt this deeply? She should be stronger than this. Smarter than this. She was being foolish. Foolish and-
Wait. Izumi’s thoughts were interrupted by a small knock that rang out through the room and the gentle sound of her door sliding open. She squinted. Auntie Suki.
“Hey honey,” she started with a warm smile. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” Izumi sighed, moving to find her glasses on the floor. Izumi could see now that Suki had traded her Kyoshi uniform for a deep green robe with blue patterns, her brown hair untied, hanging down around her chin. Izumi couldn’t help but compare her own attire, a loose, disheveled tunic, to that of her aunt’s. Even in her current, sleep deprived state, she couldn’t help but notice how far, both outwardly and internally, she was from her composure.
“I knew I’d find you here. It’s the first place I go when I need to think,” Suki started, siting down next to her niece in the center of the training room. Izumi leaned in as her aunt brushed some of the stray hairs from her face. She knew the question was coming. “Do you to talk about any of it?”
“It’s… it’s stupid.” Izumi said, looking away. It was a poor attempt to deflect the question, but it was all she had. She was simultaneously overwhelmed by her own crowded thoughts and thus so hopelessly empty.
“I won’t think it is.” Suki said, sincerely. Be it due to her own fatigue or the eternal comfort and safety of confiding in an auntie, but Izumi broke.
“I just,” Izumi started, running a hand through her hair, “I’ve spent every waking second thinking of him and how he’s doing and if he’s scared…” her voice broke, just slightly, as she spoke. She closed her eyes, speaking softly as she continued, “…and I thought I was this strong, brave, independent woman, and I’m just… I’m not. But- just, the very idea that I’m even thinking about myself right now is just so awful and selfish I just-”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Suki said, slowly. She collected her niece’s hands in hers, squeezing as she continued. “Everything you're feeling is normal. When someone you love the way you love him gets hurt, it brings up a lot.” Izumi sunk into Suki’s arms as soon as she offered, laying comfortably in her embrace. As they sat, a question popped back into her mind which she didn’t feel she had time to ask before.
“Did you know?” Izumi murmured.
“I’ve had my suspicions for a long time.” Suki replied. Izumi gave a small smile.
“So that’s a yes.”
“Perhaps.” Suki stated, knowingly. They sat in a peaceful silence, Suki rubbing Izumi’s back in gentle circles, before either spoke again. “While it’s not the same… the first time Sokka and I separated after the war it was on a mission with his sister. Half way into the trip he got hurt, badly. He nearly lost his arm.” Izumi’s eyes widened as she sat up, pulling slightly from the embrace.
“He’s never told me that.” she responded, surprised. Her family was not keen on keeping secrets, and her uncle was not one to keep a story in the dark.
“Those first few years were… precarious,” Suki reasoned. “When I first got the message he’d been injured, I was a mess. Your father had to stop me from trying to swim to the South Pole because I felt Appa was taking too long.” Suki let out a small laugh, shaking her head at the memory. Izumi smiled, she understood. “Sweetheart, this kind of thing… it can really take over your life. I know every time I tried to do something else or think about something else, I felt guilty because I wasn’t there with him. Have you been feeling like that?” Suki asked. Izumi nodded, bringing her knees closer to her chest. “And that sucks. But you have to know that you are doing all you can while you wait, you’re not selfish or awful, even though the waiting really, really sucks.”
“Thank you.” Izumi said. It didn’t feel like enough, for the gift she’d just been given, of understanding, of kinship, of patience. But it was what she could muster, for now.
“Can I tell you something I really, really need you to hear?” Suki said, after a moment. Her aunt had re-tied her ponytail, and was carefully setting the hair on one shoulder as she spoke. Izumi nodded. Suki shifted them both so that they were facing each other, grabbing Izumi’s shoulders firmly as she spoke. “You are not less independent or brave of a woman because you love someone,” Suki started. Her voice was firm and her stare fierce. “You are stronger because of it.”
Her words rang out, echoing into the depths of Izumi’s mind. While her worries for Bumi had not subsided, the woman who walked out of her training room was far different than the one who had stumbled in. She was lighter. Speaking with her aunt had shifted her perspective, giving her a new, better thought to interrupt her jumbled brain.
My love makes me stronger. My strength will get us through.