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beautiful boy

Summary:

Aang knew grief like an old friend. In his youth, it had been painful to grapple with the idea that the Air Nomads were gone, that he was truly alone. He knew deep down that no matter what he did, that weight on his shoulders was so heavy it would follow him into his next life. Spirits help his successor.

But this time, it was different. This was new. The emptiness that often accompanied the pit in Aang’s stomach was replaced with something sickening. His body rejected the possibility of Bumi’s death like poison. It wasn’t real. He had to be alive.

OR: When he's 19, Bumi II gets hurt in the United Forces and his family is told he is missing in action. Aang and Katara try to be there for their son and Tenzin and Kya navigate the new dynamic as friends and family rally aorund them. We explore family dynamics, being biracial, trauma, and being okay with being not okay.

(includes cloud baby flashbacks!)

Notes:

hello! this is my first ever multi-chapter fic, and I am so excited!

I've had this idea for a while and I'm so happy to finally be sharing it! I think there is so much to explore with Katara and Aang's family, especially with how they deal with crisis considering their childhood's/adolescence. Plus I love writing Katara and Aang as parents :)

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: other plans

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”

 

Katara’s first thought, when she saw a man standing with an urgent telegram at her front door, was that something happened with Aang. 

She tried to quell the frustration rising in her as she was handed the telegram, knowing inside was bound to be her husband’s apology along with the announcement would be staying a few more days. Aang rarely went on longer trips, stopping after his children started school and it became clear they all couldn’t follow, but as the Avatar some things were unavoidable. This particular trip was only supposed to be one week, which, to Katara, was already beginning to feel like too long. But this telegram wasn’t from her husband, it was addressed to both of them- Avatar Aang and Master Katara. The only person to have ever sent them both an urgent telegram this late at night, was Zuko- only if everything had gone so incredibly wrong that he had to rally Team Avatar before the sun rose. Katara knew what followed a message like that, there was always danger and fighting and her family being uprooted for the sake of the world, again. But this time, she realized, the message couldn’t have been from Zuko. Aang was with the Fire Lord presently and the telegram didn’t have the royal seal. Her pulse quicken as she unfolded the scroll. There was something else happening. Something was wrong. 

 

02 Shi-gatsu 126 AG

 

Private Bumi, Second Division of the United Forces has been declared missing in action since 2300 HRS 01 Shi-gatsu.

Remaining members of Squadron 5522 were dispatched to Red Sand Island Hospital 0500 HRS 02 Shi-gatsu 126 AG 

If further details or other information are received you will be promptly notified 

 

Condolences, 

General Lee, Second Division of the United Forces

 

Katara’s heart dropped. After all the trials of her youth, she liked to imagine she had experienced the worst things that would ever happen to her. Reading this letter, she decided later, moved to the very top of the list. This moment would not plague her nightmares like the fall of Ba Sing Se, nor would she have visions of the telegram like she did of her mother’s body. She would not be able to feel this moment years later, like she could still taste electricity in the air on the day they won the war. But this, standing in her living room, in a world that was at peace, would become the worst thing she’d ever experience, because it was happening to her son. Her son who could be gone. Dead. He could have left this world not as an old man with a legacy of his own, but as Private Bumi, age 19, Squadron 5522. 

 

  No. 

——————————————————————————————

Toph woke up to the sound of a knock at the front door. She groaned, rolling over and sticking one foot out from beneath the covers to thwap onto the floor. Her guest bedroom was specially made when building the house on Air Temple Island, equipped with stone floors (that extended throughout the bottom floor) and metal fixtures so Toph could get a better read on her surroundings. Once she deduced the person at the door was not a threat, she felt no obligation to intervene, rolling back over and sinking deeper into her blankets. Toph and her girls were staying the night on the island after family dinner turned into an impromptu slumber party, as it often did as the kids got older. When Katara offered Toph could stay over too, she didn’t need much convincing. Toph knew that while she didn’t show it, having two empty spots at her dinner table was weighing on Katara. Ever since Bumi joined the navy, whenever Aang went on a trip, Katara was just a little bit off. She missed her boys. And while Toph couldn’t bring any of those, she reasoned two girls and an extra adult would be more than enough to make the house feel less empty. 

Toph could hear Katara make her way down the steps and open the door, but she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. She sighed and swung both legs off the bed, flexing her soles flat on the floor. The war took its toll on everyone in different ways, and Toph knew her residual anxieties would make it impossible to go back to sleep until she felt Katara go safely back upstairs. 

While waiting, Toph decided to check on her girls. She stretched out a hand, smacking the long metal pole that ran from the floor to the ceiling of her room. Her room was the epicenter of an elaborate metal web that stretched throughout the entire home. With one tap, Toph could “see” her children sleeping peacefully in the rooms above her. To her surprise, none of the teenagers (or Su) were in their rooms, but instead trying to stealthily sneak into the kitchen via the back staircase for what she could only assume was a midnight snack. Amatuers.  

Toph was thinking of all the different pranks she could play on the kids as punishment for being so bad at sneaking around, when Katara’s quickening heart beat pulled her back to reality. Something was wrong.

Toph’s anxieties only grew when Katara didn’t move or shift her weight or do anything to discern she heard her walk into the living room. She was frozen. The only indication of Katara being a living, breathing being to Toph’s feet was her heart racing.   

“Katara? Katara what happened? Your heart’s beating a mile a minute,” Toph asked, putting a careful hand on Katara’s shoulder and guiding her to the sitting room cushions. The movement seemed to be enough to break Katara from her trance. 

“We got a telegram… “ Katara said inattentively, motioning to the paper in her hand. 

“You’re going to have to give me more than that Queenie,” Toph said, hoping her light tone would quell her rising nerves. She, like Katara, knew telegram at this time of night meant only two things: Aang was going to be late, or something was very wrong. Toph prayed that Aang was extending his trip and Katara was just really really upset about it.

Katara barely heard her.

“Bumi… he’s missing in action,” Katara whispered.

“Fuck. Katara I’m so sorry.” Toph winced after she spoke. Katara hated swearing and often chastised her for it, but in the moment Toph didn’t know what else to say. This was not what she was expecting. Bumi, their Bumi, might not be coming home. Fuck.   

“They sent the name of a hospital,” Katara said, smoothing out the telegram she had crumpled under her grip, "I have to go. Tonight.” Toph sighed, placing her steady hands over Katara’s shaking ones. 

“What do you need.”

——————————————————————————————

 

“What are they talking about?” Su whispered from her perch on the kitchen counter. Their original mission of raiding the snack cabinet had been all but abandoned. All four of them stood frozen in the kitchen, unsure of how to proceed without getting caught.

“Let’s just get the snacks and get out of here!” Kya whispered back, shoving a bag of seal jerky in her brother’s hands, which he promptly dropped, the thwap of jerky hitting the stone floor echoing through the room.

“Kya!” Tenzin hissed, “I’m vegetarian!

“Oh please,” Kya scoffed, “you can still touch it you drama queen! You stopped eating meat like three years ago I don’t see the problem-”

“Shhh.” Lin said, gathering the group’s attention. She closed her eyes and pressed both of her hand on the floor, “something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Tenzin said, quickly dropping the fight with his sister.

“It’s their heartbeats,” Lin continued, “both of them are really quick.” Kya took this as enough of an excuse to take action and started marching towards the living room.

“We shouldn’t” Tenzin said, stepping between his sister and the door. Kya rolled her eyes at her younger brother, always the best behaved of his siblings. Even getting him to raid the kitchen with them had taken rather intense peer pressure.

“It could be about dad,” Kya reasoned, attempting to push passed her younger brother. She still had quite a bit of height on her sibling, but he wasn’t moving.

Kya-” Tenzin said in his most dad-like, serious voice.

Tenzin,” Kya retorted, mirroring his tone to mock him. Neither Kya nor Tenizn had gotten used to their new dynamic, even after almost a year of being the only two children regularly in the house. Their fight had taken so much of the attention, none of the teenagers realized that the youngest among them was already opening their door.

“Mom?” Su said, peeking her head through the slat, “what are you guys talking about?” 

——————————————————————————————

Katara felt like she was under water. As soon as she read the first line of the telegram, she was drowning. Toph had been talking to her for quite some time, or maybe not that much time? She hadn’t been paying that close of attention. Pack. Oggi. Ferry. Hospital. Bumi. Bumi. Bumi. Bumi. -

Su.

 Su? Thankfully, Katara’s back was to the kitchen, granting just a few more moments to collect herself before facing her niece. Much to her chagrin, all of the kids were poking their heads out of the slat in the door, their faces riddled with varying degrees of confusion and worry. This was not apart of the plan. 

“Is dad okay?” Kya questioned. Whenever something was wrong, that was always the place their mind’s would go. At sixteen Kya had experienced more than one close call with her dad. 

“Hi babies,” Katara said, motioning with shaky hands to the cushions beside her. “Dad is okay, come sit.” She smiled weakly at her children as they came in, trying her best not to worry them. Lin and Su still stood by the doorframe, unsure of how to proceed, until their mother beckoned them to her side.  As they silently took their seats, Toph squeezed Lin’s shoulder and pulled Su closer in, not taking for granted that all of her children were here. Kya and Tenzin exchanged a glace.

“Should I be scared?” Tenzin questioned. Katara sighed. One of the most important things to Katara as a partent, was that her children’s lives would be as stable as possible. This was, in part, because their father was the Avatar. She knew there were elements of their lives that would always be haphazard, and thus she wanted to capitalize on what she could control. However, the bigger reason was due to her own upbringing. Katara grew up in war, almost nothing in her life was ever secure. She made sure, to the best of her ability, that her children would not grow up the same way. It pained her to tell them like this, in the middle of the night, while she herself was still in shock. Katara did not want to burden her children without more information, without a plan. But here they all were. 

“Kya, Tenzin…” Katara started, looking between them, “Bumi got hurt in the United Forces.” 

“What?” Tenzin said after a beat, “what happened?”

“We don’t know. His squadron got attacked last night,” Katara said gently, gathering both her children’s hands in her own, “I’m really sorry, I know this is scary.”

“Will he be okay?” Kya asked suddenly. 

“Yes he will,” Katara said, although she wasn’t sure if it was for their benefit or her own. “He’s at a hospital at Red Sand Island, I’m going tonight.”

“We’re coming with you,” Kya said definitively. 

“Baby, I really don’t think-”

“We can’t just stay waiting here!” Tenzin stated, raising his voice and matching his sister’s intensity, “he’s our brother.” Katara sighed. This was not the plan. 

“I’ll think about it,” she said, not having the bandwidth to argue, “I need to pack first. Toph? Could you come with me a moment?”

“Of course,” Toph replied, turning to follow Katara up the stairs, “we’ll be right back.”

 

——————————————————————————————

Katara didn’t let herself fall apart until she was alone in her bedroom, far away from her kids. She couldn’t scare them, and this was going to be scary. She fell to the ground, sobs that had been threatening to slip out since she got the telegram were finally racking her chest. Katara couldn’t stop thinking of the night Bumi told her he was joining the navy, it had been their biggest fight ever. She wished now, with all her heart, that she had made him stay. He would hate her, she reasoned, but he would be here, unequivocally alive. No. She thought to herself, Bumi is alive. He’s alive. He’s alive and he needs me. Slowly, she picked herself back off the floor. This was not a time for mourning. 

——————————————————————————————

The children sat in an uncomfortable silence, only broken by the occasional sniffle from Su. Lin wanted so badly to comfort the others, but she wasn’t quite sure how to start. Nobody had spoken since their parents left the room, Tenzin had been reading some piece of paper for the passed few minutes, and Kya was just… staring. Her blank expression must have been to be worrying Su, who was already on the verge of tears, because she climbed into Lin’s arms. Lin couldn’t remember the last time Su opted to sit in her lap over Kya’s, or the last time she wanted her sister in her lap. But tonight she did, and tonight Su chose Lin. She pulled her sister closer, running a hand through Su’s tangled hair.  The air was thick with feelings none of them quite knew how to place. Lin never expected this was how her cousin’s story would go. Bumi was not a stranger to trouble, never shying away from a dare or ridiculous stunt. He was fearless, which earned him more than one broken bone during his childhood. But he always got back up. Bumi never let anyone or anything hold him back. He seemed… untouchable. 

Lin smoothed out the last tangle from Su’s hair and awkwardly kissed the top of her head, her sister had pressed her face into Lin’s chest, visibly upset but otherwise content in her older sister’s lap. Kya and Tenzin hadn’t moved. Kya was mechanically rubbing the bracelet around her wrist, and Tenzin’s eyes still were glued to the small piece of paper. Lin sighed. She would have to do something.

“He’ll be okay,” Lin started, it seemed appropriate and probably factual. Katara had said that, Lin reasoned, even if it felt like she was-

“We don’t know that,” Tenzin said, looking up finally from the note.

“What?” Lin exclaimed, startled at the authority in his voice. 

“Look,” Tenzin said, referencing the piece of paper in his hands. Before he could pass it to Lin, Kya, seemingly back from wherever her mind had gone for the past seven minutes, snatched the note from his hands. Her eyes widened as she read.

“Tenzin’s right, the telegram it says ‘missing in action,’” Kya started, waving the telegram. Out of the corner of her eye Lin could see the full vase by the front door start to teeter. Kya continued, raising her voice, “we don’t even know if he’s-”

“Kya.” Everyone froze. Toph was standing at the base of the stairs, using what Su called her “cop voice” to get their attention. Kya sheepishly sat back down, although Lin couldn’t remember when she had even stood up. Toph walked over to the sitting cushions in silence, none of the kids daring to make a sound. As soon as Toph sat down, Su clambered into her lap and started to cry again. It was clear she didn’t completely understand what was happening, but she knew her favorite big cousin wasn’t okay.  Toph rubbed small circles into her daughter’s back, taking her time before addressing the teenagers,“look… this  is scary, but we aren’t helping Bumi by moping around and reading letters. Here’s what we’re going to do. Lin go upstairs and start packing bags with your sister. Kya and Tenzin get your uncle. He has a radio at his house that can patch to the palace where your dad is.”

“We can take Oogie,” Tenzin offered. He and his sister leaped into action, setting off towards the air bison stables. Lin waved goodbye from the window as her friends set off into the night, heading to the glittering city across the bay.

“Hey why didn’t you send me to Sokka’s?” Lin asked her mother, “I don’t really know what to pack.”

“Whatever happens, these next few days are going to be really hard for the two of them. ” Toph said, moving to the window and placing hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “they need a moment to process the news, together.”

“Katara was lying earlier,” Lin said softly, still looking out the window. Toph’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

“What?”

“When Tenzin asked if he was going to be okay,” Lin explained, “she lied.”

“She doesn’t know Lin,” Toph said gently. 

“Oh.”

“But I do know, that if anyone in the world could help Boom,” Toph said, “it’s Katara.”

Lin could feel she wasn’t lying. 

Notes:

woo hoo first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!

I'm really excited to be writing this, I already have most of it done, it just needs a LOT of editing haha. I've been wanting to write more fics about Katara and her as a mother especially, and this idea just popped into my head! If you have any critiques or suggestions or anything don't hesitate to let me know!

thank you so so much for reading

- Azalea :)

Chapter 2: tonight I'll drift in a dream with you

Summary:

There's sibling moments, lots of packing, and Aang finds out Bumi's missing in action.

Notes:

chapter two! this one's a bit longer than the last, and I had a lot of fun writing it! let me know what you think, I hope you enjoy it :)

The quote is from "Lullaby" by The Chicks.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Tomorrow there'll be so much to do, so tonight I'll drift in a dream with you”

 

Ember Island, 20 Years Earlier

There was something to special about waking up to the sound of ocean. The waves crashing on the beach, the smell salt in the air. Even before you open your eyes you know exactly where you are, as if the earth itself is guiding you out of sleep, one sense at a time. In a strange way it reminded Katara of the South Pole. As a child she often woke up to the sound of voices, the men and women of her village making conversation as they started the day. Their chatter mixed with the crunch of shoes on freshly fallen snow was the backdrop of her life, just as much apart of the world as the ice itself. 

 She hoped her child would hear them too, the voices and the snow. And the ocean waves. They would never wonder about the world the way she did. Katara wanted them to know it. All of it. 

She turned to face her husband, who was, to her surprise, already wide awake. He was staring at her in the way he would, like she was the was the most important thing on earth. Although, she mused, that title would soon be passed on. They lay there for a moment, letting each other be. It was still the early morning, and while Katara wasn’t a ‘morning person,’ she relished any time of peace with Aang. Katara broke the silence first, noticing her husband’s gaze was drifting from her face, down to her stomach.

“What are you thinking about?” Aang looked up, meeting his wife’s eyes with a happy smile. 

“Baby names,” he said sheepishly. 

“We still have a lot of time left for that,” Katara replied, resting a hand on her flat stomach. They had found out about the baby a week before the vacation. The trip was in celebration of Zuko’s 23rd birthday, and the whole gang had made the journey to help the young Fire Lord relax. The couple still hadn’t told their friends about the pregnancy, agreeing to wait at least another month before sharing the news. However, they knew it was only a matter of time before Toph approached them to ask about the second heartbeat coming from her friend.

“I know, but I just can’t help it. We get to choose his name, the one he’s going to have for his whole life,” Aang said, “it’s so much responsibility, I want to get it right.” Katara couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of her husband, the Avatar, fretting over the responsibility of naming someone. But that was Aang. She also knew that technically, if they were to follow Water Tribe Tradition (which she wanted to do), it would be the elders of her tribe that would officially name their baby. But that conversation, the one over how to find balance raising a child that was both Air Nomad and Water Tribe, was a longer, never ending one, for a different day. 

“His name?” Katara inquired, “How do you know it’s going to be a boy?”


“I’m the Avatar.” Aang said, smirking. His wife’s eyes widened.

“Wait really?”

“No- what?” Aang chuckled, “it was a joke, did you really think I knew?” Katara’s face reddened as her husband fell into a fit of laughter. He had been spending too much time with Sokka.

“I don’t know! There’s a lot of Avatar stuff that doesn’t make sense to me!” Katara yelled back. Aang was literally the most powerful being in the universe, it wouldn’t be crazy for him to know the gender of an unborn baby. He could see the future sometimes, this didn’t feel too far off.

“But how would I know that!” Aang said, in between laughs. 

“Hey don’t tease me!” Katara pouted, hitting her husband playfully with one of the many pillows every bed in the Fire Nation seemed to be equipped with, “I’m carrying our baby!”

“You’re right you’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know if it’ll be a boy but I just have this… feeling,” Aang said seriously, with a far off look in his eye that made Katara think that maybe it was an Avatar thing, or at least an Air Nomad thing. Some-thing. “I don’t mind either way though,” he added quickly.

“Me too,” Katara agreed, looking down at her stomach, “honestly I still can’t believe it’s… real.”

“Me neither.” Aang said. When they first found out about the baby, the couple had been overjoyed, but it was quite the surprise. While they had gotten married fairly young, Katara and Aang had planned to wait at least another five or six years before trying to have kids. The war had only been over for seven years, the world was still healing. They were still healing. They were going to wait. And yet, one week ago, Katara left the healer in Omashu with news that completely changed their timeline. 

But then again, time had never exactly been kind to Aang.

“So what names were you thinking?” Katara asked. Aang looked away, suddenly self-conscious.

“Well, really only one name, and only for a boy but… I was thinking maybe… Bumi.” Katara stared at her husband, who was trying to avoid eye contact. Before the birthday trip, Katara and Aang had gone to visit the kind of Omashu. Bumi had been sick before they arrived,  and while he had completely recovered by their visit, the illness had taken a toll on his body. Their time together opened Aang’s eyes to the reality that his oldest friend did not have much more time on this earth. Aang had been trying to stay positive, but it was clear that Bumi’s health was troubling him more than he wanted to let on.

“Bumi,” Katara said thoughtfully. The king, had always been there for her husband, longer than anyone else alive. He was the first (only) person they had told about the baby. “I think it’s perfect.”

——————————————————————————————

Republic City, Present

Kya loved to fly at night. She always had. Her parents used to say the only thing that got her to fall asleep as a baby, was if Aang took her flying. Her mother said it was because she was half Air Nation, and her father said it was because she was closer to the moon. Kya thought maybe it was both. Or neither. Regardless, it always gave her peace. 

For the first time ever, she hated flying. The air that normally made her feel free was suffocating, and the moon, which was usually her biggest comfort, waned. Kya pulled the loose sleeves of her night shirt further down her arm, when they left she didn’t think bring a jacket. She hadn’t been thinking much at all, everything had felt like some sort of dream. Now, however, she was wide awake. And it was very much the middle of the night.

Kya turned to her brother, who was sitting beside her, his eyes fixed forward. Not for the first time in her life, she cursed his ability to control his body temperature. 

She wasn’t sure what to say to Tenzin. That had been the theme of the past year. For their entire lives Bumi had been a sort of buffer for the two of them, and they were still getting used to living without one. Bumi taught Kya everything he knew, but he didn’t teach her how to be the oldest. She was the middle. And she liked it. And even though he hadn’t been living with them for nearly a year, she never fully stepped into her new role. She never thought she’d need to. Until now, when reality came crashing down around her. Her older brother, his older brother, the older brother wasn’t invincible. She had never in a million years considered that one of her brothers could get taken away. Her parents? Of course. They were some of the most important people in the world. But Bumi? Tenzin? They were a forever. Or at least she thought. 

Kya wished Lin was here. Or even Su. Or Toph- anyone to fill the silence she was drowning in. She cleared her throat, thinking of something to say. Tenzin was young, but he was smart. He would see through any words of reassurance, they both knew the same amount of information. His eyes were still glued forward, and it occurred to Kya that she had no idea which direction they were going. The city was glowing below them, but they were too high up to make out any of the streets clearly.

“Hey, are you sure you’re-” Kya started. 

“I’m flying the right way,” Tenzin said shortly, cutting her off. Kya sighed, it was too late to fight, and she was pretty sure he was right. He had been paying attention.

“I’m sorry,” Kya said. Tenzin relaxed the reigns in his hands, seemingly for the first time since they took off, but didn’t take his eyes off the city as he flew. 

“What if dad doesn’t pick up? Or he can’t come?” Tenzin asked nervously. The questions had crossed Kya’s mind too. 

“He will. He has to. It’s Bumi.” Kya affirmed. She had no way of knowing, but if he didn’t pick up there was no other plan. So he was going to pick up.  

They were silent again for a long time, listening to the sounds of the streets below as Tenzin slowly brought them further and further down.

“I’m scared.” He said suddenly. Kya hesitated before taking her brother’s hand, pulling his focus away from flying for the first time. To her surprise, their were tears in his eyes.

“Me too,” Kya said, squeezing his hand, “but… you have me, you know that right?”

That, she could promise. 

“Yeah,” Tenzin said, wiping a tear from his eye as he landed his bison. They were in the park by their uncle’s apartment. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think I could do this if it was just me and mom.”

“Me neither,” Kya responded. That thought hadn’t occurred to her. Doing this, all of this, alone with her mom. She was sure her mother could do it, her mom could do anything, but Kya wasn’t sure if she could. 

Right before jumping off the bison, Kya felt her brother’s gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“You have me too.” 

——————————————————————————————

Aang groaned when he heard a knock at the door. It had been a long day of negotiations in the Fire Nation, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his comically large bed and fall asleep. The only person that would wake him up this late at night for anything would be Zuko, who never slept. But more often then not he let himself in, opting to wake up Aang by shaking his shoulder. Aang tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes as he made his way to the door, if this had anything to do with politics it was going to be terribly difficult to be his regular polite self. 

There was a servant at the door, a man Aang hadn’t met before. He looked nervous, but that didn’t worry Aang, people were often nervous around him at first. The man -Lee- was talking about the radio. Sokka. Sokka was calling him on the radio. Wait. Sokka was asking for him on the Royal Radio used solely for emergencies. 

Aang tried his best to stay calm as he was led through the winding halls of the Fire Nation Palace to the room where the radio was kept. Suki was already there, as was Zuko, both because the emergency line was being used, and Sokka was the one calling. The room was tense as Aang sat down and picked up the line. Suki put a comforting hand on his shoulder as they leaned in to hear the voice on the other line.

“Sokka?” 


“It’s me dad.” Aang blinked. Kya. His daughter was on the other line.


“Kya? Why happening? Are you okay?” Aang responded. One part of him wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, while the another started coming up with a million more stories that would lead to this phone call. Suki’s hand tightened on his shoulder. 

“I’m fine…” Kya sounded off. Something was definitely wrong. Something was wrong with his family.

“Kya, you’re scaring me a little bit.” Aang said, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Just tell him.” Another, quieter voice said on the other line.

“Tenzin?” Aang said, bewildered. His son was with Kya. Both of his children were okay. Again, a part of him was relived. Whatever was happening in Republic City had left his children fairly unscathed. But another part, a much larger part, was still terrified. “Tell me what?” Aang was met with silence, and for a moment he thought they were gone. “Kids?”

“Bumi’s missing in action.” 

 Aang’s froze. For a moment everything stopped. His daughter’s words echoed through his mind. Bumi was not in Republic City. Kya and Tenzin were okay because the trouble was not in Republic City. He had been worrying about the wrong kid.

“What.” Aang said finally, trying to keep it together long enough to get more information.

“We got a telegram, his squadron got attacked. They said… they said to go to Red Sand Island Hospital…” Aang could hear his daughter’s voice cracking as she spoke, “but… but we don’t- we don’t know if he’s there- ” They could hear her labored breaths on the other side of the radio, as well as the gentle murmurs of an adult. Kya was hyperventilating.

“Kya, sweetheart, can you take a few deep breaths for me?” Aang said, trying his best to comfort his daughter. If there was one thing that could pull him away from spiraling, it was hearing his child in pain.

“… yes,” Kya responded. She and Aang took long, slow breaths together, the same way they would during morning meditation. 

“Perfect, you did perfect,” he said gently, “can you put your uncle on the phone please?” They could hear some shuffling before a deeper, more steady voice filled the room.

“I’m sorry, that was too much. She insisted on being the one to tell you and-” Sokka said, cutting himself off with a long, heavy sigh, “I’m so sorry Aang.”

“Do we know what happened?” Aang inquired. He knew the second sorry wasn’t about Kya, but he didn’t want to accept condolences. Not yet.

“No. Katara got a telegram about an hour ago. Toph and the girls were over, they’re still at the house helping her pack.” Aang’s pulse spiked. Katara. Katara got the news alone. 

“So you haven’t seen her?” He asked cautiously.

“No, but I’m going back over to the island with the kids.” 

“Tell her I’m leaving now. I’ll be waiting for her when she gets here.” Red Sand Island wasn’t very far from the capital, he was much closer to Bumi than the rest of his family, and that’s who needed him most.

“He’ll be okay Aang. Bumi’s strong,” Sokka added. Aang thanked him, mustering the strength to tell his children it would be okay and that he loved them, before giving the radio to Suki. The warrior wrapped Aang in a strong hug before she sat down to speak with her husband.

 Aang didn’t realize Zuko had come with him until they reached his guest room. Aang didn’t have the energy to say anything, and Zuko didn’t expect him to. Together they started packing, Zuko started folding clothes as Aang collected the things off of his desk. Aang let out a frustrated sigh, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and the documents, as pointless as they seemed now, would need to be carefully rolled. Wordlessly, Zuko handed Aang the pair of pants he had been folding, and took the letter from his hand. 

Zuko walked with Aang to the stables, where Appa stayed, and helped him load his things onto the bison. After they had finished, Zuko turned to leave, but Aang grabbed his hand and pulled him into a crushing hug. They stood there for a long time, Zuko not daring to be the first one to let go, until the anxious voice in Aang’s head told him he was wasting precious time. 

As he took off, he looked back at Zuko one last time. He was standing alone outside the stables, with a look of determination that echoed the phrase he’d whispered during their embrace. 

“You’ll all be okay.”



——————————————————————————————

Sokka stood outside his sister’s bedroom. This was going to be hard. When his niece and nephew showed up on his doorstep, his first thought was that something had happened to Katara. He’d cursed himself for opting to sleep in his apartment, he’d only left the island a couple of hours before, after family dinner. It appeared that in that time, their lives had been through into chaos. 

Sokka will be the first to admit that letting his niece tell Aang about Bumi was a terrible idea. But in his defense, he was in shock and had always had a hard time saying no to any of his nieces and nephews. When looking back, Sokka swears that if Suki hadn’t come on the line after Aang, he would have spiraled. Hearing his wife’s voice was always a comfort. As a couple that lived apart for long stretches of time, they would never take the invention of the radio for granted. Suki was always a grounding force in stressful situations, but even now he could hear she was unsteady. He promised to send her an update as soon as he could, hoping the waver in his voice got lost in the static.

When they arrived back on the island, it was well past midnight. The first thing Sokka saw when he entered the house, was Toph sitting on the couch, holding a sleeping Su in her arms. She looked worn, but much more composed than Sokka felt. Toph whispered orders to their niece and nephew, instructing them pack food in the kitchen. Neither of them protested. Sokka stood unmoving in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. He needed to find Katara. 

“She’s in her room,” Toph whispered, seeming to read his mind.

“Thanks,” Sokka said, “how are you?” He was not one to neglect the feelings of one younger sister over the other. Toph let out a long sigh, which caused Su to bounce slightly on her chest.

“How are any of us? This… this is terrible.” She said simply. In different circumstances, he would’ve laughed at her bluntness.

“Yeah,” Sokka agreed, “thanks for holding down the fort.” Toph smiled a sad, knowing smile. 

“You never have to thank me for that Snoozles.” He knew what she was referring to. The war. She was talking about how he held their little family together that fateful year, and every year after. War was the  childhood-stealing monster ever-present in the backs of their minds, even two decades later. 

Sokka dropped his bag on the couch and made his way up the stairs. He could already hear his sister shuffling on the other side of the door. He took a breath, and knocked. 

“I’ll just be another minute,” a soft voice called from inside. She was trying to sound okay, together, but he could hear the crack in her voice.

“It’s me,” Sokka replied, “can I come in?” There was a silence. He thought about barging in, weighing how poorly that would go with his sister, before she opened the door. Strands of hair had fallen out of it’s braid, and her eyes rimmed with red.

“Sokka?” Katara said, bewildered. Before he could respond, his sister jumped into a hug, letting herself fall into his arms.They stood there for a few moments before she relaxed her grip and let him inside her room. There were clothes folded neatly on her bed for both her and Aang, ready to be placed in their pack. After over a decade of almost constant travel after the war, Katara knew how to pack neatly and quickly, even under stressful circumstances.

“I’m so so sorry,” Sokka said finally. Katara sighed, leaning against her door. There were rarely times he thought his baby sister looked old, but seeing her now, grappling with all of this, he was reminded how much it could all take its toll.

“I just feel so helpless,” Katara lamented, “And stupid. And angry. And terrified.” 

“I know.” Sokka said. He knew better than to deny any of her feelings. She needed to talk it out, and he would always be there to listen. The two started packing, placing Katara’s folded clothes into her bag. 

“This is exactly why I didn’t want him to go!” Katara cried, shoving a shirt into the bag angirly, “but I let him! I let my baby go into a war zone.” Sokka’s heart broke. He knew, he knew this was coming. He dropped the shirt he was holding and wrapped his arms around his sister.

“This isn’t you’re fault Katara,” He whispered, resting his chin on the top of her head, “it isn’t.”

“I can’t loose him Sokka,” Katara said through a chocked sob, “I can’t loose my son.”

“You won’t.” 

Sokka stood there for a long time, shouldering his sister’s grief. Later, he carefully packed the rest of the bag, giving Katara a moment collect herself before having to face her children again. When she came back into the room, she was wearing real clothes and had rebraided her hair. Sokka handed his sister her bag, mentioning, “we radioed Aang at my house, he’ll be waiting for us when we get there.” Katara visibly brightened at the mention of her husband.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the pack, “Wait… ‘us?’”

“I’m coming too,” Sokka assured, “if you want me too.” Katara smiled.

Long ago, Sokka made a promise, and he had never gone back on it. No matter what, they would never truly be alone. Not if they had each other. 

Notes:

well there's that! I promise we will actually meet Bumi soon, there's been a lot of "waiting"/painful scenes but it'll all be worth it I promise. and more flashbacks! I gotta lot of ideas dont you worry.

thanks so much for reading, im really enjoying this.

the next chapter should be out pretty soon!

Chapter 3: open your eyes (make it last forever)

Summary:

Aang makes it to the hospital, Katara's starting her own journey, and Bumi's state is revealed.

(also Aang swears once in this chapter, but this tired guy deserves to)

Notes:

ahhh here it is! Sorry this chapter is so late, the next one will be coming MUCH sooner :)

I really love writing these characters and relationships, I'm looking forward to exploring everything more!

Also I've decided to hop just a little bit on the "every nation has it's own language (with dialect variations) but they all also speak in one universal language" train bc its really interesting- especially writing kids from two cultures!

let me know what you think, thanks so so much for reading :)

ALSO ages, bc it distracts me when I read things otherwise haha: Bumi: 19, Kya: 16, Tenzin: 13, Lin: 13, Su: 6, Izumi: 18

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“When you open you’re eyes, I feel alive… Make it last forever.” 

 

Somewhere Above the Fire Nation, Present 

Aang knew grief like an old friend. In his youth, it had been painful to grapple with the idea that the Air Nomads were gone, that he was truly alone. He knew deep down that no matter what he did, that weight on his shoulders was so heavy it would follow him into his next life. Spirits help his successor. 

But this time, it was different. This was new. The emptiness that often accompanied the pit in Aang’s stomach was replaced with something sickening. His body rejected the possibility of Bumi’s death like poison. It wasn’t real. He had to be alive. 

From the moment Bumi was born he made history. He was the first person born with recorded Air Nomad lineage in 107 years, the first son born to an Avatar in nearly 400, and the first mixed baby born in the South Pole in remembered history. Aang knew the world could give the baby as many titles as they wanted, it wouldn’t stop him from loving the first with his entire heart: Bumi, son of Katara and Aang. Bumi was their baby.

Everyone had opinions that were at best, invasive and at worst, racist about their son and his abilities. Aang knew after three months with his child that Bumi wouldn’t bend like him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a sliver of hope when they found out Katara was pregnant, but once the baby was born it didn’t matter. There was absolutely nothing that would ever make Aang disappointed in his son. Bumi was their baby. 

Aang rubbed his finger over Appa’s reigns, finding the two small indentations on his first try. He could still remember Katara’s face when they realized their son was teething, it was the one of their first big milestones, and it happened thousands of feet off the ground.

 Bumi was born into a different world than his siblings. His world was healing, and constantly needed his parents. Taking Bumi with them on their travels always felt like a terrible idea, but leaving him in the care of anyone other than family was unthinkable. Bumi’s first memories were all across the map. Now, nearly two decades later, Aang could still feel the the weight of Bumi in his lap as they flew around the world. Everywhere he turned he saw him. He had quite literally, left his mark on the sky. Bumi was their baby.

The hour long journey from the palace to Red Sand Island was the longest flight Aang had ever taken. Time was moving too slowly. When he finally spotted the small, twinkling town from his place on Appa, it took everything in him not to leap off the bison and glide down to the hospital. A younger Aang would have done it, but he knew better than to leave the sky bison to land himself in an unsuspecting village. Appa, who could sense Aang’s mounting anxiety, grumbled at his companion. 

“Sorry buddy, I know it’s late,” Aang sighed, eyes fixed on the town below, “we’ll be there soon.”

Once Aang settled Appa in the woods on the coast, he raced to the center of town. From his memory the hospital was one street off the square.  The sound of Aang’s steps echoed through the once quiet streets. While the city was fast asleep, the hospital was wide awake. Even from the outside Aang could hear the scuffle of doctors and nurses. Because of its association with the military, the hospital had access to high end electric lights, it was practically glowing. Aang could hear his heart beating in his ears as he asked the front desk about his son. 

He’s here, he told himself. The nurse checked her files. 

He’s here. 

She frowned. Aang gripped the desk, his knees threatening to buckle.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. 

The nurse, noticing Aang's terror, calmly noted that there were some patients they had been unable to properly identify, and that she could show him their rooms. Together they ventured further into the small hospital. Aang ignored the patients, doctors, and nurses who all gawked at his presence. There were five soldiers brought in with Bumi’s division that they could not identify. The first four rooms had men -boys- Aang had never seen before. Each time the closed a door, Aang felt himself get one step closer to his breaking point. Not yet, he told himself, he needs you.

When they go to the final door, the nurse stepped back and gave Aang a moment. There was a mutual understanding. Everyone knew what missing in action meant. If Bumi wasn’t behind this door, Bumi was gone. Aang took a breath. He slid the panel open and stepped inside, his eyes fell immediately on the single bed and the boy sleeping in it. 

He’s here. 

Aang collapsed at the side of his son’s bed, relief washing over his body. Bumi was both better and worse than he was expecting. He was shirtless, with bandages covering most of his torso, his right arm, left leg and a large gash on the side of his head. At some point the nurse asked him a list of questions, officially confirming the identity of the patient, but Aang never took his eyes off of Bumi. He wanted to hold him, to pick him up and never let go. 

After the nurse left, Aang chastised himself for not asking what happened. He wanted to know everything, but at the same time he was content sitting here with him. Aang knew they had time. He ran a gentle hand over his son’s bruised face.

“I’m here Bumi. Dad’s here.”


——————————————————————————————

Katara’s sky bison ride was a lot like her husband’s, filled with the same dread and questions and prayers. Her two youngest children refused sleep, both sitting on Oogi’s head while Tenzin steered. They clung to each other uncharacteristically, as if being any further apart would cause the other to disappear. Sokka finally coaxed them back to the saddle after several hours of flying with the promise of snacks and sleep making the ride feel shorter. He was met with eye rolls and protests that they were not little kids, but still, they obliged. 

To anyone else, sleeping on a sky bison would seem near impossible, but for Tenzin and Kya it was as much a home as Air Temple Island. While far less frequently than their brother, they both grew up traveling the world with their parents, which often involved long nights on Appa. As children, the three siblings slept together under the same blanket. Bumi was always on the left, Kya on the right squished next to their supplies, and baby Tenzin in the middle so he wouldn’t fall out. This time however, Tenzin and Kya slept at the front, neither bearing to turn over and see an empty blank space.

 Katara took their place on Oogi’s head, not breaking eye contact with the horizon. She was trying her best to act normal for her children, but she could tell it wasn’t working. It was better just to be quiet. Katara was so lost in thought, she didn’t realize her brother had climbed to the front until he was sitting beside her.

“I think the kids are asleep,” Sokka whispered.

“That’s good,” Katara sighed, “it’s going to be a busy day.” 

“You should think about getting some rest too,” Sokka coaxed, “I can take over.”

“I’m fine.” Katara said curtly. She wasn’t, but every second she not spent doing something to get closer to her son was a second she spent dreading the outcome of their arrival.

“I know you are,” Sokka started, placing a hand over his sister’s on the reigns, “but let’s be realistic. These next few days are going to be… intense. And your kids, all of them, will need you and you’re going to help them so… please, do this for me and get some sleep.” Katara was ready to fight her brother, but when she saw the worry in his face, she caved.  

“Wake me the second you see Yen City.”


——————————————————————————————

 

Republic City, 17 Years Earlier

Aang was late. Zuko wasn’t surprised per say, he and Katara often got caught up solving the small problems of every town they stopped in, but his tardiness never failed to concern the young Fire Lord. He was about to send for a messenger (or search party) when a haggard Aang burst into the meeting room holding his chaos-inducing son in one arm and an overflowing pack in the other. Bumi was trying profusely to climb out of his father’s arms, switching from what Zuko could decipher as a Water Tribe dialect and an (almost lost) Air Nomad language as he spoke to his father. Aang muttered back a reply in the Air nomad language as he sat in his seat with a huff, Bumi still in his lap.

“Sorry I’m late, getting Bumi settled is… a task,” Aang said, already looking over the scrolls splayed across the table between them, “how far did you get?” Zuko stared at his friend. Aang’s robes had a number of stains on them, which he could only assume were from Bumi, and the bags under his eyes were  more pronounced than he had seen in years.

“Where’s Katara?” Zuko asked, it was all he could muster. The plan had been for Katara and Aang to come to Republic City, as they rarely traveled apart and could balance the care of their rambunctious child.

“She’s still in Ba Sing Se,” Aang said, reading over the scrolls while trying to distract Bumi with the supplies in their pack. “The hospital system in the lower ring is under major reform and she’s helping oversee the last wave of changes. She’ll be here in a couple of days but for now, it’s just me and Bumi,” he added, placing a kiss on his son’s cheek. 

“But you came here?”

“If we don’t draft these tonight, we’ll be dealing with a civil war,” Aang said gesturing to the scrolls in front of him. There had been a growing unrest in the colonies closest to the Fire Nation, and when Zuko caught wind that there was talk of a revolt, he called Aang and Katara to help him problem solve and create a treaty. Sokka was set to arrive and provide insight the next day, but it was a time sensitive issue and not a second could be wasted.

“And you brought Bumi.” Zuko questioned. One side of him thought that this was a terrible idea as they would be in meetings all week and Bumi was not the most well behaved child. The other side of him however, the dad side, yearned for his own baby girl and was, quite frankly, jealous. Aang chuckled, looking up from his work. 

“Hey you’re the one that always asks about our ‘work-life balance,’ this,” Aang said, gesturing to the baby on his lap scribbling on a blank scroll, “is it. It’s not perfect but it works.” Satisfied, Zuko and Aang worked in a comfortable silence, Bumi content with the “task” his dad had given him. Zuko glanced up at his friend after a moment, and realized Aang had been doing his son’s hair as he read through the drafts. Bumi’s hair was different from anyone else’s he knew. Zuko had never known Aang with hair, but those who had insisted that Bumi’s was the exact same. Zuko privately thought it was humorous that one of the only Air Nomad characteristics Bumi had was the one most air benders would never actually express, but he kept it to himself.

“How do you know how to do hair?” Zuko asked.

“What do you mean?” Aang said, his hands weaved through a seemingly practiced routine.

“You don’t have any,” Zuko said matter-o-factly. Aang snickered.

“I don’t but the sisters did,” he responded, still skimming the proposals. Zuko blanched.

“You… had sisters?” Zuko asked carefully. Despite learning everything he possibly could about the Air Nomads after his banishment, and even more after befriending Aang, there were still times where his friend mentioned something completely new or, most often, contradictory to what he’d been taught. Aang paused, looking up from his work to meet his friend’s eyes.

“Oh. That was a poor choice of words,” Aang said, running a free hand over his bald head, “The sisters, the nuns… the people who helped raise me? They had long hair. We used to visit the Eastern Air Temple and it just sort of… stuck,” Aang smiled at his work, adding, “plus I married into the Southern Water Tribe, knowing how to braid is kind of apart of that.” Aang and Katara had not cut Bumi’s hair yet, growing it out in line with the Water Tribe’s customs. Zuko had always assumed that when it was styled, it had been Katara that braided her son’s hair.  He cursed himself  inwardly for the question in the first place. 

Agni, Zuko thought, why would he possibly mean actual sisters? I should check on Azula.

You can braid right?” Aang asked, moving to a different section of Bumi’s head, “Kiyi's hair always looks so good when she visits.” Zuko smiled at the mention of his youngest sister. She, along with their mother and his step-father, were still living in the village of Hira’a, but came to the palace often. Their visits usually overlapped with one of the gang’s meaning Kiyi had gained not only two older siblings, but a plethora of aunts and uncles. 

“I can, but mostly it’s Ty Lee who braids her hair, she’s really good.” Zuko corrected, “I want to get better at it so I can do Izumi’s hair.” 

“I bet she’ll really like that,” Aang said sincerely, “doing Boom’s has been really nice for both me and Katara. Hair is really important to her culture and it’s a way I get to connect back to mine.” Aang finished his son’s hair and pressed a kiss on the top of his head before returning to his work. Bumi’s hair was in tight braids close to his scalp, which Zuko could only assume was to help make nuns more streamlined as they flew through the air over one hundred years ago. Not long after they started working again, Bumi started fussing, whining in two languages. Zuko picked up on the phrases said in the Water Tribe language, but was lost when the toddler spoke in the other.  Zuko, unsure of what to do, started distracting Bumi with his bending. 

“I know you said it was a balance,” Zuko said, tossing a small flame between his hands as Aang rummaged through his bag for another, more long term solution to Bumi’s fussing, “but I have to admit it’s hard to picture Katara just letting you leave with him.”

“Believe me, it was not our best conversation.” He replied, almost annoyed.

“What changed things?” Zuko asked, still tossing the fire between his hands. They could both tell he was loosing Bumi’s interest, and he tried a different trick, hoping to by Aang time to find a different toy. 

“She realized it was unrealistic,” Aang huffed, dumping the contents of his bag on the table, “working full time and taking care of Bumi by herself, of course there’s nannies but… he’s such an energetic kid it can get intense.” As if to prove his point, Bumi started to cry, calling out in the universal dialect, the language Zuko could understand, for his pacifier. Together they began looking through Aang’s pile of clothes, scrolls, and other baby items.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Zuko questioned, “working and taking care of him?”

“Yeah but I’m not pregnant.” 

Aang froze. He was not supposed to say that. Zuko, who had just found the pacifier, slowly gave it to Bumi, who was blissfully unaware of the present events.

“Fuck.” Aang groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose before belatedly covering his sons ears,“forget I said that, you didn’t hear that.” 

“Aang-”

“Forget I said anything, nothing was said” Aang rambled exhaustedly, cutting him off.

“Aang-”

“We found out weeks ago,” Aang continued, running a hand over his head absentmindedly, “it’s still so early and we were going to wait to tell people and…ugh” he groaned, leaning back in his chair.

“Congratulations.” Zuko said finally, before adding, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks,” Aang said, sitting up in his chair, “I’m actually really excited.” Zuko stared at his friend, who was practically beaming despite his obvious fatigue. Aang was destined to be many things in life, but Zuko knew in this moment, that being a father was one of them. 

“How are you two doing?” Zuko asked.

“Good… kind of? It’s been pretty hard on Katara, harder than with Bumi, which is why he’s here with me while she keeps working.” Aang grimaced,“I think she knows she’s going to have to stop sooner, working and doing things normally, so she wants to help as much as she can before then.”

“Remind me to send you some of the teas Mai drank when she was pregnant, she said those really helped,” Zuko offered. Mai’s pregnancy had been difficult from the first month to the last, and they tried nearly everything to help ease the discomfort.

“Thanks, I’m sure Katara will be really happy with that,” Aang said, smiling. Bumi, now drifting off, curled further into his dad, causing Aang to wrap the outer piece of his robe around the toddler as both a blanket and support. 

“I didn’t realize you guys were planning on having another kid so soon,” Zuko whispered, “it will be nice to have Bumi, Izumi, and the baby all so close in age.” 

“We were kind of… this was a surprise,” Aang chuckled nervously, adding quickly, “but we couldn’t be happier. I’m really glad they’ll all be close too. Growing up with kids around my age, that was really special.” Aang looked down at the bundle in his arms. “It’s nice to know he’ll never be alone.” 



——————————————————————————————


Red Island Hospital, Present

 

Bumi’s room was cold. His bed was in the center of the room, with an empty bedside table on the right and a small window on the left, which was left shut at night. A chair was brought in for Aang after he arrived, the nurse from the front desk apologized profusely for not being able to find a cot for the Avatar, but Aang didn’t mind. He would have slept on the floor if it meant being with his son. 

Aang awoke to the sound of their door sliding open. A nurse, a new nurse, came in carrying a tray of tools and medicine, which they set on the bedside table.

“Apologies for waking you up Avatar Aang,” The nurse said gently,“ I’m Hiro, your son’s nurse.” Hiro was a lean young man, Aang estimated just a handful of year’s older than his son.

“It’s no trouble, I didn’t realize I fell asleep,” Aang responded, glancing to the still-shut window, “what at time is it?”

“It’s just after four in the moring.” Hiro said, preparing his equipment, explaining,“because of his head injuries your son needs to be woken up every two hours to be monitored and take medication.” 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Aang questioned. 

“To get a full description of his injuries I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until his doctor, Dr. Niko, who will be checking in at nine.” Hiro frowned, “have you been able to discuss your son’s condition at all with any of our nurses yet?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t gotten the chance,” Aang sighed, cursing himself again for his mistake. Katara would have.

“Your son has suffered head trauma, in addition to the physical injury, there have been severe side effects, indicating possible damage to the brain.” Hiro hesitated, adding, “but there is still a lot we don’t know yet.”

Head trauma. Head. Trauma. For the millionth time, he wished his wife was here, not only would she be able to start healing Bumi, but she would know all the medical jargon, all the pills, and all the right questions to ask. She was the perfect mom, the perfect parent to have in crisis. He knew it would take at least a full days journey, he wouldn’t see his wife until dinner at the earliest, which meant he was all Bumi had. Bumi. 

Aang hadn’t seen his child in months. The teenager had been on his longest naval tour thus far, connecting with his family only through letters written home every few weeks detailing all of his adventures.  Even under the dim hospital lights, he could see the wear of sea life on his son. He looked even more like his mother’s family than he did before, not only in his darker completion but his overall appearance. Bumi’s hair had grown longer at sea, the braids in the front were adorned with both yellow and blue beads, much to his father’s brief amusement. 

When he left on his tour, Aang couldn’t have been more proud. Bumi was more happy, more fulfilled, than he had been in a long time. What had the sea done to his baby? 

Aang was pulled from his trance by Hiro clearing his throat softly.

“I’m going to wake him up now, he’s going to be a bit disoriented,” Hiro said, holding a set of smelling salts in his hands.

“Oh… okay,” Aang stammered. He waited impatiently as Hiro raised the smelling salt to Bumi’s nose to wake him from his medicated sleep. Bumi groaned and shifted in his bed, wincing as he moved. Aang moved closer, squeezing his sons hand and bringing himself into his limited field of vision. 

“… Dad?” Bumi murmured. Aang wrapped his hand’s tighter around his son’s and leaned in closer. 

“Hi Bumi,” Aang started, “I’m here. I’m right here.” Hiro cleared his throat again, alerting his presence to the disoriented teenager. Bumi gripped Aang’s hand tighter at the sound.

“Hello, I’m Hiro,” he said kindly, “I’m here to check in and make sure your still healing well, okay?”

“… okay,” Bumi responded, dazed. 

“Have you been dizzy at all? Nauseas?” Hiro said, reading questions from a sheet of paper he had brought in with the medicine.

“… yes.”

They went through a series of questions that left Aang feeling  hopelessly lost. When Hiro finished his questionnaire, he checked Bumi’s heart, temperature, and bandages, noting that they wouldn’t be changed until later in the day.

 At the end of the assessment, he had Bumi take the four different types of medicine, which he nearly threw back up, before leaving with the promise of being back in another two hours. Hiro explained to Aang that one of the mixtures was a fairly intense pain medication, which would inevitably pull Bumi back into a dreamlike state. Once they were alone, Bumi’s attention was drawn back to his father.

“Oh hi dad,” Bumi said spacily. Aang chuckled, it was clear the effects of the pain medicine were already taking over.

“Hey Bumi.” Aang sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“Where’s mom?” Bumi said, furrowing his brows.

“She’ll be here soon,” Aang responded. Though it wasn’t entirely a lie, he didn’t want to risk worrying his son.

“Oh okay,” Bumi said, relaxing again. “That’s good. I miss mom.”

“Me too kiddo.” 

“And ’Zumi,” Bumi added.

“What.”

“She’s… she’s the best,” Bumi said smiling.

“Oh…” Aang said, laughing inwardly, “well I’m sure you’ll see her soon too.” This pain medication was no joke. His relationship with the Fire Nation Princess was complex, and not something a more alert Bumi would discuss with his father. Aang was never entirely sure if his son was dating her, or if they were just friends.

“Good.” Bumi said, drifting off.

“Yeah buddy,” Aang said, taking his hand again, “really good.”

And that was the routine. Every two hours Nurse Hiro woke Bumi up, asked him questions, routinely checked his injuries, and gave him more medication that prompted a half lucid conversation between him and his father. However, after their second conversation, Aang wasn’t sure if it was the pills or a lack of sleep that prompted his son’s delirium.

At 9 AM, Doctor Niko came in and explained to Aang in painful detail all the things that were wrong with his son. Aang wanted to pass out. Over half of his squadron had been brought in the morning before in critical condition, and many of them were unable to give their names or badge number. The hospital was anticipating an influx of families, and had been preparing a second release of information, but Aang was the first parent to arrive. At the end of her visit, Dr. Niko gave Bumi a stimulant, instructing him to stay awake and eat, which gave Aang the opportunity to really talk to his son for the first time.

“How are you feeling?” Aang started. 

“… peachy.” Bumi said, flashing a crooked grin. Aang forced a chuckle, he supposed it was good he was joking, it was the most like himself, Bumi had been since Aang arrived. They sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence as Aang tried to collect his thoughts. He was unsure of how to start this conversation with his son. Aang had many questions about what happened, but he didn’t want to rush him. It was best to start small.

“The doctor said you weren’t giving your name when came in,” Aang started, trying his best not to sound as anxious as he felt, “can I ask why?”

“Oh… it’s… it’s basic UF protocol,” Bumi said, hoping that would be a sufficient answer. Aang raised an eyebrow.“I wasn’t… I was unconscious when I was brought here, so I didn’t really know where I was, who could get my name. You’re not supposed to give information until you can guarantee you’re safe,” Bumi paused, adding, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to apologize,” Aang said quickly, “I’m glad you were keeping yourself safe. I was just really worried about you buddy. ” 

Bumi opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the door sliding open. A cheery hospital staff member came in with a cart carrying a tray of jook and ham. Bumi didn’t have much strength, so Aang wordlessly helped prop him up and started preparing bites that Bumi could gingerly lift to his mouth. He had seen Katara do this for her own patients, himself included, and he knew being able to feed yourself made you feel just a bit better. It surprised him when Bumi started to flick the pieces of ham off his spoon.

“Not a fan of the ham?” Aang questioned gently. 

“I’m… I’m not eating meat.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah…” Bumi started, not making eye contact, “I started missing home so…”

“Oh. That’s-that’s great Boom.”Aang said tentatively.

 All of his children had been raised eating meat. He and Katara decided that until they could establish a sedentary residence in a place that had an abundance of healthy, nutritious vegetarian foods, their kids would need the protein. When they finally found their way to Air Temple Island, Bumi and Kya had grown too accustomed. When Tenzin switched to a vegetarian diet at ten, Aang asked his other children if they wanted to switch as well. This spiraled into a rather difficult conversation between him and his eldest. Bumi blew up, declaring he wasn’t an air bender or and actolyte and how that was all his father cared about. It broke Aang’s heart, but he understood. 

 From the moment their two oldest children were born, rude speculations and rumors began to circulate, the loudest being that they weren’t his children. Others that did believe they were his advised that they should be cast aside because they didn’t have “his genes.” When Tenzin was born, the comments only worsened. It didn’t help that the baby, the only air bender, was the child that closest resembled their father. While Aang and Katara tried to keep all of this as far from their children as possible, some of it inevitably slipped through. As he got older, Bumi drifted from his Air nomad lineage, associating it with trying to be something he just wasn’t. The world would hate him if he tried and hate him if he didn’t. So he didn’t. Until now. He became a vegetarian, because he missed home. 

Notes:

well there it is!! I hope you enjoyed!

I was thinking recently about Aang and Katara and their kids, and how in a lot of ways Aang's job would keep him busy, but when he wasn't doing Avatar things he would just... be free? Between the two of them, I can only imagine Katara's job is more "9 to 5" restrictive, meaning that at times it probably made more sense for the kids to be with Aang than with her if they were traveling separate ways, especially at first?? Idk the more "balanced" parenting style with them just makes sense to me. I don't see Katara as someone who would just give up her passion and helping people, and I don't see Aang as someone who would make/want her to.

That being said, I don't think they usually parted ways, I think that separating Katara from one of her babies is like pulling teeth, it's always really hard for everyone.

ALSO As a mixed kid, I thought it was a little disappointing they didn't explore that more in LOK, especially when they had Mako and Bolin RIGHT THERE in addition to the Cloud Babies, but I digress. It's something I really want to explore in this fic, so look forward to more of that :)

thank you so much for reading, feel free to let me know what you think! I'm open to any and all comments, critique, ideas, etc :)

Chapter 4: as the world caves in

Summary:

Bumi's turn.

His story, the night it all came crashing down

Notes:

I'm back! December was absolutely wack for me, like it was for a lot of people, so I didn't get to writing as much but now I am back to my regular goal of striving to post once a week (or once every two)!

I love these characters so much :) I hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

United Forces Naval Ship, Squadron 5522, Two Days Earlier 

Even though he couldn’t quite remember how it ended, Bumi would remember how it started for the rest of his life. It was a cool night, he was stationed on the right side of the lower deck with two other privates, Mei and Han, who both had been in his class at bootcamp. Their ship was on its regular course, and they were to reach their destination in a few short hours. At this point in his career, Bumi had only been in a handful of skirmishes with pirates and, even less often, those who still opposed the emancipation of the United Republic from the Fire Nation. This particular mission however, was supposed to be routine. Orginally sprung from the Harmony Restoration Movement, the UF gave continuous support and supplies to the impoverished regions of the Republic to care for their citizens and maintain peace. Newer recruits like Bumi would restock hospitals, distribute food and visit schools. It would be a normal mission, no need for stress or worry. 

Bumi yawned as he gazed out onto the ocean, it was so dark he could barely make out the horizon line. He, Han, and Mei had been on duty for most of the night, trading stories and playing the occasional game of truth or dare to keep themselves awake. Bumi was about to jump into a particularly humorous (and mildly embarrassing) tale about elephant koi when another officer turned the corner. They all stopped talking and straightened. Even from afar they could tell the man was walking with the gravitas of a superior. The officer did not meet their gaze when he passed, and normally Bumi wouldn’t have thought anything of it, some of the younger high ranking officials had what some would call a superiority complex, but something was off. As the man walked by, the air warmed, ever so slightly. 

Bumi was from a bender heavy family. He knew bending was tied to emotion, so much so that at times it could become slightly uncontrollable. If a person wasn’t channeling their bending correctly, it could literally exude from them, seep into the world and demand to be known. Bumi was also only a second year officer, meaning he was not a stranger to filing and attendance. He knew the exact number of benders and non-benders on the ship. There were only twenty fire benders, and their division was not on watch tonight. Something was wrong. 

“Excuse me,” Bumi called out, the man kept walking. “Sir-hey!” Bumi watched as the man broke into a full blown sprint. There was a second of  hesitation before he spoke again.“Sound the alarm.”

Bumi, Mei, and Han all ran in different directions. Han went to ring the bell, Mei below deck to get the commanding officers, and Bumi took off after the man. Bumi was fast, and even with a significant head start, he was on the man’s tail in no time. He reached out to grab the rim of his collar, but before he could grab it he caught a blow on his side and fell to the floor. There was another figure. Bumi hit the ground hard, but before he could think he was being picked up again and slammed against the railing of the ship. It was another invader. The man currently holding him was bigger than the slender fire bender Bumi had been chasing. His broad shoulders and wider set features indicated to Bumi he was probably an earth bender, but whether or not he could bend metal was the real question. From his position on the railing, Bumi saw as the fire bender open one of the steel doors and disappear into the ship. Suddenly, dozens of hooks whirred past Bumi, wrapping around the railing. Below, figures began scaling the side of the ship. This was a full fledged attack. 

 Bumi was still pinned, watching the invaders below, when he felt a searing pain. One of the hooks had caught his arm, pinning it between the railing and the rope. He was trapped. The man holding him took this as an opportunity, and with a sickening grin released his hold to follow his conspirator into the ship. 

Bumi was left alone on the side of the ship, with the weight of impending doom hanging heavy. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as picked himself off the ground, gripping the railing for dear life with his free hand. He had a choice: either hope help arrives before the invaders scale the ship and kill him, or find a way to dislodge his arm from its hook-rope prison. The alarm blared, but the terrorists kept climbing. By the time any more officers got to him, they would already be on board. Bumi guessed there was about a forty-five second window to follow through on his decision before his fate was sealed. He tried pulling his arm out of the hold, but it only succeeded in further ripping his sleeve. Thirty seconds. He could feel the pressure of the person climbing below getting stronger as the rope dug further into his arm. He groped for a weapon, his throwing knives, truncheon, anything- but the earth bender had taken both. Twenty seconds. In a moment of panic, he fell to the ground, wincing at the sharp pang of pain from as the arm above him was pulled tighter and tighter against rail. Fifteen seconds. Bumi gritted his teeth, throwing all of his weight back and kicking the hook with as much force as he could muster from the awkward angle. After a few swift kicks, he managed to loosen the hook’s grip on his arm and pull it free, ignoring the sound of a body hitting the water below him. 

Bumi pulled himself to his feet, pretending not to notice the red stains covering his tattered coat sleeve. Despite his mother being a healer, he had never been good with blood. He ran to the front of the ship, hoping to find the rest of his unit, but was met chaos. The officers and attackers were in full fledged battle. Fire, earth, and metal flew through the air from both sides, and Bumi knew things would only get worse. The ship’s numbers far outnumbered those of the attackers, but with the element of surprise on a ship primarily harboring first and second year officers, a coordinated attack of this scale would be detrimental.

As discretely as possible, Bumi raced into the heart of the ship where the other officers were gearing up to join the fight. In the artillery room, Bumi ran into Mei, who was gathering smoke grenades to bring back up. She was always more akin to far-range weapons. Little was said between the officers as they rushed in and out of the room, and Mei and Bumi gave each other a small nod before he started gathering more throwing knives, albeit slower than he would like. Mei, Han, and Bumi had met during bootcamp, as one of very few non-benders in their class of cadets, they grew to be some of his closest friends. Mei was warm and thoughtful, but tough as nails. She reminded Bumi a lot of his aunt Suki, much to her delight. He was reminded again of her compassionate nature when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re bleeding.” Mei said, already grabbing bandages from the safety pack that sat in every room of the ship. 

“I’m fine,” Bumi responded, trying his best to concentrate on gathering his supplies. He hadn’t done anything to the wound, he could do that after this was done. Treating his arm also meant having to think about what just happened, what was happening, and Bumi didn’t like to do that. Thinking about things like that was never his strong suit. He could deal with it all in other ways, he always had. Some of the other officers had glanced at his arm in the rush, but none had stopped, there was an unspoken consensus that there was just no time for a non-fatal wound. No one had time apparently, except Mei. Wordlessly, she cut the rest of his sleeve off of the uniform, and hastily poured disinfectant over the wound before quickly, but methodically, laying the bandages over his arm.

“Thank you,” Bumi said as Mei finished went back to her pack. He wanted to say more, tell her about what a good friend she was. He wanted to say again how much he valued every late night talk, the lighter ones, over girls and social drama, and the deeper ones, about family and life. He wanted to find Han and say it to him too. But now is not the time, they will always have after. 

“Anytime. Be safe, remember we trained for this.” Mei responded picking up her supplies and heading to the door. She turned, adding, “don’t do anything stupid. ”

 Bumi flashed her a crooked grin that silently said, no promises. It was clear she wanted to do more for his arm, and say more too, but the sounds of fighting above had a stronger pull. Bumi returned to his task smiling, but the warmth soon passed as he heard another blast from above. Quickly, he gathered the rest of his throwing knives and went to face the music. 

Things above deck were grim, it was still anybody’s guess which side would win the skirmish, and what winning would even mean for the people attacking them. Bumi was skilled with a number of weapons, but his personal favorite, aside from a Jian sword or a boomeraang (which were less regularly stocked on a naval vessel), were throwing knives. They were perfect for both offensive and defensive battle. He was doing fairly well fending off the attackers that came at him, even with one arm’s aim being slightly less accurate (he had never been more grateful to be ambidextrous), when he noticed a light in the command center. The command center, where not only the ship was controlled, but all messages were sent and delivered, was a large room at the top of the ship, with windows on all sides. Currently, there was a man standing in the center holding a small flame. Even though he could not make out his face from the deck of the ship, Bumi knew in his gut that it was the same man he had chased when this all began. If just one of the attackers escaped with the information in the control room, all the access codes and communications with every other United Forces ship, there was no telling the damage that could be done.

The battle had started to slow down, with more United Forces officers joining the fray, there numbers would soon overpower the attackers, but the man had to be stopped. Bumi raced back into the ship and up the ladder. He realized then that he should have called for more back up than merely shouting to those around him of his pursuit, but he was never one to look before he leaped.

As soon as he entered the control room, he was met with fire. Bumi managed to dodge some of the blasts, but he knew those he could not were doing more than singing his clothes. When the adrenaline wore off, he was going to be in a new world of pain, but that was something future Bumi had to deal with. In between the flurries of fire, he managed to strike the man with one of his knives, momentarily disarming him. Bumi took the opportunity. Without hesitation, he launched himself at the man, and the full force of his body sent them both flying through the window and landing on the deck, several meters below. 

Bumi wasn’t sure how long he was unconscious, but he would be told later that at the same time, on the other end of the ship, several bombs had gone off. It was a last ditch effort from the group of terrorists, giving context as to why he woke up  on the lower deck in a sea of fire and debris after leaving a winning battle. Bumi tried to pull himself up, but the throbbing pain in his head forced him back down. He took a mental assessment of his situation: he couldn’t walk, his arm was still in pretty bad shape, and he was pretty sure the gash in his chest was deeper than a surface wound. Bumi could faintly remember the burning pain he felt while falling, how the man had shifted in their flight to press a fist onto his chest. But all of that was over now, and he was laying on a burning ship in the middle of the ocean. There were people around him, voices, but he couldn’t tell if they were his friends or his foes. He couldn’t tell much of anything, except that the ship would probably sink, and he just crashed through the only communication center.

Okay. Bumi thought, I’m going to die here. 

He was trained for this. Even before the academy there was always a chance. Bumi could count the number of times he thought that maybe, he was going to die. There was the time he tried swimming in Yue Bay alone, his first ride on Druk, and the handful of times his parent’s lives put him in harms way. Those were the times, looking back, where he felt he had the least control. He was merely a pai sho tile in the game of evil vs. good, change vs. stagnation, his family vs. the world. 

But even still, he had never been this scared. There was always someone to catch him, to fish him out of the bay and hold him until all his troubles melted away. But not this time. 

Bumi could feel his consciousness slipping away, knowing that probably, he wasn’t going to wake up. In what he thought would be his final moment, he thought of his mom. Tears started to trickle down his cheeks as he pictured her hearing the news. She would be sad, he thought. But she would be okay. They all would. They all would have to be okay. There was always a chance, with every one of them, and he was always her boy that wouldn’t look before he leaped. 

I’m sorry. 

Notes:

well here's this! ending on kinda a dark note (there is a lot he needs to process) but our boy got his chapter!

while writing I realized I wanted Bumi's accident to be told as a standalone, completely in the moment instead of being told in the "present." we haven't heard from him at all yet in this, but this is still also his story !

I'm planning on posting the next (longer) chapter in the next day or so, but I wanted to get this out there bc I've been gone for a moment haha

(also if you caught it, yes Mei is an OC and Bumi's queer nonbending bff bc everyone needs one, especially bumi he is a lovable mess)

I hope you enjoyed! as always im open to any and all comments, ideas, critiques :)

Chapter 5: eternally

Summary:

Bumi's still hurt, more sibling stuff, and some hardcore mama-son moments :)

Notes:

so I leaned a little heavy on the "or so" from "in a day or so" for this update, but it is the longest and one of my favorite chapters so I really hope you enjoy!!

also: dialogue in < and > means that it is being spoken in either the Air Nation or Water Tribe dialect, and I try to make that clear but I just wanted to say it here again. this was just a choice I made, I may change it up or use actual languages that aren't English, but rn this is what's up.

itty bitty tw: there's NOT a mention of blood, but he does have some wounds although it's not graphic dw, also brief mention of throw up, and uno swear word bc Katara deserves it

also the quote is Adele, Sweetest Devotion and I own none of these characters

hope you like it :) thanks in advance for reading

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"You will only be eternally, the one that I belong to"

Fire Nation Palace, 16 Years Earlier

Katara awoke with a start after hearing the faint cries of her son in the next room. She groaned, gingerly tossing her feet over the edge of the bed, ignoring the ache of her back as she heaved herself up. Rooms in the Fire Nation Palace always felt just a little too big, and the walk to the dresser always felt just a little too long. Katara always placed a protective hand over her growing belly out of fear of knocking into the gold-plated bureau, despite having practiced this midnight walk nearly every night of their stay. There she found the candle in the same spot as yesterday, and brought a warm light to the room she shared with her husband. Aang, always the heavy sleeper, was still snoring in the same position she left him in. 

Just like every child did in the South Pole, Bumi used to sleep between his parents. For both Katara and Aang, it was important to for their children to know and practice their cultures, especially since they weren’t living in their home nations. Aang didn’t have many practices for a baby, and none to do between parent and child, so there had been little need to compromise on thus far. Even though there was no practical need for the toddler to sleep between Aang and Katara, it made them feel better.

Katara had worked at enough hospitals to know that with parenthood came natural (and oftenirrational) fears, but she was not prepared for the onslaught of personal anxieties that crashed down the moment she found out she was pregnant. Her worries only worsened when Bumi was first placed in her arms. Katara never wanted to let go. The first time they had to leave their son in the capable hands of his grandfather, she couldn’t sleep the entire time away. She had said goodbye to too many people she loved without the assurance of reuniting. 

Needless to say, Katara would’ve kept her son sleeping beside her for as long as she could. They had at least one more year of co-sleeping ahead of them when she realized she was pregnant. It was a surprise, again, and for whatever reason the last seven months had been far more intense than her first time around.  Everything was harder, the morning sickness, the pains, the fatigue. It all crashed down on Katara with a force that made two kids seem like the perfect number. Soon after her symptoms started, they realized the effect they were having on Bumi. Despite the boy being a fairly good sleeper, every time Katara got up to use the bathroom in the night, or threw up in the morning, or shifted to get comfortable, Bumi would wake up. Quickly, the couple learned their sleeping arrangement was unsustainable, and transitioned Bumi to a crib in the other room. It was surprisingly nice at first, Katara enjoyed having more room in the bed and the ability to drift off in Aang’s arms that was reminiscent of their teenage years. But what neither parent was expecting, was their toddler to stop sleeping through the night all on his own.

Katara silently opened the door that connected her room to her son’s, a makeshift office-turned-nursery, the candle illuminating his tear streaked face and outstretched hands.

<“Shh, it’s okay baby,”>Katara whispered in her native Water Tribe language, scooping up Bumi and shifting him to comfortably sit above her bump,< “I’m here, I’m here.”> 

Katara loved holding her son. She loved feeling his warmth and the rise and fall of his chest, the tickle of his hair on her face when he lay on her shoulder. If she really concentrated, she could even feel his heartbeat, pattering alongside her own. Together they swayed under dim candle light to the tune of an old Water Tribe lullaby until his cries slowly softened, and he began to calm down. Katara didn’t realize that Aang had come in, but when she saw another figure standing with a small flame in his hand, her grip unconsciously tightened on Bumi, causing him to stir and start sobbing again. 

“Shit,” she groaned, “he was going back down.” Katara was normally not one to curse, but her lack of sleep and overall unrest, both from pregnancy and her son’s newly sporadic sleep schedule, was causing more than one change in her behavior. Bumi started squirming in her arms, and before any of his kicks could land on his unsuspecting unborn sibling, Katara begrudgingly passed him to Aang. 

“You should’ve woken me up,” Aang yawned, bouncing Bumi, “you shouldn’t be up if you don’t have to.”

“I’m fine Aang, I wanted to.” Katara replied, leaning on the edge of Bumi’s crib. 

“I know,” Aang whispered, pulling up the chair from the empty desk and offering it to his wife, “but you’re already up half the night.”

“I can’t sleep if he’s fussing like this.” Katara said, accepting the seat, “he was a perfect sleeper for years. 

“Remember, the healers said this happens sometimes with toddlers that are about to become big brothers,” Aang offered, kissing Bumi on the cheek, “it’s just his way of saying he needs some extra love.”

“He’s been getting extra love. We’ve been with him every moment of this trip,” Katara paused, watching her husband pace back and forth with their fussing son, “maybe he’s been traveling too much.” 

“He’s been traveling his whole life Katara, he’s fine,” Aang sighed, “this will pass.” 

“Maybe it’s all been too much,” she whispered, watching Bumi start to lull, “things are changing so fast and he doesn’t have anything to hang onto.”

“He has us,” Aang responded, shifting his son to a better position on his shoulder, “plus he’s half nomad, it’s in his blood. I’ve been traveling my whole life and I’ve been okay, better for it, even.”

“But did you start this young?” Katara asked, immediately regretting the question. Aang stopped pacing, thought for a moment. He leaned his head back and took a long, heavy breath.

“I have no idea.” Aang said dryly, meeting Katara’s eyes. He was never one to be curt, especially with his family, but the lack of knowledge about his earliest years had become a sorer subject ever since Bumi was born. People often forgot, because of his cheery demeanor and positive attitude, just how much he lost. But not in moments like these, when she looked into those eyes, those lonely grey eyes. For a fraction of a second, she’d forget how others couldn’t see it. The weight. That is, until the very next moment, the next breath. When in a blink of an eye he put it all away. “But he’s going to be okay. He’ll sleep again, this isn’t about travel. This is normal.”

“I just get worried about him,” Katara replied. They had had long conversations about how they each grieve. Aang had made it very clear how much he hated the attention. In moments like this, if anyone were to mess up or push too hard, he preferred to let it be and seamlessly go back to normal, much to Katara’s chagrin. So they would talk again in the morning. “I don’t him to be this out of sorts when the baby comes. I need my little guy to be okay.”

“He will be.” Aang started softly, “And if it is all the travel, he’s about to spend a lot of time in one place. The most since he was born, I think.” Katara was determined to have any and all children she had in the Southern Water Tribe, meaning that she, Aang, and Bumi would spend the final months leading up to the birth (and several after) in the South Pole surrounded by family and friends.

“That will be nice,” Katara said, placing a gentle hand on Bumi’s back and rubbing small circles. She paused for a moment, looking up at her husband,“I know… I know he’s half nomad, and that he know’s how to travel, and you know how to do this. It’s… it’s just different than how I was raised and I need to remember that.” 

“Of course. All of this is different, for both of us,” Aang replied, wrapping his free hand around his wife,“but different can be good. Really, really good.” In the light of a single candle, they stood blissfully in each other’s embrace. 

“Thank you.” Katara whispered, cupping Aang’s face with her hands. 

“You never have to thank me when you’re carrying our baby,” Aang replied, letting her hands guide him into a loving kiss. “Let’s let him sleep with us for the night, it’s not like we’re trying to keep a sleep schedule at this point.”

“That sounds good,” Katara replied, releasing from the embrace. She interlaced her finger’s with Aang’s and guided them all back to bed. The three, almost four, of them slept soundly through the night. 

As long as she could be beside them, different was perfect. 


——————————————————————————————

Yen City, Present 

Katara had been to Yen City many times before, but she had never arrived this early in the morning. Even from afar, the city lights blanketed the empty town in an eery glow. While Republic City had commercial boats that went to more established ports Fire Nation, it was still easier to go through Yen City to get to one of the remote islands. Yen City was one of the first towns colonized by the Fire Nation back in the Hundred Year War, and its ties to the nation remained the most connected.

When Katara awoke, Oogi had landed just outside the city and her brother was unpacking the supplies. For just a moment, she thought they were merely on another trip as ambassadors, but as soon as she saw at the missing spot next to her children, reality came crashing back down. Sokka and Katara silently collected their packs, waiting until the last possible moment to wake up the sleeping teenagers. When it was time, Sokka took one glance at his nephew, who had flown Oogi most of the way before passing out just an hour before, and gingerly put him on his back. Katara put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, whispering that it was time to go. Kya rose quietly, dutifully collecting her things before jumping off the bison and blankly staring out onto the city of lights before them. The three of them whispered their goodbyes to the bison as he turned to fly home before setting off themselves, flocking to the glowing city like moths to a flame. 

Much to their frustration, the earliest ferry was leaving in nearly three hours, at sunrise. The family decided to wait out the darkness from the comfort of a nearby tea shop, taking refuge in a quiet corner with a wide low table and lots of cushions. Sokka slid a still-sleeping Tenzin onto a cushion, and Kya immediately claimed the one beside her brother, pulling her knees to her chest and leaning her head back on the wall. The only indication of it being three o’clock in the morning was the darkness peaking through the windows. Inside the tea shop, the lights were bright and the wait staff lively. Sokka initially ordered two jasmine green teas before glancing at his niece, her eyes dull and drooping, before ordering a third. 

Katara barely noticed when the drink was set in front of her. She wasn’t there. The only thing that distracted her from the gaping whole in her chest, were her two other children. She cursed herself for bringing them along, both had dark bags under their eyes and a blanket of fatigue that their young bodies had never known. They didn’t grow up like she did, and she didn’t want them to. But even now, free from war, they would know the same stress filled ache that came with a fitful night. She chastised herself for dragging them into the situation, but she knew they and her brother were the only thing keeping her sane. 

At least Tenzin was able to fall asleep, Katara thought. He was like his father and his brother in that way, they could sleep anywhere. Kya wasn’t. Katara knew her daughter wouldn’t be able to rest like this, and she could already see the stress taking its toll, her hair being the first victim.

“Sweetie,” Katara said suddenly,“your braid, let me fix it.” Kya had been following Water Tribe customs when it came to her hair and often wore styles akin to those in the South. Because of the emergency, she had been unable to follow her routine, leaving her hair in a disheveled state. It was enough to briefly rally her mother.

“It’s fine mom,” Kya sighed, pushing away her mother’s outstretched hand.

Kya,” Katara said firmly. Kya hesitated before shifting around so that her mother could begin braiding. Nobody, whether it be a stranger or her children, wanted to cross Katara when she used that tone of voice. They sat in a comfortable silence as Katara began unbraiding the strands and running her fingers through her daughter’s long brown hair. 

“What time do you think we’ll get there?” Kya asked after a moment.

“This ferry should take us to Ran Island, and from there we can go to Red Sand Island, but there may be a delay, so we should get to the hospital before dinner.” Katara replied, beginning the new braid. 

“Dad’s already there right?”

“Yes, he should have arrived a few hours ago.” Katara was endlessly jealous and mind numbingly sorry for her husband. Her heart ached at the idea of going through whatever was happening by himself,  but the not knowing, not being there for her son, was eating her alive.“There, all done little bird,” Katara said, using an old nickname as she ran a hand down the length of the new braid, “now try to get some rest okay? Apparently you didn’t sleep at all last night.” Katara prayed to the spirits she sounded as normal as she was trying to be. 

“I’m okay mom,” Kya muttered, “I’ll sleep on the boat.”

They sat, unmoving at their table until dawn. The time was spent in intermittent conversation, mostly between Kya and her uncle. Tenzin had woken up a few times, put promptly fell back into a restless sleep, under his sister’s watchful eye. The only good thing about going to a tea shop in the middle of the night, Katara thought later, was that there was no one else there to recognize you. If the staff had, they knew well enough to mind their business. Besides braiding Kya’s hair, Katara spoke and did very little in the three hours. She could feel every second tick by. As they were getting up from the table, Sokka moved to pick up his nephew once again, but his niece lay a hand on his shoulder. 

“I can get him.” Kya said firmly. Sokka raised his eyebrows. Kya and Tenzin were never the type of siblings to particularly lean on each other, without their older brother, they had only grown more independent.

“Oh… okay,” Sokka responded, helping lift the sleeping teenager onto her back. He understood. He knew the feeling. The bone-deep, perspective shattering need for your younger sibling to be okay when everything else around is you is completely falling apart. Where the only thing you feel that you have any semblance of control over, is making sure they make it out. Katara wouldn’t like this new dynamic, he reasoned. Spirits know how much work went in to making sure each of her kids never felt the way they did, ensuring her daughter would never ever have to grow up that fast. And it worked, for the most part. But this, Sokka knew, couldn’t be helped. He was here now, after all. 

On the ship, Katara set her children up in the main hall, a room entirely made of windows with cushions and more tea. After ensuring they were comfortable, she ventured down to the main deck. Here, looking out onto the open water, she let herself be consumed once again by nerves. Katara was suffocating. Every minute she spent without her son gave way to another flood of dread. All she could do was wait. She felt powerless. The only thing bringing her back to reality, was the icy touch of the boat railing and the morning sea breeze. If she was a poet, she might’ve found this all painfully beautiful. She had done this before. On a Fire Nation ship, waiting to find out if a boy she loved so fully was alive. She had done this before, even, with the company of Sokka, and the absence of Aang. But she was not a poet, and this was not beautiful. 



——————————————————————————————

Red Sand Island, Present 

Aang had had a rough morning. The cyclical nature of Bumi’s care never allowed either of them much of break or time to get their bearings. They had been informed that many of the patients being treated from Bumi’s squadron were from his ship, and the number of casualties from the others was still unknown. The only piece of good news they had received, was that many of the members of his rank, including the other two non benders from his class, were alive and on track to recover. 

At 11 AM, the stimulants started to wear off and the doctor announced they would be redressing his wounds, which hadn’t been cleaned since he was first bandaged up the night before. The doctor suggested that Aang leave the room, as it would be a fairly intense procedure, but before he could answer Bumi spoke up.

“Don’t… go, don’t go dad- please don’t go,” Bumi pleaded as he frantically tried to sit himself up. Aang’s heart broke. Immediately, he moved to his sons side, grabbing his hand and brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“I’m not doing anywhere Boom. I’ll be there the whole time.”

 And he was. Aang was present for every excruciating second. Bumi had bandages all over his body, with particularly deep wounds on his chest, arm, and the side of his head. Each of these larger injuries needed to be unwrapped, cleaned, and reset. The process took over an hour. At first Bumi tried to act strong, gritting his teeth and squeezing Aang’s hand as they cleaned the wound on his leg. But when it came to the gash on his chest, Bumi screamed long and loud, begging his dad to make it stop. The whole time Aang didn’t look away, he sat by his son, holding his face and whispering how much he loved him.

I’m know, I know, it’s almost over Boom,” Aang whispered, “you’re doing such a good job.” 

For the first time, he was glad his wife wasn’t there. 

Right after the procedure, Bumi was given a heavier dose of pain medication and Hao assured Aang he could step out for some air, promising to sit with him until he came back. Aang stepped out of the hospital and felt the sun on his face for the first time since yesterday. And promptly threw up. To say the past fifteen hours were intense would be an understatement. Aang could feel himself wanting to fall apart, the sound of his son screaming still playing in the back of his head as he did a lap around the hospital. Stay strong, he told himself, Bumi needs you. He sent another prayer to the spirits, pleading that his wife would hurry, and with a breath went back inside


——————————————————————————————

When Tenzin inevitably woke up, the sun was high in the sky, shining through the window. There were two bags next to him, inside were pastries bought at the tea shop. He took the bag with his name on it and stood up, carefully laying his sister’s head, which had been resting on his shoulder, on a cushion. The ship itself was quite large, he found himself finding a ledge on the top deck to enjoy his pastry. He had first stirred when his sister laid him down on the ship, and it had, quite frankly, weirded him out that she had been the one carrying him. That had never exactly been their relationship. He was also a little embarrassed  that he had been given a piggy back ride at all, he was thirteen, not a little kid.

Tenzin often wondered what his older brother was doing when he was doing on his travels, imagining the different adventures he wrote about and what it would be like to live that carefree. At thirteen, Tenzin was pretty sure he knew what his life was going to look like, he was one of two air benders in existence, but Bumi had never been like that. A part of Tenzin was jealous of his older sibling’s freedom, but another part was terrified for them. He couldn’t imagine what he would do if he had to choose. 

He and Bumi had had many conversations about this. While they were six years apart in age, Bumi and Tenzin were fairly close. He knew they were not close like Bumi and Kya, but Tenzin liked to think they had their own special bond. Before he left, they frequently crossed paths in their dad’s study. Tenzin would be studying ancient texts, and Bumi looking over his father’s council notes from when he shadowed meetings. The world always saw Tenzin as “the future,” but he often saw Bumi filling that role. Tenzin would always have one foot in the past, his brother was the one looking forward. 

Now, he wished for nothing more than to have another one of those talks. Tenzin thought, ironically, Bumi would be the best person to handle this situation. He would know how to comfort their mom and say the perfect thing to make Kya perk back up. Maybe, if he was here, Sokka wouldn’t think he had to come. Bumi could be enough. Tenzin wished so badly to do that for people. His siblings always teased him, saying he was too stiff or too serious. Kya never came to Tenzin with her problems the way she did Bumi, even after he left. Maybe if he wasn’t under all that pressure, things would be better. 

Tenzin’s thoughts were interrupted when he spotted his mother and uncle on the lower deck. His mom was visibly distraught, more upset than he had seen her the entire trip, and Sokka had a hand on her back, rubbing small circles. Tenzin knew wasn’t supposed to be seeing this. As quietly as he could, he came off of the ledge and went back down to the cabin where he found his sister absentmindedly eating her pastry. 

“Where’d you go?” she asked worriedly, making room on their cushion.

“Just to get some air,” Tenzin replied, accepting his seat and leaning back on one of the pillows.

“Did you see mom or Sokka?” Tenzin paused, the image of his mother’s tear streaked face flashing in his mind.

“No…” he lied, thinking for a moment, “I think they’re taking some space.”

“Oh…” Kya went back to looking out the window, her eyes glossing over in way that made Tenzin nervous. He needed to fix this.

“Hey,” Tenzin said, getting an idea, “want to check out the concessions below deck? I saw some fire flakes.” 

“Sure,” Kya said, a faint smile momentarily touching her lips, “wait… I don’t have any money.”

“I don’t either… oh! What’s it that you and Bumi always want me to do?” Tenzin asked before using an Air Nomad dialect, ensuring Kya was the only one around to understand, <“Give the shopkeeper the old air bending charm?”>

“Tenzin!” Kya laughed, ruffling her brother’s hair. He was of course referring to their father’s marble trick. As children, Kya and Bumi regularly tried to take advantage of their brother’s unique skill set for anything people would give them, much to their parent’s mixed reactions. “We aren’t supposed to draw attention to ourselves.” 

“What?” Tenzin said, pushing her back, “it works doesn’t it?” Exploiting bending techniques was never his favorite activity, but right now he would do anything to make her smile. He would do anything to be enough. 

——————————————————————————————

Red Sand Island, Present 

Katara doesn’t remember much of the ride to Ran Island, or the lunch they had overlooking the bay, or the crowded ferry ride to Red Sand Island. Their final boat was smaller, but filled to the brim with parents clutching the same telegram Katara had received, although none she recognized. The families that were able to make it this quickly were all from areas of the United Republic that were closer to the Fire Nation than Republic City, not everyone had a bison that could cut their travel time down. The air on the ferry was heavy with anxiety and anticipation, and Katara found herself stepping outside the main cabin and into the night air for fear of drowning in it. 

When they finally docked at Red Sand Island, Katara almost, almost didn’t want to step off the boat. Presently, she was in a state of painful unknowing, but there was still a glimmer of hope. Knowing could feel exponentially worse. She felt a steady hand on her back, and met the deep eyes of her brother. I’m here, they said. Together, they took the first step.

The town had changed since Katara had been there, but she payed little attention to anything other than the street signs pointing in the direction of the hospital. They past a market closing for the day and small restaurants opening for dinner, so many people living completely unaware and unaffected while Katara could feel her world slipping away. With every stride, the thumping in her chest grew louder and louder. Right before they turned the final corner to the hospital, Katara was stopped by the sound of quiet sniffles. Tenzin, who had attached himself to her right arm, was struggling to stop the stream of tears that was going down his face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine let’s just keep going.” Tenzin chocked out through sobs. He began trying to lead them forward, still holding his mother’s hand. Katara stayed put, releasing from his grip to place a free hand on his shoulder. 

“Tenzin, baby, look at me,” Katara said, cupping his cheek with her hand. “I know this is scary, okay? Really scary. But you have me, and your sister, and your uncle, and dad soon too.” She could feel her own tears welling up as she spoke, but she kept going, “and we will all be okay, and Bumi will be okay and we can get through this.” Katara could feel her voice wavering, so in a final effort to make it all feel true, for both her and her son, she pulled both of her children into a tight hug. 

“You both have been so brave,” Katara said, wiping a tear off Kya’s face after they pulled back. “And I am so, so proud of you.” Katara, Sokka, Kya, and Tenzin all linked arms as they turned the corner, an unflinching wall of fear and hope.

The courtyard right outside the hospital was chaotic. Many hospital staff members were stationed at different tables outside, which had been set up in anticipation for the influx of families. Terrified parents and overworked administrators created a large crowd that was nearly impossible to step through. Katara and her family were still trying to find someone, anyone to talk to that could confirm the survival of her son, when she spotted a familiar blue tattoo peeking just above the crowds. 

“Aang?” Katara whispered first, then louder “Aang!” She watched as his head whipped around at the sound of her voice, as his tired grey eyes scanned the crowd before lighting up at the sight of his family. Both parties raced through to find each other, although Aang, always light on his feet, met them first.

“You’re here.” Aang said, jumping into the arms of his wife. He broke from their crushing embrace only to reunite with his children and quickly hug Sokka, seemingly relieved and astonished at their presence. “You’re- all of you are here.” Aang turned back to Katara and took her hands in his. She took a breath. 

“He’s alive.” Aang said, “Bumi’s going to be okay, he’s hurt, really hurt, but he’s alive.” 

Katara’s heart skipped a beat. The dam of tension, of mounting anxiety, finally broke. Relief washed over her body with a force so strong she felt she might pass out if not for her husband’s strong hand holding her steady. Her children and brother beside her broke into cries of tentative relief. Katara’s eyes met Aang’s with a wave of newfound determination.

“Take me to him.”

Together, the five of them broke through the crowd and through the hospital doors. Aang, his hand still linked with Katara’s, smiled at the woman running the front desk, who nodded in approval as they raced down the hallway. Aang led them to passed a series of sliding wooden doors before stopping in front of one with a detachable label reading, Bumi. 

Aang stepped back as Katara opened the door. The room was bright, and under the florescent glow of hospital lights, she saw him. Bumi was awake, sitting up partially in bed with what the healer side of her brain could already assess as near-fatal wounds. He saw her, standing in the doorframe and squinted.

“…. mom?”

Katara’s heart lept to her throat as she flung herself across the room, fiercely wrapping her arms around him. They sat together for a long time, Katara kneeling, holding her son, and Bumi, letting himself be held. The weight that was lifted off of Katara’s chest was replaced by pure solace and a sob that cathartically wracked her chest. Bumi, while disoriented, shed tears as he gripped the back of his mom’s head, knowing just days before he believed he would never get to do this again. 

<“I’m sorry,”> Bumi whispered in his mother’s first language. <“I’m so, so sorry.”>

<“I’m here Bumi, it’s okay I’m here,”> Katara responded, pulling away only to confirm that he, this, was real. She brushed stray hair’s out of Bumi’s face and started to get a better look at his injuries. 

“Hey there buddy,” Sokka started, announcing his presence, “I’m glad to see you’re okay.” He took a seat at the end of Bumi’s bed and gently patted his non-bandaged leg. The only people left in the door frame now, were Kya, Tenzin, and Aang. Kya stood unmoving, staring blankly at her injured brother, and Tenzin was beside her, waiting nervously for her to make a move. Aang, noticing their hesitation, gently guided both them to the foot of Bumi’s bed. He set a hand on both of their shoulders, trying to make them more comfortable.

“Hi Bumi,” Tenzin started, unsure of what to say but willing to push through his unease, “I’m glad you’re okay too. I missed you.” Bumi looked up, his squinted eyes meeting his brother’s. 

“I- I missed you too Ten, all of you,” Bumi said, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes, “and I’ll be okay.”

“Yes,” Katara confirmed, squeezing Bumi’s hand, “we’re all going to be okay.” 

Notes:

so that's intense! but the family is together now (finally)!! I *almost* left the reunion for the second chapter, just to drag it out even longer, but I feel like it fit much better here. I'm excited bc now there's much more to play around and show in terms of family dynamics and kids reacting to longer emergencies/injury stuff.

a few things:
- I like the idea of Zuko renaming islands that were named after his forefathers with like the original dragons and other pre-Sozin stuff so that is where Ran Island came from.
- I'm gonna touch on it even more, but Aang and Katara navigating being parents of mixed kids is something I love and need so it'll be in here
- I also like the idea of Aang, a person who had never thought about his parents at all or had any reason to be involved in traditions with babies, feeling kinda upset about different things when he himself became a parent, and I want to touch on that more in the flashbacks as well cause oh my boy
- Katara has some Issues, especially with abandonment and upheaval, but the girl is also reversing generational trauma for her kids and we love to see it

thank you so much for reading, as always open to all comments, critiques, ideas, and I hope you stick around :)

Chapter 6: if the sky comes falling down

Summary:

Sibling moments galore, the good, the bad, the complicated

Notes:

okay we are back baby! first off, I am so so so sorry for taking over a month-long hiatus without any warning, this is NOT an abandoned project, quite the opposite in fact. this is a bit of a longer chapter than I have normally, and we delve into a few different themes including being Mixed, so I hope you like it cause I know I do :)

("Hey Brother," by Avicci is the song quote)

also light tw: mentions of the wounds and blood and one mention of someone throwing up, but nothing worse than before

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"If the sky comes falling down, for you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do" 

Ba Sing Se, 13 Years Earlier 

Katara and Aang were masters in the art of making a home wherever they landed. In their early years of parenting, before their children started school, Katara was adamant about both traveling with Aang wherever his duties took him, along wit continuing her own work. By the time she was 25, Katara had set up full systems of sustainable teaching hospitals and community centers in both rural and urban areas across the world. Her mission to reform the flawed healthcare systems in the post-war world was a arduous task, including politics, lobbying, teaching, and becoming a certified healing practitioner herself. Because of her large network, Katara was often able to plan her own schedule in line with her husband’s travels, meaning that they could stay together as a family for as long as possible. With Bumi starting school next fall, there was now a limit on how much time they could spend as a travel family before settling down for the very first time. 

For the past month, Aang, Katara, Bumi, and Kya, had been living in the middle ring of Ba Sing Se with Aang traveling to the upper for meetings, and Katara to the lower for her humanitarian work. Neither Katara nor Aang ever liked living in the upper ring, and after having children their disdain only grew. While most of the world was fairly open and accepting of mixed relationships, especially considering Aang’s status and particular situation, but they found the more conservative circles to be more ignorant as to how to treat mixed people, making it tiring environment to have their children. The middle and lower rings were far more acquainted with and accepting of many different benders and people from all nations.

Aang never particularly enjoyed his meetings in Ba Sing Se. No matter how much time had passed, he could never quite shake the association with the events that took place in the crystal catacombs. He greatly appreciated his time in the middle ring with his family and their ability to make new memories, like the celebration of his daughter’s second birthday last week, or their son learning how to read. Aang was thinking about the different words he could start to teach Bumi in his first language, Air Nomad speak, as he walked up to their home. The house they were living in was the same one they had stayed in each time they’d come to the city since having Kya. Both kids had their own rooms and a “play space” that was separate from the kitchen and living room. Often the kids spent their days at the daycare and learning center Katara helped create in the lower ring, as she herself spent most of her days there and had close relationships with all of the staff. However, there was a sickness that had spread throughout the lower ring, and when both of their children woke up with symptoms, Katara offered to stay home and take of them. When Aang begrudgingly left that morning, his wife assured him that everything would be manageable, which made him all more surprised when he found his family in the play room. 

“Hey sweetie how was your-” Aang said, stopping himself as he gazed at the chaotic scene, “ oh no.” Katara was leaning against the back wall of the play room as she bounced her shrieking danghter in her lap. A sickly Bumi was laying on cushions to her right with a waste bin positioned by his face. 

“It only got worse after you left,” Katara sighed, stepping over various toys, wash cloths, and buckets of water to reach her husband. “Both of them have that bug that’s going around. Bumi can’t keep anything down, Kya still has a fever, and I think they gave it to me.” A pang of guilt ran through Aang. Taking care of their children alone was already a handful, but doing while both yourself and they were sick sounded utterly exhausting.

“Spirits, I’m so sorry. I should’ve stayed home,” Aang replied, his voice raised above their crying daughter. 

“It’s fine,” Katara said, running a hand through her tired braid as she began to pick up loose toys, “you’re here now.” 

“Hey Bumi I missed ya, how are you?” Aang said, crouching down to meet his son’s eyes.

“Okay,” Bumi mumbled. Aang stood up again, and reached to grab the toy up Katara was going for. If she was sick, he didn’t want her to keep working longer than she already had been.

“You don’t feel hot,” he said, feeling her forehead.

“I’m not, I just keep throwing up,” Katara sighed, handing the wailing toddler to her husband, “take your daughter.” Aang noted privately that Katara had said your instead of our, which she only did when either the daughter in question was being difficult, or Katara was hitting a limit; but it was often both.

“Oh, little bird,” Aang whispered, pressing a kiss on Kya’s warm head. As he bounced her, he tried to hone in on her fever, remembering a lesson Zuko taught him on regulating the temperature of others, but his senses kept getting distracted by something else. Katara, unaware of Aang’s doings, continued to clean the room as she spoke. 

“I’m not worried about any of us, but my healing can only go so far and if Kya’s fever doesn’t go down I think we need to find some medicine…” Katara continued thinking aloud, but Aang couldn’t focus. There was something different about the room, about her. Aang pressed his feet firmly on the floor and concentrated. He could feel it, what had been so distracting. There was a fifth heartbeat. Spirits.

“Katara?” Aang said suddenly. Kya had started to settle in his arms, which only made the pounding in his ears even louder. Katara kept talking.

“If Bumi can keep dinner down he should be okay, but either way this is messing with our schedule, we need to be in the Fire Nation by next week and-“ 

“Katara.”

“What?” She said, mildly annoyed. Katara had stopped cleaning and turned to face him.

“I don’t think…” Aang started slowly, trying to find the words. He didn’t want to risk excitement. Not before it was real. “I don’t think you have what they have. I don’t think you’re sick at all.” Katara raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean? I’m-” Katara stopped short. They started at each other for a few moments in silence, neither fully believing what was unspoken. “Oh.”

“I could be wrong but-” Katara marched across the room and took Aang’s hand, placing it on her stomach. Aang closed his eyes and concentrated on the vibrations. He could feel it even stronger now, there was no denying it. He opened his eyes, breaking into a smile and confirming “… I’m right.”

“Aang… We’re- we’re having another baby” Katara gasped, pulling Aang into her embrace. All of the fatigue and stress of the day had momentarily left the couple’s minds, completely subdued by their elation. 

“We’re having another baby!” Aang whooped, squeezing his wife,“I need to sit down- you need to sit down!” Aang, still holding Kya in one arm, rushed to make space on the cushions for his wife.

“I- Tui and La I can’t believe it.” Katara said, taking a seat next to her sleeping son. 

“Me neither,” Aang said joining her with Kya curled on his chest. They sat in a comfortable silence, hands intertwined for a moment before he continued, “It feels… really right.”

“It does.” Katara placed her free hand on her still flat stomach and closed her eyes, adding, “I can feel it. I can’t believe I didn’t realize until now”

“I didn’t notice until you stopped holding Kya, but the heartbeat is definitely there. It’s strong.” 

“I have to be over a month then, that’s when you started feeling Bumi and Kya’s. We’ll have to go to the healer before but…” Katara gasped and sat up quickly “Aang.”

“What?”Aang asked with mounting concern, “What’s wrong?” There was already a list of all the different things that could’ve possibly gone wrong with both Katara and the baby in his head by the time she settled back in her seat.

“Nothing, sorry nothing’s wrong. It’s just… if it’s around a month…” Katara paused, her eyes gleaming, “the baby will be born in Autumn.”

“Oh…” Aang paused, taking in the weight of the unspoken meaning behind their baby’s possible birth season.“That… I- we can’t know anything for sure, seasons aren’t the main factor-” 

“I know. But it’s okay to hope, even a little bit.” Autumn was the season associated most strongly with Air Nomads. Nearly all Air Nomads, including Aang, had been born then. The timing had never quite lined up  with their two first children, with Bumi and Kya being born in summer and winter respectively.

“I’m… I’m just excited for another baby.” Aang said clearing his throat. He swore a long time ago not to hold any unmeetable expectations for his children. Aang lifted to the toddler in his arms up to face him and then over to her mom’s belly. “A baby! Kya did you hear that? You’re going to be a big sister!” Aang paused, pulling Kya back and standing up.“Actually, wait- you definitely shouldn’t be around the kiddos until their healthy.” 

“I’ve been around them all day Aang,” Katara sighed, leaning over to check on Bumi.

“Even more reason to rest!” Aang said, extending a hand to gently lift her to her feet. “I’ve got it from here, and I’ll stay home tomorrow.” Katara stood and leaned into a kiss with her husband. She cupped his cheek as she pulled away, smiling back at him. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Aang replied, leaning his head into her hand before guiding her to the door. “Now go away, this is the sick room.” Katara laughed. As the door slid closed, she looked back once more, taking in the sight of her family. 

“Another baby,” Katara said smiling. Aang stood, facing her and wearing the same grin.

“Another baby.” 


——————————————————————————————


Sokka was famous among family and friends for being able to sleep anywhere. Many would argue that given his lifestyle, he actually had slept in most places, and done so peacefully. After growing up through months of never-ending sun in the South Pole, and spending his teenage years in near-constant travel, at 43, Sokka could sleep standing up.

But not tonight. Even as exhaustion began to cloud his vision, and the chair he’d slumped into started feeling more and more comfortable, he couldn’t rest. Not yet. As the adrenaline started to wear off, 

Sokka was hit with the realization that he had not slept in almost two days. Nobody, it seemed from a glance around the room, had gotten a good nights rest in almost two days. But that was why he came. He came to notice things, and take some of the pressure off of his family. That, and he couldn’t sit at home, not knowing. 

Sokka liked to be in control, especially of what happened to those he cares about. It’s why he always plans, and prepares, and plans again. He worked hard for the control he’s granted and gives to others, to the point where at times it almost felt permanent. Almost. But there was always a revolt, or a raid, or an assassination attempt, and the perfect world he nearly died for, falters. And because of all of the important people he loves, the sudden shift in the world’s normalcy was usually personal.

But it had never been this. It had never been one of the kids on their own, partially because Bumi was the only kid on his own, but no matter. It was unexpected. When his nieces and nephews, quite rarely, were caught in crossfire, it was always because of their parents. Sokka wasn’t stupid, the thought had crossed his mind, first when he started training Bumi, and again when he announced his plans to join the United Forces, that Bumi could be hurt, but he was too overwhelmed with pride to let fear hinder his judgement. That, and if there was any way Bumi could possibly get hurt, Sokka, as an ambassador, councilman, and prominent founder of the very nation Bumi fought to protect, thought he would know first, and he could save him. He wanted to believe he had earned that control. But here they were.

Bumi, bless Yue, was alive, but was badly hurt. Sokka couldn’t pinpoint any singular cause of these injuries, and ruled it as a vague combination of many, painful events. He would know in time. It had been about an hour since they all reunited, and Katara had yet to let go of Bumi, clutching his arm as if her grip itself was the only thing keeping them together. Sokka’s heart ached for his sister. Even now he couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity he got on the first ferry. Katara, her eyes, glossed over and completely engulfed in guilt, brought him right back to when they had lost their mother. It made her reunion with her son even more poignant in Sokka’s eyes. He liked to say Bumi took after his father in the ways that would matter, and this was no different. He came back to her.

At the moment, the father in question was practically hovering with a mixture of relief, joy, and what Sokka would deduce, as sleep-deprived mania. Aang was floating between the different groups of people: his wife and Bumi, his younger children rigidly standing at the foot of the bed, and Sokka, who had stolen the only chair. Despite his best efforts to appear composed, Sokka could tel the past day was not easy. Aang had deep bags under his eyes and a slight stubble on his head and cheeks, the telltale signs that his friend was out of sorts. But how could he not be? 

Kya and Tenzin, who, in wake of their family emergency, were as close to each other as Sokka had ever seen them- both physically and emotionally, were not fairing any better. For all intensive purposes, his niece and nephew were… off. Tenzin seemed to want to engage, or at least break from their self-imposed aloof position, but Sokka knew he wouldn’t move without his sister. Kya was his new constant, and Kya was not here. The air of stillness enveloping his niece was only broken by her thumb meticulously rubbing the bed frame. Aang, noticing his daughter’s hesitancy, had made several subtle attempts to coax her into joining the conversation, but to no avail. The mixture of shock and exhaustion manifesting in Kya was enough to rally Sokka start making a plan for the rest of the evening. Everyone needed food and everyone needed sleep, in any order. His plan-making was cut short however, by a soft knock at the sliding door. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Niko,” said the dark-haired woman entering the room, “I’m Bumi’s doctor. My shift is about to be over but I heard that more family had arrived and I wanted to introduce myself and answer any questions before I left.” Katara, for the first time since they arrived, let go of her son and stood to greet the doctor.

“My name is Katara, I'm Bumi’s mother. It’s so good to meet you,” she said, giving a small bow. While any member of Team Avatar was fairly recognizable and most people they met already knew their names, Katara always felt it was impolite to assume. “I actually have quite a few questions to ask you if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Dr. Niko smiled, “let’s step out for a moment.”

“We’ll be right back,” Katara said to her children before turning to the door, Aang leaving right behind her. Sokka looked between the pair and the teenagers, weighing his options before deciding it would be more productive to hear the medical information himself rather than waiting for the right time to ask Katara or Aang afterwards. 

The Red Sand Island Hospital was much smaller than some of the other military-affiliated hospitals Sokka had been to. The island was used by Naval ships to refuel or restock before arriving, often heroically, back in Republic City. Because it was closer to mainland Fire Nation than other affiliated points and did not have a UF base, most Naval ships opted to wait and treat any injured or sick soldiers when they docked in the Fire Nation, rather than making a stop at the island. Stepping into the hallway, Sokka could tell the hospital had not had this many patients all at once in a long time. Nurses and doctors rushed passed them carrying emergency supplies as they made their way into Dr. Niko’s office. As they took their seats in front of her desk, Aang wrapped his hand around Katara’s and squeezed. Sokka wondered if he had been in this room before, and just how much had happened in the time he was alone with Bumi.

“I’m going to be honest,” Dr. Niko said, clearing her throat, “as I have told your husband we are not entirely sure as to what exactly happened that led to your son’s injuries. The hospital is given fairly limited information on military events, but I can tell you what I know. If you want more information, I would point you in the direction of a commanding officer- although I’m sure you all have even more… powerful connections,” she added, alluding to the acclaim of her present company. 

“Please tell us everything you know,” Katara said calmly. 

“Our hospital was told that there was an attack on your son’s squadron in which a group of assailants, bending earth and fire, snuck onto the ships in a coordinated ambush. While all three ships were attacked, your son’s was the only one in which several bombs were detonated.” 

“So that’s what hurt Bumi?” Sokka asked. While he wanted more information on the attack, Bumi’s condition was far more important. Dr. Niko sighed. 

“Not entirely. During the attack Bumi’s arm was deeply lacerated, but upon his arrival it had already been treated with emergency supplies. Had it not been bandaged, I’m not sure if he would have made it.” Dr. Niko said. Sokka swallowed hard and Katara’s grip on Aang’s hand tightened. “He has several minor burns and abrasions on his body, as well as severe burn on his chest, most likely from a bender. In addition, he has deeper bruises that lead us to believe he fell a great distance, which also could have caused the break in his knee.”

“You haven’t asked him what happened?” Katara asked. Sokka and Aang shared a look. His sister was fiercely protective of her children, and if she found out one of them was not receiving the best possible care, this already painful conversation would take a treacherous turn. 

“We have, Master Katara, but I’m afraid it has not been easy.” Dr. Niko paused, pulling Bumi’s file from her desk. “Up until your husband arrived, your son had refused to speak to medical personnel. In addition, Bumi is suffering from moderate head trauma, also possibly caused by the fall, which has made recalling the events somewhat difficult.”

“Okay, how do we help? What is his treatment plan?” Katara asked. Sokka was continuously impressed by his sister and her unwavering strength. The amount of information they were being told was nothing short of overwhelming, but Katara, ever resilient, pressed on. 

Sokka didn’t know enough medical jargon to understand exactly how his nephew was being helped, but he knew the basics. His arm and any other scrapes were being routinely cleaned, and his leg had been set with the promise of a full recovery with physical therapy. While hospital was very familiar with treating burns, the deep wound in his chest was still touch-and-go in terms of internal impact, and Bumi would need extensive muscle care and exercises before his heart and lungs would be in the clear. His road to recovery would be hard, but if he put in the work, Bumi’s body would return to full strength. Their only real concern, was his head. It was clear that Bumi was concussed, but the hospital was not equipped to deduce or treat any deeper issues. However, in his current state, moving Bumi to the mainland was unideal. 

After receiving all of Bumi’s files including his treatment schedule and meal plan, Katara decided it was time to return to Bumi’s room. Sokka left Dr. Niko’s office unsure as to whether he felt better or worse than he did going in, and he could tell Aang and Katara felt the same way. As they weaved through the hallways and passed an open window revealing the dark night sky, Sokka remembered his role. 

“It’s getting late,” Sokka announced, looking out the window, “we should find a place to stay, and somewhere to get some food for the kids.” 

“There’s an inn about a block away,” Aang started, running a hand over his head, “I should’ve already booked you guys a room.” 

“Shouldn’t there be cots or beds the hospital could set up?” Katara asked. Sokka knew she would not leave Bumi’s side, and he didn’t expect her too. His main focus right now was helping ensure her other children were accounted for, which would take some of the pressure off of their parents. At some point he would coax his sister into sleeping in a real bed, but not tonight. “Aang, where did you sleep last night?”

“On the chair,” Aang sighed, stretching his back, “they’ve already run out of beds and there aren’t any extra cots.” 

“Well I can take Kya and T to the inn tonight… and I’ll bring blankets back for the both of you,” Sokka offered as they rounded the final corner. It was not a long-term plan, but it would work for tonight. 

“Aang, you should go too and get a real night’s sleep. I can handle this.” Katara said, pausing in front of Bumi’s room to place a hand on Aang’s stubbled cheek. They could both see the deep bags under his eyes. Aang leaned his face into her hand before taking it in his own.

“I know you can,” Aang started, “but I’m not leaving either of you.” Katara gave him a small appreciate smile as they slid open the door to Bumi’s room. Sokka was expecting to rally his niece and nephew for a late night adventure to find the inn, but they were met with a surprise. All three of the teenagers were in Bumi’s bed. Tenzin was dozing at the foot of the bed, carefully contorted around his brother’s cast, and Kya was sleeping with her head propped up on her older brother’s shoulder. All three adults stood silently,  taking it in. Despite all the chaos and confusion of the day, here there was a moment of peace. Sokka’s attention was pulled from the bed by a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

 “Could you see if the hospital has any extra blankets,” Katara whispered softly, “I don’t think we’re leaving the room tonight.” 

“Of course,” Sokka replied. Even if it was fleeting, it felt good to see both his sister and Aang at ease. As he walked to the front desk, he was struck by how just hours ago, he was wiping very different tears off of Katara’s face than the ones threatening to spill tonight. If his precarious life had taught him anything, it would be that all the planning in the world will not prepare you for everything. All you can do is take day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. And this moment was good. 

——————————————————————————————

It took Bumi longer than he’d want to admit to realize that when his parents and uncle left the room, Kya and Tenzin remained. The pounding in his head made it difficult to concentrate, but even his state, Bumi was unnerved by the still silent figures standing at the foot of his bed. He knew it was bad, he could feel it was bad, but he just wished it didn’t look it. Bumi hadn’t seen a mirror since he’d gotten to the hospital, but if if his sibling’s blurry expressions were telling him anything, it was that he looked about as good as he felt. Pangs of guilt hit is chest as the realization set in. They were scared. It was his fault. The silence threatened to consume him as he craved normalcy for the hundredth time since the incident. 

“I… I really missed you guys,” Bumi started honestly, clearing his throat. Tenzin jumped slightly.

“I missed you too,” his younger brother replied. They lapsed easily back into uncomfortable silence. Bumi wasn’t quite sure how to continue. It had never been awkward between the three of them. Of all the complicated dynamics in his life, he thought he was best at being their older brother. Lying broken before them felt almost backwards, like the roles had been reversed. He hated it.

“So… what have you guys been up to?” Bumi stammered. He hadn’t seen them in almost four months, the longest they had ever been apart. It felt like a normal thing to ask, and he wanted things to be normal.

“What have we been up to?” Kya spat, raising her voice. It was the first thing she had said since their reunion, and it was not what either of her brother’s were expecting. She left her vigil at the bedpost to take a few steps towards her injured brother, arms waving. “You almost…we’re in the hospital and all you have to say?”

“Kya…” Bumi said as quickly as he could, trying to deescalate the situation. He heard the glass of water on the table between them tremble. “I’m just trying to-” 

“I mastered dad’s marble trick!” Tenzin yelled suddenly. His older siblings froze. “I can show it to you,” he continued, adding, “if you want.”

“…Sure Tez” Bumi said. The mounting tension in the room had all but dissipated, and they were left with the tentative facade of harmony. Kya, backing down with her feelings unexpressed, moved to the other side of the room to “organize her pack” while facing the door. As Bumi watched Tenzin fish out his marbles, he added, “just come closer so I can see you better.”

“What happened to your eyes?” Tenzin asked, complying as his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“It’s because of…” Bumi stammered. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his head as his muscles tensed. “it’s from when I uh…” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “it’s temporary. Show me the trick.” Tenzin grinned, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as the marbles spun around each other. Bumi smiled, complimenting his work as he tried to ignore the new wave of nausea that came with staring at the two whirring balls. After performing the trick, Tenzin grew quite again.

“Bumi?” Tenzin began, not making eye contact.

“Yeah?”

“Can I… hug you?” Tenzin asked. Bumi stared at his brother. He had been so distracted by their arrival, and then so nervous, so afraid that things had changed with his siblings, it didn’t occurred to him they hadn’t actually touched. He hadn’t hugged his brother.

“You never have to ask T,” Bumi said, opening his arms as far as they could go. Tenzin jumped from his seat on the side of the bed and into his brother’s arms. Tenzin was always good at hugs. He was a reserved person, but he craved this kind of love, this fierce, all encompassing affection. Bumi wrapped himself sturdily around his brother as Tenzin burrowed himself deeper into his shoulder. For a brief moment, Bumi had forgotten about the suffocating silence and the almost fight and all the mess in his new reality. They were both so distracted, they didn’t realize their sister had gotten up from the packs by the door until she spoke.

“You’re bleeding.” Kya said, approaching them. Tenzin released immediately from the hug, scanning his brother in alarm.

“I’m fine.” Bumi stammered. In truth, he had felt some pain flare up during their embrace as he tightened his grip, but he didn’t care enough to stop.

“No, you’re not.” Kya said, standing over him and examining his wounds the same way their mother did with her patients. She carefully lifted a bloodied bandage off of his shoulder,“you opened a deep cut.”

“Oh no I- I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Tenzin exclaimed, panicking. While he was far less squeamish at the sight of blood than his brother, the moment Kya lifted the bandage Tenzin leapt off of the bed, and began hovering anxiously behind his sister. 

“It’s okay,” Bumi said gently, focusing of his brother as opposed to his arm or the dizziness threatening to cloud his vision. Tenzin was scared and he needed to fix it. “It’s not your fault.”

“It kind of is your fault,” Kya stated flatly, ignoring both the gasp of worry from her younger brother and the stern look from her older as she reapplied the bandage. “But he’ll be fine. I’m getting a nurse.”

“Wait.” Bumi started as his sister turned to open the door, “Kya can you do it?” She hesitated before turning around.

“What?”

“Come on… your bending will be better than anything they try,” Bumi coaxed.

“I’m not that good,” Kya said crossing her arms, her walls of frustration crumbling slightly with her insecurity.

“Bullshit,” Bumi replied. Healing was his sister’s calling. She was being trained by their mother alongside university students at Katara’s hospital in Republic City. Despite still going to secondary school and being much younger than the other water benders, Kya remained unfazed and never fell behind.

“Something could go wrong,” Kya responded.

“It won’t.” Bumi said, pasuing.“I just… no more nurses till I need them. I trust you.” He had been visited by his nurses more times in the last day than he could count. Each time it was painful and tedious and overwhelming. He didn’t want to call them in unless he absolutely had to, and even more than that he didn’t need his siblings to watch him go through it if they didn’t have to. Kya approached the bed once more and studied his shoulder.

“Fine.” Kya said, before adding quickly, “but I’m still mad at you.” Bumi smiled softly as she unwrapped the bandage. It was progress. Although she had never actually said why, and he had never actually spat back, they both knew. When the accident happened, when he took matters into his own hands, when he acted irrationally, he hurt her. He hurt all of them. And even before, when he left, when he picked a dangerous job away from his family, he was hurting them. He was betting on their happiness as he was chasing his. They didn’t need to say it. 

“I know.” Bumi replied, instantly relieved by the familiar glow circling the gash on his arm. Kya worked silently, the only noise filling the room was from Tenzin as he settled onto the foot of the bed. Bumi and Tenzin both watched as Kya began to neatly wrap his shoulder with a fresh set of bandages from the bedside table. After she finsihed, Bumi watched as his sister started at her work, rubbing the bandage more and more intensely as she pinched her face together. Bumi realized then, that the whole time she was trying not to cry. 

“I…” Kya said in a choked whisper, tears spilling down her cheeks, “I was so scared.” Bumi shifted to wrap his other arm around her as she sobbed quietly into his shoulder. He felt bad. He felt really, really bad. In that moment, Bumi would’ve rather gone through the entire incident again than watch his kid sister fall apart in his arms because she almost lost him. 

“I know, I know,” Bumi said, rubbing circles on her back. He felt more of his own tears start to spill again. “I’m… I’m so sorry. To both of you,” Bumi added, making eye contact with Tenzin. The younger boy gave him a small smile, although Bumi could tell the events of tonight had shaken his brother. After a few moments, Kya pulled back from her brother and collected herself. 

“What I did should’ve stopped the bleeding,” Kya said, wiping a tear from her eye as she readjusted the bandange. “Although a nurse should still look at it”

“Later.” Bumi said before either of his siblings could get up. “I’m pretty tired.”

“Me too,” Kya sighed, moving to sit on the other side of Bumi. 


“Me too,” Tenzin agreed, shifting to lean back on the bedpost.

“I love you guys.”


——————————————————————————————

The first thing Kya noticed about her brother’s hospital room, was the noise. At all hours, doctors and nurses were rushing down the hallway right outside their door, accompanied by the clacks of their shoes on the wooden floors, and the soft murmur of their voices discussing on patient or another. After a time, it became background noise, like a steady rhythm she could almost drift off too, but her beat was always broken when another nurse stepped in. Over and over nurses cycled through to poke at her brother and write down his symptoms, and each time Kya made her own mental notes, not just of her brother but of the nurses as well. Kya wanted to be a healer, and she had spent enough time at her mother’s hospital to pick up on their methods. 

Even more than that, Kya liked to observe. Unlike her siblings, who were on two opposite ends of the spectrum of decision making, she often found herself right in the middle. Kya grew up watching her older brother’s impulsive actions get him in trouble and witnessed her younger’s aversion to spontaneity keep him from experiencing life. She, on the other hand, was determined to learn from both of their mistakes, and take a calculated approach, but always, always follow through. Kya also liked to figure things out for herself, and was only mildly terrified of being caught in her parents shadow her entire life, a feeling shared between all of her siblings. Her solution, was to be independent. In this case, before asking fear—based questions that would definitely upset her mom and arrive at answers that would definitely be sugar coated, she decided to figure out as much as she could on her own. Their dad had given them a brief rundown of their brother’s injuries, but had not explained the care or long term effects. If Kya truly wanted to be a healer, she reasoned, she should be able to find the answers on her own. That, and thinking about this, about her brother, from a medical angle as opposed to the emotional, was unconsciously detaching her from the very real, fairly terrifying situation. This strategy worked for half of the night. After talking with Bumi, it was clear he was concussed, possibly with further issues, which was the reasoning behind the frequent check ups. They were particularly worried, she noted after their second visit, about the recovery of the wound on his chest and, there was some concern for his overall mobility levels later down the line. Her mother had been conducting healing sessions with Bumi since they arrived, but both Katara and Kya knew that if you can’t get to the wound twenty-four hours after the injury, the most you can do with water healing is alleviate pain and speed up the body’s natural process- not fix it. Even if it was not as effective as she wanted it to be, water healing was the most comforting sound at the hospital. Her mother’s healing was smooth and soft sounding, like the gentle whirl of a familiar stream. It brought a sense of peace to the room, providing quiet interruption to the constant clicks of the hospital and making stress-inducing shaky breaths of her brother. Needless to say, the aspiring healer did not sleep well that night, and before she knew it, Nurse Hiro was coming in, starting his morning shift. 

“Good morning everyone,” Hiro said stepping inside, “how are you feeling Bumi?” Everyone looked to the teenager who, on all accounts, had had a difficult night. Kya, along with the rest of her family, had watched as he threw up his pain medication (twice) causing it to wear off hours later. This created a fairly upsetting scene including tears, screaming, and what the siblings lovingly referred to in their youth as a Big Talk (or their mother and father slipping away for a serious conversation that often also included tears and screaming - but almost never at each other).  It was these events that started to slowly chip away at Kya’s stamina and ability to figure out what was wrong with her brother on her own. After the night’s Big Talk, Sokka was sent to book them rooms at an inn, but had no luck seeing as it was the middle of the night. 

“Oh fan-freaking-tastic,” Bumi joked, flashing a crooked grin. Sokka, who at some point between Bumi’s pain-overload and scouting for the inn had found a second chair and cushions, tried to muffle a single laugh from his blanket by the door. Kya watched her mother roll her eyes, she knew they were thinking the same thing: they have the same humor, and that wasn’t funny. After the night they had, Kya had come to one conclusion: Bumi was not okay. 

“You know the drill at this point, I’m going to be making sure everything still looks good, ask you the some questions, and give you more medication and a stimulant so you can eat,” Hiro said, bringing in his equipment. Bumi tensed at the sound of more medicine.  

“Can’t my mom do it?” Bumi asked. Kya could tell he was trying to mask his nervousness, “she’s like the best healer in the world.” It was true, Kya noted, their mother was a once-in-a-generation talent, but she also knew the answer was not what he wanted to hear.

“I can help with the aftercare and cleaning Bumi, but you need this too,” Katara said squeezing his hand. She had taken the chair closest to Bumi after they returned from speaking with his doctor last night, and hadn’t left since. “But don’t worry, you’ll be working a lot with me in physical therapy.”

“Great,” Bumi winced. There was a pregnant silence as Hiro organized his equipment. Kya watched as her parents made eye contact with each other, then looked to Bumi, then Hiro’s things. Aang nodded. 

“Will you give us just moment? Sorry, Katara and I need to talk about something. We’ll be right back,” Aang said before they left the room. For as long as she could remember, Kya’s parents could do that, could have a conversation with only their eyes. She was never quite sure if it was because they had know each other for so long, or if it was a byproduct of being that connected, that in love. At times she found it mildly annoying, but more often than not, she found it sweet. There was no noise. As they stepped outside for another Big Talk, they didn’t go as far down the corridor as before, meaning that everyone in the room was forcibly privy to their conversation.

“We shouldn’t have the kids in the room while he’s getting medication. Not after last night.”

“You’re right. But he needs them to recover. Just remember that.”

“I’ll stay with him and we can send Sokka to go get us a room. You and kids should eat something. Could you take Kya and Tenzin to get breakfast?”

“What? I’m staying.”

“You haven’t slept or eaten since you’ve gotten here. I can do this.”

“Aang you haven’t left the hospital in days.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay then do it for the kids, Kya and Tenzin haven’t seen you in a week and their lives are completely upside down. And after last night…  they need stability.”

“Why did you bring them?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just a question. It’s making you stressed and like you said their lives are unstable now. I thought we were trying to give them consistency.”

“Oh because this was such a normal situation.”

“It’s not… but I was just wondering why they didn’t stay with Toph. Like we planned for emergencies.”

“Oh I’m sorry if some of our parenting rules went out the window when I got a telegram alone that my son was missing in action! You weren’t there Aang I couldn’t just leave them with no assurance that their brother was even-”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I get it. I would’ve done the same.”

“You’re taking them to breakfast.”

“Of course. But you need to take a break for lunch. Promise me.” 

“Ten minutes.”

Listening in on her parent’s serious conversations was becoming a habit Kya very eagerly wanted to break. Her uncle at first tried to distract the group by asking Hiro more about himself, but he couldn’t completely mask the discussion. At the mention of their names, Kya and Tenzin both shifted to hear better, sharing an uncomfortable glance. Bumi seemed too out of it to understand what was happening, and Hiro was very studiously engrossed in his chart. Kya was not surprised, or hurt by her parent’s words. Like herself, they hadn’t slept well in days and the situation was… taxing. As they finished talking, Tenzin and Kya moved back to their original positions far from the door, and pretended, to the best of their abilities, to act natural.

“Okay Tez, Kya, I’m taking you to breakfast!”Aang said with a tired smile on his face, “Sokka-”

“I’ll go to the inn and get a room,” Sokka said, already grabbing his bag, “just bring me back something with meat.” Aang gave him a thumbs up before kissing Katara, who had settled back in her chair, on the cheek and turning to his son.

“Bumi, I love you and we’ll be back soon.”

“Okay…” Bumi said deliriously, “bye dad.” 

On her first step out of the hospital, Kya was bathed in the sun’s morning rays and an eruption of new sounds. She longed, momentarily, for the moon. It’s light, unlike it’s louder brother, gave her not only energy, but a sense of control she wished for now. For not the first time in her life, she wondered if her father felt the same way they did at night right now, under the sun. He had explained once, the way the moon and the sun both pulled him, but she could never fully understand the dance he described. To her left, Tenzin, who had no cyclical connection to either the sun or the moon, was unfazed by the daylight, but preoccupied by the change in scenery- they were in public. The citizens of Republic City had become fairly normalized to the “Avatar family,” but outside the city, walking with their father was always an ordeal. Kya had gotten used to the stares that followed her father’s arrow, but she also knew they weren’t directed at her. Tenzin on the other hand, even with hair, was not as invisible to the public. On his own, he could pass fairly easily for a boy of Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation (in the winter) ancestry, but with his father, it was easy for onlookers to put the pieces together. He was the second air bender. The hope for the world. 

As they walked down the road, Kya watched as her brother sunk further and further into himself. She understood his reluctance for fame, in the South Pole her mother’s acclaim weighed heavier than her parka, and even more, she understood his mounting shame. While the brother laying in a hospital bed was the one the world often saw as the failure  for his lack of bending, each child of Aang and Katara harbored their own fear of inadequacy that manifested in very different ways. Tenzin’s fears were never explicitly voiced to Kya, she didn’t know where to begin that kind of conversation with her brother, but she knew. By the time they reached the tea shop, Tenzin had all but disappeared into his tunic. Aang, blinded by exhaustion, had not noticed his son’s discomfort and continued with business as usual.

“Hello,” Aang said politely, stepping up to the host, “we’d like a table for breakfast please.” The woman behind the counter gasped as they entered.

“Oh Avatar Aang, it would be my honor,” the woman gave a small bow before continuing, “A table for two?” Kya knew, almost immediately, the two she meant. She was standing a few steps back from her father and her brother, but was still clearly apart of the group, just not with the same color.

“Three actually,” Aang replied kindly. Kya wasn’t sure if her father was merely too tired to realize the nuance of her mistake, or if he didn’t want to publicly embarrass this woman.

“Three?” The host responded. Kya wanted to roll her eyes. The woman, Kya noted, had black hair, amber eyes, and pale skin, meaning it would be very surprising if she was mixed. She was also from a small Fire Nation island, which meant there were either very, very few, or no mixed families in the area. She didn’t think Kya was with her father because she, as her uncle put it, ‘loudly wore the Southern colors.’

“Yes myself, my son, and my daughter,”Aang said, putting a hand on both his children’s shoulders. No matter how many times this happened, it always made Kya uncomfortable. She didn’t like anyone making her feel out of place. Kya felt the heat rising to her cheeks as she realized in that moment that she was the darkest person in the entire shop, by many, many shades. Kya was her mother’s daughter. She was raised to never, ever, be ashamed of her heritage or the way she looked, and she wasn’t. Kya loved her hair and her skin and wearing the same blues they wore in her mother’s birthplace, but that didn’t mean she liked feeling alone. It made her angry.

“Oh your daughter!” The host realized, “Of course, my mistake. Right this way.” As they followed her to a table toward the back, Tenzin moved to walk alongside his sister.

“Well that was annoying.” Tenzin whispered in Southern Water Tribe Speak. Kya rolled her eyes.

“It’s been a while for sure,”
Kya responded dryly. As “mild” as the moment was, she couldn’t shake her irritation.

“Do you think she’d do the same thing if it was reversed, with me and mom?” Tenzin asked. While Kya had had her fair share of “moments” with her father, hers paled in comparison to the comments and assumptions that came with Tenzin when he was with anyone on her mother’s side of the family. It was harder, apparently, for the world to accept that such a pale child was half water tribe.

“I’d bet money on it.”
Kya replied smiling. This, she noted, was always something they could talk about, regardless of however else their relationship was. 

“We are on a Fire Island,”
Tenzin said as they approached their table, “the deeper you go into the nations the less… normal mixed families are.”

“You mean the more ignorant b-"


“Here is your table!” The host announced, unaware of the previous conversation.

“Thank you so much,” Aang said, sliding into the chair beside his son. Kya took the seat across from them and began to study the menu. Aang glanced for a moment at the breakfast section before getting an idea. “Do you guys want daifuku? I think I’m getting daifuku.” Kya and Tenzin shared a look.

“It’s ten in the morning,” Tenzin reasoned. While it could be eaten as a snack, in their household dessert items were reserved for after dinnertime unless it was a special occasion, a rule put in place by their mother after the “Great Coconut Bar Sugar High of 116 AG.”

“It’s okay Tez, they were amazing from what I can remember. Kya, honey do you want some?” Aang replied, already flagging down a waiter. 

“I mean sure,” Kya responded. Aang, unconscious or not, was trying to soften the situation by giving them something special. It was a tactic often used on Kya and her siblings throughout their youth whenever their parents had to go somewhere they may not return. As a child, Kya never understood why adults thought sugar could fix the all-consuming pit in your stomach. But in this moment, whether it was because she was older, or because her father was so clearly trying to hold it together, she realized it was just as much for the adult as it was for her.

“Great, Tenzin?” Aang asked as the waiter came over. Tenzin gave his sister another worried look before responding. 

“Okay,” he confirmed. Kya rolled her eyes. Her brother. Ever the goody two shoes. 

“We would like three servings of daifuku please, and three green teas,” Aang asked the waiter, cheerfully. 


“Right away,” they responded after giving a small bow. As soon as they left, the family fell into silence, the only sound being the quiet tap of Tenzin’s foot bouncing on the wood floors. 

“I missed you guys so much,” Aang said earnestly. Kya smiled back. Of course she had missed her father, she missed him like she did every time one (or both) of her parents left. Kya missed him when she got in fights with her mother, when her brother pretended he was more responsible than her, and especially when her mother couldn’t sleep, and from the staircase she’d watch Katara sit up with the moon. But not all of it, she knew, was caused by his absence. Things had been different for a long time. With Bumi gone, Kya had to fall into new patterns, they all did. So yes, Kya missed her dad for all the reasons she always did, but she missed their family dynamic even more. But right now that ache was suddenly replaced with something bitter. Because it was almost taken away.

“We missed you too,” Tenzin said, speaking for both his sister and himself. She hated when he did that, even if it was “helpful.” Tenzin started fidgeting, ever so slightly, in the way he did when he wanted to say more. “Dad.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the plan?” Tenzin asked nervously. Aang, who had leaned back on his chair, paused mid-stretch.

“What do you mean?”

“Like…” Tenzin elaborated, “how long does Bumi need to stay here?” Kya perked up, she hadn’t thought anyone would be bold enough to turn the conversation towards the elephant in the room. She felt like a bubble, threatening to pop at the mention of her brother’s condition. She had just spent the better part of the night observing his condition and treatment, and had found less than promising results. Kya wanted answers, real, concrete, reassuring answers. 

“Right now we don’t know buddy, it all depends on how he’s healing,” Aang replied, placing a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. “But with your mom here I’m sure the process will be faster. He’s in very good hands and they are expecting a full physical recovery.” Kya raised an eyebrow. She wanted to believe her father, but they had been in the same hospital room, she knew there was more to it. A part of her knew not to press on, to live in a world where everything would be completely fine, with dessert for breakfast. But she could still hear Bumi’s screams from last night ringing in her ears, and until she knew he was safe, she’d have to burst the bubble. 

“What about head? Can’t that have… long term effects?” Kya inquired. Aang’s air of optimistic calm faltered, ever so slightly.

“What do you mean?” Aang asked.

“He hit is head or something right?” Kya confirmed,  “So… what’s the plan for that? He can’t even see more than a few feet in front of him.” Her voice shook at the end, ever so slightly.

“His doctors are monitoring his progress, there’s no reason to worry about it.” Aang said gently. Before Kya could retort, the waiter returned. 

“Here are your teas!” The waiter said, carrying a tray of cups and a tea pot, adding, “I’ll bring the food in just a moment.”

“Thank you so much,” Aang replied. Kya focused her attention on the sound of tea hitting the ceramic glasses as it filled the new, vaguely awkward silence.  “So… how have you two been?”

“How have we been?” Kya retorted.

“Kya, dad only meant-” Tenzin said quickly.

“I know what he meant.” Kya snapped. If there was ever a time for her brother not to jump in, it was right now.

“She’s right she’s right. I’m sorry… silly question,” Aang said, trying to diffuse the situation.  “All of this is intense, I’m here if you need to talk about it.”

“Thanks dad,” Tenzin said, obviously ignoring Kya’s glare. 

“But how has school been going?” Aang said, trying to lighten the mood. Kya was unenthused. 

“Good. We’re learning all about Southern Water Tribe history right now! Did you know people used to ride on polar leopards?” Tenzin responded. Kya perked up. 

“That’s not true,” she said, matter-o-factly. Kya had studied enough Water Tribe history, far more than her brother, to know that if it was true, it would come up.

“What?” Tenzin said, flustered, “Yes it is.” And be it from the previous conversation over Bumi’s progress, the lack of sleep, or the fact that her younger brother was so quickly falling into old habits after she felt they had made true progress on their journey over, but this was all it took to send Kya tumbling over the edge.

“No,” Kya continued, “it’s not.” 

“Why do you even care?” Tenzin snapped.

“Because what you’re saying is wrong!” Kya said, digging in. 

“Okay kids-” Aang said, trying to step in as his kids grew more and more heated. 

“How would you know? You’re not in my class,” Tenzin added. Kya knew, objectively, that this was a stupid fight, taking the same shape as most of their arguments: verbally, over a table, in a thinly veiled unconscious attempt to let out their anger about something entirely different.

“We’ve lived there, I know it’s not true,” Kya argued, leaning further back in her chair.

“Oh so you know everything about them then,” Tenzin said, crossing his arms.

“Well I’m also the only one who’s taking water bending courses,” Kya said, almost smiling. She knew this would be harder for him to counter. “We study both tribes in those too.”

“Just because I’m not a water bender doesn’t mean I don’t know about our tribe!” Tenzin almost yelled back. Kya winced, she had struck a very particular, very off limits chord.

“Oh shut up that’s not what this is about,” Kya said, trying to brush it off, but she knew it was too late. Tenzin’s mouth formed a thin line, his eyes narrowed.

“Even though your enrolled in the course doesn’t mean you’re learning anything,” Tenzin spat, “you missed half your classes this week.” Kya’s eyes widened.

“Tenzin!” The vague bitterness that had been brewing in Kya turned (momentarily) to full on rage towards her brother. She (mostly with Lin’s help) had convinced him to cover for her at school while she went with her friends to an underground protest art show that week. All of the cool (queer) teens and university students were going, and Kya had to go. She was often very on top of her studies, she had to be to keep her position at the hospital, but every now and then Kya gave herself a pass. She had covered for Bumi many, many times during his school career, and never once had she snitched on him. Tenzin however, did not feel privy to the same moral ties.

“I’m just saying,” Tenzin said suavely, taking a long sip of his green tea, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed the lesson.” She was going to kill him. 

“Kya,” Aang sighed defeatedly. His kids didn’t pay his interjection any attention.


“You better shut up.” Kya threatened, leaning across the table.

“You shut up!” Tenzin yelled back, mirroring his sister.

Hey.” Aang said in what his family called his Avatar Voice. It was a warning. The last shred of the upbeat attitude of the Avatar that entered the tea shop had finally fallen away, revealing a very tired and far less patient version of their father. Both children silently took their seats. Suddenly, with terrible timing, their waiter returned. 

“Here we are!” The waiter said happily, unaware of what just occurred, “three servings of daifuku for the Avatar and his children.” 

“Thank you” Aang said, flashing a smile to the waiter before looking back his children with a far more tense expression. He sighed, running a hand over his face before he spoke. “Look. We’re all tired and overwhelmed… Let’s just let it go. But Kya, the school discussion isn’t over.” Kya looked at her brother, who was just as guilty and embarrassed as she was.

“Dad-” Kya started, hoping to explain herself. 

“Later.” Aang said, pinching the bridge of his nose as was cutting her off. When he opened his eyes again, Aang wore a soft smile. “Let’s just eat okay?” With that, the three of them finally began their meal. A few bites in, Kya ventured again to speak. 

“It’s pretty good,” she noted, chewing on a piece of mochi. 

“Ty Lee’s is better,” Tenzin added. He and Kya made eye contact. This was their truce. They didn’t need to say it. 

“Haha it is,” Aang chuckled. They ate in silence for a few moments, before he added, “maybe let me tell your mother about this, okay?”

Notes:

okayyyyy much to unpack!!! I want to say a few things first off

- okay so I have a thing I often like to say, which is that I write things I need. I've incorporated the struggle of being biracial into this piece because its something I wish they would have done, something I think makes sense for the characters, and is something for me. I wrote this instance from a perspective I have had, and in no way think that my experience and interpretation is anyone else's, but I do hope the feelings Kya had feel a tad validating to any poc/mixed reader out there

- also, im not a doctor, so the information about Bumi and his illness/wounds are from the internet and some light first aid knowledge, feel free to tell me if its not making sense

- im gonna be updating more regularly now, I apologize for the break I took, I hope you can forgive and stick with me, as always im open to any and all comments/critiques/etc :))

thank you so so so much for reading

- azalea

Chapter 7: i'll be there

Summary:

we see what's been happening in republic city, bumi gets a visitor, little bumi moment :)

Notes:

okay. so i've been gone for a long, long time. i want to first say that i am so sorry about how long a break this was, i actually have the next chapter ready, i just need to edit it so it should be up in the next two days (this one will fs have typos like fs fs be prepared im sorry).

its a pandemic and my life gets hectic so thats what this last three months was, but i want to thank you so so much for being patient with me, i am really enjoying writing this story and exploring all of this, and i hope you are too :)

thank you, thank you, thank you.

i hope you enjoy:)

also, i have been told that page breaks/ just saying transition is more accessible for anyone using speech to audio for reading this, idk if anyone is or if anyone knows a more accessible way to convey the story shifting perspective, please lmk :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

No matter where you are, I'll be there

Republic City, Present

The first time Lin bent earth, she was eighteen months old. As her family, ever dynamic with booming voices and animated stories, celebrated the Winter Solstice, she  played with the rock-blocks her mother fashioned on the floor of Hakoda’s home in the Southern Water Tribe. It was one of the only pieces of rock above ground for miles. The story, as told by her mom, aunts, and uncles, was that Tenzin, who was sitting beside her, had taken the block and stacked it on top of his own. Not to be upstaged by someone four months her junior, Lin moved her hand, and without touching it, knocked over the rest of the toys. Her mother, just a room away, felt the movement and knew, instantly what had occurred. But the only person in the with them, the person who got to share in Toph’s joy simultaneously, was Bumi. Kya told her once, that aside from Tenzin’s birth one of her strongest first memories was watching her brother, startled Lin in hand, burst into the kitchen and scream, “she’s an earth bender!”

Lin is an earth bender. But so is her sister. Their mother had insisted, ever since Su was of age, that the two practice together at least once a day. No matter what else was happening in their lives, they would always share this. And even now, that rang true. The morning after she watched her family, ride off into the distance on the back of a sky bison, Lin and her sister woke up in Kya’s room, and walked to side of the island to run through Su’s newest forms.

Lin loved Air Temple Island. When Aang was home, she frequently joined his meditation sessions, even when Tenzin and Kya weren’t around. Aang was one of the few people Lin had ever met who understood how to listen, not just to others but to the earth. He seemed to bring an air of peace wherever he went that wrapped around Lin like a blanket. Bending brought the same feeling. There was a comfort in running through motions she’d grown up with, so fully trusting her body the way her mother had taught her, that could not be replicated or replaced. But even still, something was missing on the island. Lin yearned for Kya’s smooth steps and Tenzin’s impossibly firm yet flighty strides on the cool concrete slabs of the training deck, their absences making every step feel different, wrong, like it wasn’t the island at all. The world felt stiff.  Much to Lin’s dismay, her feelings did not subside when she returned back home the following day. With Sokka and Katara gone, both of whom were integral parts of the Beifong routine, it was impossible to ignore how much was different. Sokka walked Su to school four days a week, and took her to Katara’s for two, where she stayed until dinner. Without the two of them, Lin had to pick up the slack her mother could not.

Lin didn’t mind picking her sister up from school, although she could almost feel the displeasure from the young after-school care worker when she, and not her war hero uncle graced the glorified daycare with her presence. As they walked home, a pang of disappointment rushed through Lin as they passed the street that led to the docks. She wanted nothing more than to be going to Air Temple Island, for Katara to heal her aching muscles from practice, to do her homework with Kya, to see Tenzin. Tenzin. She had miscalculated just how important he was to her routine. Being just four months apart, they had always been in the same grade, learning new moves around the same time, yet living lives so different it with anyone else it would feel almost impossible for them to be so close. He was her best friend. He understood her in a way a lot of people didn’t take the time to. School felt odd without him sitting next to her, which, in a painful twist of irony, made her all the more grateful he was allowed to go at all. There had been a question once, when they reached schooling age, if he was going to come with her. From what Lin understood, some people in power didn’t see school as a necessary use of his time. Tenzin was the second air bender, his life was already planned out. It made Lin angry. Nobody cared if he liked physics, or had a knack for ceramics, or performed well on a Water Tribe history test, the world needed him to revive an entire culture. They saw a bender first, human second. When the idea was first proposed to Aang, he immediately shut it down. Lin knew she wasn’t meant to know all of this, but she had been staying at their house at the time it was first discussed. Even now she could recall what she heard sitting on the steps off the kitchen that night, long after she should’ve been asleep. How Aang, as angry as she had ever seen him, told Katara that robbing Tenzin of normalcy was like history repeating itself. She never asked exactly what that meant. But despite initial pushback, Tenzin showed up to school that fall wearing the same uniform as Lin, and did so every year after.

Lin liked school. She was good at it; earning high grades, testing a year above in arithmetic, and on track to be the youngest varsity earth bending ball player in the school’s history. Unlike Tenzin, Lin’s path in life was not set in stone, and she refused to let any success be due to her family. She needed to earn it, and school was another way to prove herself. But now, it felt like school was being taught through a sheet of glass, and she couldn’t get to the other side. Everything was distracting. It had been two days since they left, and she had not gotten any news since. She had been visiting the Telegram Office every day after school. And practice. And after picking up her sister. But no news had come.

The rest of her night was equally uneventful, leaving Lin with even more time to dwell on the unknowns. It occurred to her, while waiting for her mother to come home, that she couldn’t remember if she had said goodbye to Bumi the last time he left. She could remember the last time he came back, the special meal Katara cooked and how excited Su was when he picked her up from school. She could remember how Tenzin relaxed and Kya opened up and the tension no one on the island knew they were holding slowly started to dissipate. Lin also remembered the first time he left. The party Katara begrudging threw, insisting she wanted to and that everything was fine. She remembers how Sokka slept over on the island first time Katara had to leave, and her mother muttering something about Aang and sleep. She remembers their goodbye. How Bumi was up, when she went down stairs to meditate. He hadn’t taken Aang’s offer to join them, but he was up anyways. To talk to her. She remembers the smooth surface of the cup of tea he gave her, and how his heartbeat was just a little too fast. He was nervous, but no one else would have known. She remembers the hug he gave her, strong and safe, like his mother’s. And most importantly, she remembers the promise she made.

“Look out for Kya and Tenzin okay Linny?” “You’re the smartest here, but don’t tell them I told you.”

But as she stood alone in her kitchen, making a third kettle of tea, she could not recall that last time. And as Lin thought back to two days earlier, to that night they left. She thought of Tenzin’s snapping and Kya’s bending and how utterly helpless she felt, and wondered if she had even been following through on her promise. Lin swallowed hard.While on the outside, people might say she had a small family, her mother and her sister were far from the only people who made up her community. She was constantly surrounded by a loud, chaotic, and often crazy, group of people that poured so much love into her life. And now, one of these people, a person who trusted her, may never come back. As she watched her reflection in the window grab a single cup from the cupboard under the dim lights of their apartment, she cursed the times she wished her life was quieter.

An hour after the kettle sang, Lin finally felt her mother’s footsteps move towards the front door.

“Hey!” Lin shouted, slightly disgruntled, from the kitchen, “welcome back!”

“Hey sweets,” Toph said, dropping her bags on the counter next to her daughter and nodding for her to start opening the food inside. “What’s your sister up to?” Toph continued, alluding to Su’s position in her room, felt by both herself and her daughter.

“She’s reading I think, I can go get her.”

“Oh give it a minute, I’ll grab her after we set up,” Toph said, gesturing to the dinner in front of them.  Lin started to gather the plates and set up each place, feeling a twinge of sadness as she looked at the sparse table. Lin missed her normal. With Sokka and Suki’s apartment being just around the block, if they weren’t on the island, it was rare for them not to have at least one guest at dinner. Toph, Lin, and Su shared meals together just the three of them each week, and she enjoyed that time, but not like this. Lin knew her mom could feel it too.

“Have you heard anything?” Lin asked, methodically folding each napkin. Toph sighed.


“Not yet bug, I’m sorry, but we should soon. Sokka said he would send a telegram as soon as he could.” Lin frowned. She had been banking on her mother to have information. The two worked in silence, getting up the plates and dishing out food until her mother spoke again. “Did we get any mail?”

“Yeah, actually,” Lin said, reaching to the already opened letter marked ‘urgent’ on the table in front of her. “You got a letter from the Fire Nation sector of the United Alliance, they need everyone to meet in the Fire Nation to pass some sort of naval security law and create an action plan to solve the ‘agitation’ occurring overseas. They’re requesting your assistance in Caldera.” The United Alliance had been created in conjunction with the Harmony Restoration Movement. It was established as a way for all of the nations and the United Republic to have official communication and diplomatic ties, and as founding members of Republic City, 'Team Avatar' was frequently invited. 

“So, the Alliance has decided the solution is to invite themselves over to Zuko’s then,” Toph said, pouring three metal cups of water.

“Apparently.” Lin sighed, scanning the letter, “The um…attack on Bumi’s ship technically happened in Fire Nation waters, so they think it would be best to conduct the talks there. They also… need all the ambassadors, generals, and Harmony Restoration representatives.”

“Seriously?” Toph said, slamming the cup in her hand firmly on the table. They both knew what ambassadors and representatives meant. They needed ‘Team Avatar,’ meaning they needed Aang and Katara.“They are unbelievable.” Lin watched as Toph finished setting up the table in silent frustration, each movement just slightly harder than it needed to be, before calling her other daughter to the table.

“So… you have to go?” Lin asked after her sister, unaware of the previous revelations, began chattering about her day. At thirteen, Lin was less than phased when someone in the world needed her mom. Throughout the years, she had been called on trips with her aunts and uncles that posed far more danger than disgruntled politicians.

“Lin I don’t have to do anything, but it’s important that I go for our family and community,” Toph stated, before adding, “…and  you two are coming with me. When does it say we need to be there?” Lin blinked.

“Wait, mom-”

“Going where?” Su said, interrupting her sister.

“We are taking a family trip Caldera!” Toph said excitedly. “We have spent too much of this week wallowing around, it’s time for action!” Su squealed in delight, matching her mother’s energy. Even at six years old, Su was completely unfazed by spontaneity. Lin however, had always been more resistant.

“When?” Su asked, practically bouncing in her chair. Lin scanned the telegram. While she loved Caldera and her family there, it always took her more time to adjust to changes. She valued, no, fully relied on structure.

“We need to be there after the weekend, so two days.”

“Hm,” Toph thought, “Well, we’re going early… tomorrow afternoon!”

“Tomorrow?” Lin protested, “but what about school?” Toph, having never had traditional schooling, didn’t always realize it’s importance. Lin realized her mother had a different perspective on the matter early on. If it were up to her mother, she would be out half the week ‘experiencing’ life.

“You’ll only miss a few days miss missy,” Toph said, snickering while adding, “but if you really want to you can go with Izumi.”

“I’ll pass,” Lin said, cringing at the thought. She had visited that school. While Izumi thrived in the competitive environment, Fire Nation schools were notoriously two things: boring and intense.

“It’ll be good to be around family sweets,” Toph said earnestly, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.  “It might get you out of that funk you’re in missing Tenzin.” Su laughed, heckling her sister.

“I’m not in a funk!” Lin huffed, ignoring the heat rising on her cheeks.

“Okay, okay no funk, hear that Su?” Toph said. Su verbally agreed, but mouthed funk to her sister. Lin rolled her eyes. She should’ve left her at that daycare. “But we are leaving tomorrow so you girls will have to pack tonight,” Toph continued,  “also, if we don’t get any mail in the morning - which we still might- Zuko will have more information.”

“Yeah,” Lin agreed. She wouldn’t pretend the idea of a fuller table wasn’t appealing. It had been a month since she’d been in Caldera, and while the princess had always gravitated to Bumi over herself, or anyone else for that matter, she liked to think they had their own close relationship. Izumi worked harder than anyone she knew, and she understood, far more than most, what it meant to live in the shadow of a parent. Plus, it had been a long time since she sparred anyone with her skill level. Everything would be better in Caldera. Everything would be okay.

[transition]


Red Sand Island, Present                                                        

Bumi was tired of okay. It’ll be okay. You’re okay. They’re okay. Broken bones didn’t seem okay. Headaches didn’t seem okay. Episodes didn’t seem okay. Making his sister cry. Making his brother sleep on the floor. His mom’s worried looks. His father’s tired eyes. That didn’t feel okay. The word stopped having meaning, spilling into every sentence, under every breath. It was the last thing Bumi’s dad said before leaving with his mother after the last visit with Dr. Niko. Laying in his hospital bed, Bumi realized it was the first time he had been alone since Aang arrived two nights ago. Bumi never particularly liked to be alone. Even as a kid, he despised it. When he was young, it meant there was no one to play with or listen to his stories, but now it meant his mind was left to wander. He’d think back to that night. And the man. And the clamp. And his arm. And their eyes. And the fire. And the falling. And falling. And falling. And -

“Hey Bumi, how are you?” Oh. He blinked. Sokka was here. Bumi pushed it all back down, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“I’m okay.” He responded.

“Great,” Sokka said, taking a seat next to the bed,  “where are your mom and dad?” Bumi cringed. The two had left an hour prior to have another Big Talk about his condition.

“Arguing, probably. I really stressed them out…” Bumi paused, trying to find the right words to describe last night, “…before.”

“They’ll be okay,” Sokka said earnestly, “they just need time to… adjust.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Bumi said, looking away. He hated putting his family in this position. He was supposed to be grown, be independent. His parents had enough to worry about.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault, really.” Sokka said earnestly, putting a gentle hand on Bumi’s shoulder. Bumi really wanted to believe him.“Were they talking about anything specifically?” Bumi sighed. Dr. Niko had proposed two different plans to the family that morning. The first, was an immediate transfer to receive treatment at an outpatient clinic in Caldera, and the second, was to postpone transfer by two weeks and continue treating his wounds here. Both options posed different threats, and Bumi’s parents had differing ideas of which to pick.

“My doctors… don’t think they can treat my head. And mom wants me to stay here for longer, cause of,” Bumi gestured with his uninjured hand to the rest of his body, “all this, but dad wants to take me to Caldera as soon as possible.”

“What’s in Caldera?”

“People that can fix heads, I guess…” Bumi paused, trying to remember what Dr. Niko had said, “Specialists who can stop the episodes and minimize ‘long term effects.’ ”

“And what do you want to do?” Bumi blinked.

“You know,” he started, surprised, “no one’s actually asked me that yet.” The issue had been talked about around him at length, but he was never asked to give input.

“It’s technically your decision, since you’re an adult. You know that right?” Sokka confirmed.

“Yeah. I guess it is.” Bumi responded, still fazed. He had forgotten that technically, because they were in the Fire Nation, he was legally an adult and had full autonomy over his own medical care.

“So would you want to go?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Bumi said, truthfully. “ I feel like I should listen to my mom since she’s like, and actual doctor. And I’d go either way just… after I’m a little better. But I also don’t totally know why my dad wants us to go right away.”

“He hasn’t said?” Sokka said, furrowing his brow.

“Not to me,” Bumi responded. Sokka thought for a moment.

“Well bottom line, you should do what you think is best. No one knows you like you, you know? And I’ll help you talk to your parents about whatever you decide.”

“Thanks,” Bumi said, giving a small smile. If there was one thing he could always count on, it was that Sokka would be on his side. He would stand up for him in any situation, even if it meant facing the wrath of Bumi’s mother. In certain instances, like the time Bumi opted to sleep on Sokka’s couch without telling either of his parents after a particularly eventful night out, when his uncle was cool and his mother was anything but, he couldn’t believe the two were related. But then, as fate tended to force, things would go wrong. Bumi would need his mom. And each time, his mother would wrap him in her arms so wholly that the spirits themselves would be foolish to every question her devotion. So maybe there weren’t always sides.

“So…” Sokka said, clearing his throat after a long pause and snapping Bumi out of his daze, “Kya and Tenzin are at the inn setting up their beds.”

Oh. His siblings.

“Have they been…that close for a while?”  Bumi asked, shifting as best he could in his bed.“Cause before they were always… I don’t know, but now…”

“They’re attached at the hip?” Sokka finished,“yeah, that is completely new.”

“Oh.” Bumi said, picking at his sheet with his uninjured hand. “That’s good.” It felt wrong to be disappointed. His sibling’s relationship had been a topic of concern in the family ever since he first left. From what he had gathered, when he was gone, if the two weren’t fighting, they were locked in a state of mutual disregard. Of course they loved each other, and they had their moments of bonding (mostly spurred by Lin, or Su, or Izumi), but often, if they were alone the two seemed…disconnected. Bumi knew it stressed out his parents, especially Aang, and he also knew it always got better when he returned. It felt good to come home and be helpful, be needed. He craved that now, the ability to fix everything.

“Don’t get me wrong, they still idolize you,” Sokka continued, realizing Bumi’s disappointment, “they’re just adjusting to everything. But don’t worry about that okay? They’re okay.”

“Okay.”

“Do you need anything?” Sokka asked after waiting for Bumi to elaborate. He didn’t.

“I’m okay for now.” Bumi responded. It was true, there wasn’t much his uncle, or anyone else could do to make anything more okay. He was ready, willing even, to slip back into his own despair, when there was a  soft knock at the door. Bumi couldn’t see the figure that started to come in at first, just a fuzzy figure, sliding his door open.

“Um, hello. I’m…” A familiar voice called out. Bumi let out a gasp.

“Mei?” Bumi opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything more he was being wrapped in the tight embrace of an almost-lost friend.

“Hi…” Mei said, pulling away as she wiped the tears that threatened to spill down her cheek.

“You’re… here.” Bumi started, still processing that the girl that sitting on the side of his bed was real. “They… said you were here but I wasn’t sure if you were… okay.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. A few stitches and a broken hand but I’ll be okay in a few days.” Mei started to chew on her lower lip, a habit she’d had ever since their first week of basic training. “I would’ve come sooner but I had a fever and… they said you were in bad shape they couldn’t risk me getting you sick.”

“Oh…” Bumi responded. Mei collected his hand in her own, squeezing it firmly. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. Bumi had tried to see her too, that first lunch with his father, but the only thing they would tell him was that she was alive. He had hoped she was in better shape than him, which, thank the spirits, was the case.

“So your the famous Mei,” Sokka said eagerly, breaking the silence.“We’ve heard so much about you!” Bumi had nearly forgotten his uncle was on the other side of his bed. It appeared that Mei had too, considering she leapt up as quickly as her condition permitted.

“Oh please excuse me!” Mei said, extending an arm in traditional Water Tribe fashion she had learned in the UF, continuing earnestly,“it is an honor to meet you councilman.”

“Oh, Sokka is fine, really,” his uncle responded, taking her wrist. Mei kept standing, somewhat awkwardly, collecting her thoughts.

“I… Sokka,” Mei started, uncharacteristically nervous,“you have been such a big inspiration to me, you and your wife… Thank you.” Bumi gave a small smile as Mei sat back down. He knew how much his family meant to people, and how much his uncle and aunt meant to non benders especially.

“You know,” Sokka started, grinning, “Bumi told us you were the one that fixed his arm, which saved his life, so I think I should be the one thanking you.”

“Oh, it was nothing, really,” Mei insisted, looking to her friend, “he’d do the same for me.”

“I’m sure he would, but still, thank you,” Sokka confirmed, sincerely, before standing. “I’ve got some things to take care of, so I’ll leave you too to catch up.”

“It was so nice to meet you, Sokka,” Mei said, giving a small Fire Nation bow. Bumi blinked. Mei’s mother was from the Fire Nation, and it was where she lived until she was ten. Old habits die hard.

“Likewise,” Sokka said as he left, seemingly unfazed.

“You know,” Mei started, turning her attention back to Bumi as the door shut, "the pictures in the papers do not do him justice.”

“Oh gross, that’s my uncle!” Bumi protested. Mei smirked.

“Suki’s not here is she?” She added. Bumi, wondered, briefly, if it was worth it to sacrifice his recovery to kick her from her position on the foot of the bed.

“Also ew,” Bumi said, “and no, she’s not.”

“Pity.”

“Hey, umm…You’re not going to get all weird on me are you?” Bumi asked, after a moment.“Now that you’re meeting my family, I mean.” On more than one occasion, he had had friends that couldn’t look at him the same after meeting his relatives. When he joined the United Forces, he had tried to avoid the subject all together, but there were only so many boys from Republic City named after a century-old king of Omashu. Mei raised an eyebrow.

“If I was going to be weird to you, it would be because you’re the idiot who almost killed himself jumping through a three story window,” Mei said, somewhat accusingly. He could feel his chest tighten at the mention of the incident.

“You… you saw what happened?” Bumi questioned.

“You don’t remember?” Mei asked, her brow furrowing.

“Everything’s a little fuzzy after the… window fiasco.” Bumi answered truthfully.

“Oh.” Mei said. Bumi couldn’t place her tone. She took a breath before continuing.“Well, when you jumped, that… guy managed to turn you both while you were falling and after he used you as a landing pad, he burned you pretty bad. Thankfully after that he was caught pretty quickly. Apparently you got to him before he was able to get any of the files or send for reinforcements. Without any of the data from the main ship, the other terrorists who managed to get ahold of our sister ships were caught today.”

“Oh… good.” Bumi said, trying to place Mei’s information into his own fragmented memory. “So… I heard voices, after I fell. I was worried… that they were the terrorists. But…”

“It was me.” Mei finished. “Well, me and Han - who’s also doing okay- and anyone else still conscious. It was pretty bad there for a few hours after the bomb went off.” Mei paused for a moment, adding quietly,“we weren’t sure if you were going to make it.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Bumi said. It was all he could think of. Those almost-final moments, that last look at the stars, it had been real. But he hadn’t been alone.

“Hey, it’s okay, I mean it’s not but…” Mei confirmed, placing a hand on his shoulder as she continued. “You may be the idiot who almost killed himself jumping through the window, but you’re also the idiot who saved lives by making sure they didn’t get any information. So your a hero too, an idiot, but a hero.” The two sat for a moment, taking in what Mei had said, before Bumi spoke.

“I feel like this counts as weird.” Bumi said, breaking the silence. Mei gasped, retracting her hand.

“It does not!” She protested.

“Well I’m a hero now I should know,” Bumi grinned, smugly.

“Oh I take it back! I take it back!” Mei shouted jokingly.

“You can’t, I’m heroic.” Bumi continued. Mei scoffed, getting up from the bed.

“You know what I’m leaving,” Mei said. Smiling, she added, “tell me if your aunt shows up.”

“That’s a weird thing to say!” Bumi called after her. Mei paused briefly in the doorframe of his room.

“I missed you.” Mei said, looking back at Bumi.

“I missed you too.” Bumi responded.

Things, Bumi realized, could be normal again.

[transtion]


Southern Water Tribe, 13 Years Earlier

Bumi liked spending time with his Atta. He liked how he did his hair, and how soft the furs were in his house, and that he could eat all the jerky he wanted. But doing all of those things didn’t make him miss his parents any less.

“Can I see my mom now?” Bumi said, catching the attention of Hakoda, who was tending to the fire a few feet away.

“Not yet Bumi,” he said gently. “It’s like when Kya was born, do you remember that?” Bumi stared at his sister, who was playing with their Uncle Sokka on the other side of the pit. 

“I think?” Bumi said hesitantly. It was hard to imagine his sister even smaller than she was right now. She couldn’t do most of the things he could. She also had trouble understanding why their mamma couldn’t do all the things she could. “When I see mamma again, can she pick me up?” It had been a long time. He saw Sokka and Hakoda make eye contact.

“Maybe not at first, but very soon.” Hakoda answered. Bumi wanted to ask another question, but Auntie Suki burst into the room, causing Sokka and Hakoda to leap to their feet. They talked in hushed tones for a long time, which meant Bumi could eat more jerky.

“I can stay with the kids, don’t worry,” Hakoda said slightly louder, catching Bumi’s attention.

“What happened?” Bumi asked, scrambling to join the circle of adults, “Can I meet the baby?” Suki, Sokka, and Hakoda all paused.

“In a little bit Boom,” Sokka said, kneeling down to meet his eyes. He placed both hands on Bumi’s shoulders, which normally he liked, but not when they were shaking. “I gotta go but everything’s going to be fine.” Suki knelt down next to her husband.

“Your mom wanted me to give you both big hugs and kisses from her,” Suki said, bringing Bumi into a crushing hug. “We’ll be right back and then later we can walk over together okay?”

“Okay.” Bumi responded. They walked fast, as if they were racing to see who could get to the house where his mom and dad were faster. Bumi didn’t like it.

“Are you worried Boom,” Hakoda asked his grandson, who hadn’t moved from his place by the front door.

“Yeah.” Bumi said. It felt like the time his dad promised to be back in one day and came back in three. He had to get healed by his mom with her special healing after that. A lot. They said that was fine too. But his dad couldn’t do special healing to help his mom if she needed.

“Well I know your mom and the baby will be okay,” Hakoda said, coaxing his grandson back to the fire, “you know how I know?” Bumi turned, curious.

“How?”

“Your mom is the strongest person I know. She was been ever since she was born. ” Hakoda started as Bumi sat beside him. “She was early, like your new baby brother or sister, but just in time for the coldest night of the year.” Hakoda continued, his voice slipping into a thicker Southern accent, or what Bumi called his storytelling voice.“It was the middle of winter, and the moon was so bright in the sky we could see without lanterns.” Bumi’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Really.” Hakoda confirmed, “And that’s how your great grandmother knew, she had the gift.”

“What gift?” Bumi questioned. His mom had never told him about a gift.

“The gift of our people, Bumi. The gift passed down from our ancestors, that now lives in your sister, water bending.” Hakoda explained, gesturing to the toddler beside them, entranced by the trinket Sokka had left behind.

“Oh…” Bumi said, solemnly. Nobody had ever said that water bending was like a gift. His mom had always said it was a quality, like one of many beads on a necklace. It made him feel weird. “Will the new baby have the gift too?”

“Maybe, but probably not given the time,” Hakoda thought. “Although, they may have a different gift, like your dad. And that would be really special.”

“Because… because my dad’s the only one who can air bend.” Bumi confirmed, almost anxiously.

“Yes.” Hakoda agreed. Bumi didn’t like this.


“Atta-” Bumi started, but before he could ask another  question, Kya started to fuss.

“Oh hold on Bumi,” Hakoda interrupted, moving to pick up the toddler, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay…” Bumi said, watching his grandfather carry Kya into the next room. As he sat alone by the fire, he thought of all the things his Atta had said. He thought of his mom, and Kya, and his dad who was all alone, and the new baby. And he thought of the question he was going to ask.

He wanted to know, that if they all had the gift, that one day, he might be special too.

Notes:

okay!

a few things:)

first, i found via the internet that 'atta' is one of the words for grandfather in Inuktitut but if this is wrong please, please let me know and also I sincerely apologize.

also, we love Hakoda in this house, but I wanted to kind of look at the idea of like good intentions bad result, especially with someone in Bumi's life who wasn't present for their own kid going through this and just was dealing with the bender/non bender dynamic in a different time

also mei and bumi are platonic yall and we love them for it

thank you for being patient with me, i apologize again and all of your support just means the world.

xo,

aza

Chapter 8: until the fog rolls in

Summary:

kataang angst (im sorry i love them sm), rad sibling moments, a queer moment, as a treat

Notes:

hello! i'm back! i know it's been another month, but this is a longer chapter and i hope this makes up for it a little bit!!
thank you so much for being patient with me:)
also im sure there's typos, i apologize

also just a side note: im delving just a little bit into mental health stuff, specifcally how people can experience ptsd in different ways, so if thats something that could feel triggering to you please take care of yourself!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Somehow we got older, the air just got colder, that's when the fog rolls in."

Under different circumstances, Aang thought to himself, he would love this island. As he wound his way through the cobblestone streets, it dawned on his tired mind that he had loved this island. They had been there before. Once. A lifetime away. It was easy to forget the happier memories that had danced across this block when every stone was painted with the image of Bumi in his hospital bed.  With each step Aang’s shadow, long in the sun’s lazy descent, seemed to grow heavier as he walked from the hospital to the inn. In a few days time the route would be second nature.

Aang and Katara spent most of the day locked away in Dr. Niko’s office in deep discussion over Bumi’s condition. Everything ached. He hated upsetting Katara, but this was a decision he could not compromise.  Bumi had to go to Caldera, Katara had to see that. Eventually. After the sun started to droop, just slightly in the sky, and what began as a midmorning discussion slipped gracefully into the late afternoon, the two  decided to take a break and return to reality. Bumi needed a healing session, there were still clothes at the hospital which needed to be brought to their room, and their other two children hadn’t seen their parents for several hours. Aang offered, when he saw the fatigue washing over his wife’s eyes, to stay and do each task together, but Katara insisted it wouldn’t take long. He understood. They had both been tired for a long time. So Aang left the hospital alone.

The inn they were staying at was small, tucked neatly between a dress shop and a restaurant just a few streets from the docks. Aang could feel a soft sea breeze as he walked through the doors. Hina, the innkeeper, who sat on a tall chair behind the front desk, smiled softly behind a stack of recently folded linens. When Sokka first booked the rooms and disclosed the nature of their visit, she refused payment. Hina’s granddaughter was born in a hospital in Republic City, at the only hospital that didn’t charge its patients. Katara had once taken care of her child, and now she would do her part to take care of theirs. She also gave Kya and Tenzin a key to back door to get in unnoticed. To protect the children, she had insisted. Aang stopped at the entrance to give her a small bow. It wasn’t enough, he believed, to show all of his gratitude, but it was what he could do fo now.

As Aang weaved up the stairs to the third floor and ran his hand on the cool concrete wall, he found himself comparing it to the corridors of the Southern Temple. The revelation struck him at first, so much so he flinched back from the wall, the smooth stone turning rough under his touch. It had been a long time. For years, Aang couldn’t sleep in any kind of inn. He thought, at first, it was because of Hama. But that never explained the dreams that followed, the dreams of home. He realized later that it was the location itself. It was a cruel combination of traveling somewhere new and staying in one of the most simple, practical, “impersonal” places. Sometimes the dreams were a welcome escape, but more often they would send him into a spiral of grief. And then Bumi was born. And everything changed.

Aang paused on the step and left the stairwell quickly, finding himself in the second story hall. It was a small walkway, with doors to each room lining both sides. He steadied himself against a wooden doorframe, and took a deep breath. If he squinted, for just a moment, it could be his dormitory.

Aang could’ve stood there for hours, trying to figure out the source of his sudden, surprising feelings of homesickness, but his thoughts were interrupted by the faint murmur of an argument happening directly above him. The sound pulled him in a way little could, and he started back up the stairs to the third floor. Even through the ceiling, Aang knew: it was Kya and Tenzin. Their voices grew louder, exhausting him with every yell as he made his way to their room. Without much thinking, Aang swung the door open and stepped in.

“I’m back.” Aang announced. Startled by his arrival, Kya and Tenzin jumped back from each other and onto their respective sleeping mats, which they had sprawled in the middle of the room. Katara will hate how they’ve set these, Aang mused, noticing the disorganized and already dirty nature of his children’s beds. His kids, however, seemed far too preoccupied to worry about their arrangements. Tenzin’s face was twisted with worry, and was unable to make eye contact, while Kya’s mouth formed a neat, calculated line. There was also, to Aang’s delight, something behind her back. “Guys?” He asked, gesturing to his daughter’s strategically placed arms, “what’s that?” Kya shot her brother a warning glance, that was promptly ignored.

“I told Kya not to open your mail-” Tenzin started, scratching the back of his neck.

“You have to leave.” Kya interrupted, holding up the crumpled piece of paper. Aang furrowed his brows.

“What?” Aang questioned, walking to meet his children. “Can I see that?” Kya handed him the telegram, which he learned was addressed to the Avatar and Master Katara. Aang read in silence, the room held in bated breath.


“Are you really leaving?” Tenzin asked, finally. He and Kya, while only recently out of a dispute, stood together across from their father. Aang sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. This was far from the first time. Different places, different reasons, different words on his son’s tongue, but all the same feeling, same ending. Having to leave his children, without warning or timeframe, was one of Aang’s least favorite parts of his “job.” The first time he had to leave, really leave Bumi, he was a just under a year old. Aang had made many, many months with only the occasional one-day trip away from his son. But the mission was dangerous, the kind of danger Aang could feel in his bones. He and Katara made the decision for her and Bumi to stay in Ba Sing Se, where she was already waist-deep in reforming the hospital system, and for Aang to go alone. He was gone two weeks. It felt far too long for Aang. When he returned, he made a private vow to never do that again. It was a promise that, while rarely, was broken many, many times.

But this time, he realized was different. This time, he had an idea where he didn’t have to leave anybody.

“I don’t-” Aang started again, before he was cut off by a new voice behind them.

“Aang?” Katara asked slowly, standing in the doorway holding the last of their bags. “What’s going on?” Aang weighed his options, looking at the concerned faces of his children and his wife. He had a plan. A way for everything to work out. The plan needed to work.

“Kya, Tez, how about you give us a little space? Maybe go to the market? Explore around?” Aang asked his children. The two gratefully obliged, walking out quickly past their parents and shutting the door behind them. Katara moved to set their packs down by their bedroom before turning to address her husband again.

“What’s going on?” Katara asked again, exhaustion creeping into her voice. Aang motioned for her to have a seat on the cushions in the center of the room.

“They opened a telegram addressed to the both us,” Aang explained, showing her the page as he joined her by the table. “The United Alliance need us for a meeting in Caldera.”

“What?” Katara exclaimed. The United Alliance often met a few times a year to discuss current global affairs, but it was rare for any sector to request this many ambassadors on such short notice unless it was a dire emergency.

“It’s about what happened to Bumi and his squadron. That attack isn’t the only one that’s happened in the last six months, but it’s caused the most casualties.” Aang continued, “we actually proposed an International Marine Safety Act months ago, but they decided it would harm too much trade so it didn’t pass. I think now they’re rethinking that decision.” Aang paused for a moment, letting Katara read the telegram, before adding, “they need an ambassador from every nation, but I’m sure Sokka would go to in your place.” While Katara and Sokka were both members of the UA, they shared the title of United Republic Ambassador and could vote interchangeably. The siblings had both been involved in politics in both Republic City and the Southern Water Tribe (serving as the SWT representatives in Republic City on numerous occasions), and given their legacies had equal voting power in the eyes of other world leaders. 

“I don’t understand, couldn’t one of the acolytes go in your place?” Katara said, addressing what had been left unspoken. “Takashi has been working with you in Republic City for months now.”

“Unfortunately, he can’t. At least not yet.” Aang stated, shifting on his cushion. “He doesn’t have the approval or standing with world leaders outside of the city.” Aang had always been a welcome voice in political discussions as the Avatar, but cementing an Air Nation representative on the global stage was still a point of contention. As disappointing as it was, some representatives were still neutral or even disproving of the idea, since the nation was so small.

“Okay…” Katara said slowly, passing the telegram back to her husband.“Then, you need to go.”

“What?” Aang was shocked.

“You said it’s about deciding what to do about the attacks, which means that our son will be safer and the people who hurt him can be held accountable. And, you said that they need representation from all sectors…” Katara grabbed Aang’s hand gently, “you have to go.” Aang squeezed her hand back. They sat for a moment in silence as Aang decided what to say next. He could give in, but he had a plan. And the plan had to work. He drew a breath and looked at his wife.

“I… I actually think we should all go, considering Bumi-” Aang started. The air changed in the room.


“He can’t leave yet.” Katara said, letting go of his hand as she cut him off.

“I’m just saying it already makes sense,” Aang exclaimed. Katara stood up, leaving Aang on the cushions as he continued, “I could still see him and have a place to stay that’s familiar to the kids and-”

“He’s not healthy enough yet Aang, we can’t move him yet,” Katara stated. She had moved across the room unpack their bags, folding the shirt in her hand with slightly too much force. Anger Organizing, as Sokka had called it. It was never a good sign. Aang sighed and moved to Katara, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“They said it could work out fine,” he added, softly. Katara brushed off his hand.

“Could, Aang, could work.” Katara corrected, “what if it didn’t? What about then?”

“You are the best healer in the world Katara, and we can take him on Appa and-”

“It’s still dangerous!” Katara said, her voice growing louder. The clothes and packs had long been forgotten. “And putting his life, our child’s life on the line-”

“You don’t think I don’t know that? You don’t think I’m scared?” Aang questioned. He could feel himself growing more and more frustrated. They were going in circles, having the same fight they’d had all day again. Different place, different words, same feeling. He despised arguing with Katara. But he was tired. And so was she.

“So we then should staying here.” Katara concluded. She turned away from Aang and returned to unpacking their bags, before adding in a lower voice, “I need to put my foot down. This is a medical issue and I know what I’m talking about.” Aang’s eyes narrowed. This was new.

“What do you mean?” Aang questioned.

“Nothing.” Katara said, her back still towards Aang.

“No, you mean something, what is it?” Aang coaxed.

“We have been here before Aang,” Katara said quietly, pausing her work. She turned to face him with tired eyes. “When he left the first time we disagreed and we then went with his plan, a plan I opposed and now we’re here.” Katara gestured broadly to the hotel room around them. To the unpacked bags, the day-old clothes, the unkept sleeping mats. But at this moment, Aang wasn’t concerned with any of that.

“Hey, that’s not fair. This is different.” Aang argued.

“Is it?” Katara refuted.

“You can’t…” Aang paused, irritated. He could feel heat rising to his face.“You can’t put this on me or you or anyone.”

“Aang no, I’m not putting anything on you, really.  I’m just saying that last time-”

“This is different-

“I said this would happen!” Katara shouted finally. “I said two years ago that if we let him do this, if we let him join the army we would loose him, and look at where we are right now!”

“We were going to loose him either way Katara!” Aang challenged. He remembered that first discussion, over whether or not Bumi could leave. The air felt thick then too. Like they were drowning in it.

“Him hating us is not the same as dying Aang,” Katara shot back. Dying. The paralyzing fear. The question neither of them could bare to ask. Will he really be okay? Katara watched Aang with exhausted eyes as they stood in a tense, shaken silence. He took the first step.

“He wouldn’t have been happy Katara,” Aang started, deflated. “This was the only thing he has ever really took to. He was driven when he was training with Sokka. It’s his calling.” Aang had an understanding of his son’s path, of what he could become after the first summer he spent with Sokka and Suki. Bumi was a warrior, no matter what his parents may want. To Aang, this felt like something he had to accept, a near absolute. Katara saw it differently.

“He could have done anything Aang, anything.” Katara countered. Aang blinked. For whatever reason, that was his breaking point. The anger that was beginning to dissipate, rose in his chest, threatening to claw it’s way out. They had needed to let him do this.

“What if he never spoke to us again?” Aang snapped. “What if he joined anyways? What if he ran away and we never heard from him again and we spent the rest of our lives never knowing if he was okay?” Aang’s voice broke, slightly, with his last sentence. It didn’t matter. He had to say it. For a moment, the room was still. Aang could feel his own heart, beating fast in his chest. Katara stepped forward, and brushed a tear from Aang’s face. He didn’t realize he was crying. When he finally met her eyes, her face had softened.

“Oh…” Katara started, her eyes widened ever so slightly as something dawned on her. “Aang.”

“What?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. What was he missing?

"He’s not… you’re not…”  Katara started again, trying to find the words. Her forehead was crinkled with worry as she leaned to hug her husband. And then it clicked for Aang. That missing word. Gyatso. He’s not you. You’re not Gyatso. Oh. Oh no. Aang swallowed. Every breath, every sound, was suddenly heavier.

“I know,” Aang began, stepping back from Katara. “I know that, okay? I’m not… I’m not.” His chest tightened. Aang closed his eyes. He had to center himself. He couldn’t do this right now. Aang took a breath, and tried to clear his mind. Focus on the task at hand. Katara. He couldn’t do this right now. “No matter what he’ll get better and it’s not your fault or his fault and it’ll be okay.”

“He will.” Katara confirmed. Aang opened his arms, pulling his wife back into a gentle hug. He couldn’t quite feel her, not like usual. Everything had started to fog. He couldn’t do this right now. Katara, noticing her husband’s mood, asked, “sweetie, are you okay?”

“Yes,” Aang lied. He couldn’t do this right now. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The fog had rolled in. It was too late. He couldn’t do this right now.


Kya had forgotten just how hot the Fire Nation could get. The open air market was in the center of town, far from any trees or anything else that could provide shade. As she wiped the sweat from her brow, Kya cursed herself for not changing before she left their room. She had meant to, it was why they had gone back to the room in the first place, but then the letter was waiting for her parents and…

It had been a long time since Kya had heard her parents fight like that. It had been her idea to stay, despite Tenzin’s reluctance. She hoped they would gain new information that their parents had left out, something important about Bumi’s care. But now, as she and Tenzin walked in silence beside her younger brother, she yearned for ignorance. She hadn’t been thinking like an older sister. She wasn’t supposed to be the oldest.

“So…” Kya started finally,“that was…a lot.” She cringed. Bumi was alway better at this.

“I still don’t think we should’ve eavesdropped like that,” Tenzin responded, looking at the ground.

“Hey, dad said to give them space, not how much,” Kya joked, hoping Tenzin would open up, but to no avail. Kya placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping them between two booths. “But I just… what they were saying… it was kinda heavy.”

“Yeah,” Tenzin responded, not making eye contact.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kya asked, encouragingly.

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Kya confirmed. There had to be something he needed to get off his chest.

“Yep,” Tenzin said, shrugging off her arm and moving back onto the street. A part of Kya wanted to pull him back, to shake him, to beg him to tell her how he was feeling, so that they could navigate this together. But they weren’t there yet. It’s not how they were. Not yet. Tenzin turned back, asking, “hey, do you still have the money dad gave you? I’m kind of thirsty.”

“Wait.” Kya paused, “what happened to yours?” Their father had given them both some Fire Nation money that morning for food, and the two had spent nearly every moment together.

“I spent it already.” Tenzin said nonchalantly.

“On what?” Kya asked. Tenzin hesitated.

“A priority mailing telegram home for Lin…” Kya’s eyes widened. Tenzin sighed, “I know Sokka already sent them to Atta and Zuko and Toph, but I thought she would like her own.”

“Uh huh,” Kya taunted, snickering. She had suspected her brother had a crush on Lin for some time now, but the letter only confirmed it. They had been close since they were little, and he confided in her far more than he did his sister.

“Whatever,” Tenzin said, his cheeks reddened, “can we just get some tea?”

Kya grinned. Tea, she could do. One of the greatest parts about the Fire Nation, was that you could never go more than two blocks without finding some sort of tea shop. Kya charged forward into the nearest cafe, her brother in tow, and bought them both whatever they wanted from the menu and then some. While neither of her parents preached attachment, after spending one too many afternoons with Iroh, she had acquired a taste for finer leaves.

As they left the shop, Kya’s eyes were pulled to a small flower stand across the street. If they had been there with their parents, it would have been one of their very first stops in the market. No matter where they were in the world, Katara and Aang would always find a place to buy flowers, ensuring that by the end of the first day, there would be a fresh vase in their room. It made every place feel a little bit more like a home, something they all really needed that now.

“Hey,” Kya started, already crossing the street, “we should get some flowers, for Bumi’s room.”

“Oh.” Tenzin said, eyeing the stand, “that’s a good idea. Mom will love that.”

From what Kya could deduce, it was a fairly standard Fire Nation flower stand, with all of the normal beauties mixed in local favorites. She was about to grab a bouquet of peonies, when the girl behind the counter stood up. Kya froze. The girl was about her age, with gorgeous black hair cut in a line at her chin, and the most alluring amber eyes she had ever seen. Oh.

“Hey,” said the girl, smiling, “I’m Lian. This is my mom’s shop so I can help you with whatever you need.” Kya smiled back, leaning casually on the side of the counter top.

“I’m Kya. These are some really pretty flowers,” she started, looking at the different baskets and boxes neatly placed on and around the stand. She turned back to Lian, adding,  “you know, I’ve been told Avatar Kyoshi loved roses.” Lian raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I’ve always heard the silver lily was more… her style,” she corrected, finishing the code. Kya smirked.

“You know what? You’re right, my mistake.” Kya said, playing with a strand of her hair. The code of Kyoshi was a secret message for queer women that could be dated well over two hundred years, with some swearing it was used during the Avatar’s time. It had become increasingly more popular in the Fire Nation during and after Sozin’s reign as a way for queer people to find each other out without being caught.

“Is anything catching your eye?” Lian asked.

“Oh I think so,” Kya stated, not breaking eye contact. Lian blushed slightly.

“Are you from around here?”

“Nope, just visiting,” Kya said, passively.

“Our brother. In the hospital.” Tenzin said, finishing the sentence as he stepped forward. She had almost, almost forgot she was there. “I’m Tenzin.”

“Forgive him.” Kya glared, “I’m babysitting today.” Tenzin, receiving the message, rolled his eyes and began to through flowers at the other end of the stand.

“Oh I’m so sorry about your brother,” Lian said, turning back to Kya.

“He’ll be okay,” she started, quickly. “We might actually be leaving soon too, which is almost too bad since I barely got to know the island.” Kya continued, combing delicately through a vase of lilies on the stand between them. “Then again, I’m not really the type to be tied down.”

“Makes sense. You know…. this island doesn’t have the best silver lilies anyways.” Lian said, a subtle warning in her eyes.

“So I’ve been told,” Kya confirmed. “What a shame.” While the rights of queer individuals had made leaps and bounds under Zuko’s rule, over a century of hateful rhetoric and cultural practices could not be reversed as quickly, especially on the smaller islands especially

“A damn shame,” she agreed. “ Well, I’ve lived here all my life so if you want a rundown of the place, best shops, restaurants, swing the shop anytime.” Lian paused, looking between Kya and her brother before adding, “it seems like you use the escape.” Kya smiled.

“I might just have take you up on that.”

“You should. Also, here,” Lian grinned, collecting a bouquet of pale pink flowers from the side of the stand, “have some carnations. They’re bright but their pollen isn’t exposed, so it’s great for hospitals.”

“Oh these are perfect! Thank you.” Kya said sincerely, taking the flowers as she reached into her pocket. Lian reached to stop her hand, their fingers just grazing each other.

“Don’t worry about it, those on the house,” Lian insisted.

“Are you sure?” Kya questioned.

“Of course. Anything for another… friend of Kyoshi,” Lian said winking.

The siblings decided it would be best to go straight to the hospital to drop off the flowers before dinner, and Kya’s face was still a soft pink by the time they had left the market. Tenzin on the other hand, was far less amused. A as soon as they got out of ear shot of Lian, he turned to face his sister.

“Seriously? Right now?” Tenzin questioned. Kya scoffed.

“Oh shut up, she was nice and it was fun,” she argued.


“While Bumi’s in the hospital?” Tenzin continued. Kya cringed. Given the cirumstances, Kya knew she didn’t have the emotional capabilities or desire to be with someone in any way, shape, or form. But talking, just talking, to Lian felt good. It felt nice. Normal. But Tenzin didn’t need to know any of that.

“Don’t guilt me. He’d be proud and you know it,” Kya said. She was only partly joking. Tenzin was unenthused.

“Whatever.” Kya rolled her eyes. While they were only a few blocks away from the hospital, it was about to be a long, long walk.


“Get off that high ostrich horse, you spent your food money writing a letter home to Lin,” she challenged.

“To inform her of the situation!” Tenzin sputtered.

“Please, I see how you look at her,” Kya taunted. “It’s a little gross you know, you two are like… cousins.”

“No we are not!” Tenzin shouted, just loud enough for those around them to turn their heads. Kya smirked, her words striking all the right chords. Her brother hated unwanted attention. Tenzin continued, softer, “even if I did like her -which I don’t- we aren’t biologically related."

“We all grew up together.” Kya stated. While she had no real stake in the argument, since she had started it, it would be wrong to back down. It felt oddly refreshing to debate something so mundane. Everything around them had felt so heavy, but in this moment there was a twisted lightness.

“So did Bumi and Izumi,” Tenzin said.

“Oh, like you know what’s going on with them,” Kya jabbed. Bumi and Izumi had only gotten together in the last year, but had been hopelessly dancing around the idea for half of their lives.

“Yes, I do.” Tenzin confirmed. Kya raised an eyebrow.

“Well, there’s nothing he told you that he didn’t tell me,” For most of her life, she and Bumi had been able to tell each other anything. When he joined the navy, the two made sure to keep each other up to date in their lives through letters and late night talks whenever he came home. She was sure that whatever Tenzin thought he knew, she knew more.

“Great. So we both know and we both agree it’s not gross. If anything your the gross one for bringing it up,” Tenzin concluded.

“Okay Tez,” Kya said, nonchalantly, “if you want to date Lin or whatever go ahead, just don’t involve me.”

“Thank you.” He said confidently. Kya waited. She watched as the realization dawned on her brother, his  shoulders scrunching up at his ears in annoyance. “Wait! That’s not what I meant! You know what I meant - agh!” Kya laughed hard as her brother floundered, trying and failing again to dispute his feelings. 

“You are so immature you know that,” Tenzin said finally. Jabbing her slightly with his elbow to stop her from laughing.

“And you’re jealous that I know more about our brother, you’re point?” Kya stated, after composing herself.

“I am not!”

“You so want to know don’t you?” Kya heckled. Tenzin wrinkled his nose.

“No, it’s my brother and Izumi it’s…”

“Gross?” Kya smirked.

“Stop it!” Tenzin shouted.

“Fine, fine, you’ve proved my point,” Kya accepted. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but the energy had shifted between them. It felt ridiculous and wrong to celebrate an argument, but Tenzin had, in a way, opened up. And that was all she could ask for. They walked in a more comfortable silence for the final few minutes of the walk, before Kya stopped her brother in the hospital courtyard. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she spoke, more sincere than before, “you can come with me tomorrow, when I go ask about restaurants,” she offered. Tenzin made a face. “Not with with me, but… just to give yourself a break too. From all of it” Tenzin sighed.

“You know,” he started, “mom and dad would let us stay at the inn tomorrow if we told them we were… overwhelmed.” Overwhelmed was an understatement. But Kya could picture that conversation. With her mother, spreading herself too thin, trying to make everything work perfectly for every child. With her father, his tired, all-knowing eyes filling with guilt and regret. They didn’t need this too.

“You heard them today, they don’t need anymore stress. Plus, Sokka’s leaving for a few days so… I have us right now, okay?” Kya could be his go-to. Kya could be his older sister.

“Yeah… okay,” Tenzin said after a moment. As they entered the hospital, the bright, electric lights shining down on them, he added quietly,“the flowers your girlfriend picked are really nice.” Kya gasped at the not-so-subtle jab.

“Tenzin. Tui and La.” Kya laughed.

It was far from over, but for a moment, it felt like they could exhale.


Tenzin had hoped, in a rather uncharacteristically optimistic way, that by the time his family reunited for dinner in Bumi’s hospital room, that everything would be resolved. That his parents would have come to the right decision about the telegram and everything would be okay. Nothing, as it turned out, was okay. Tenzin, along with his sister, had opted to go straight from their market excursion to the hospital, where they found their uncle and brother discussing one of Sokka’s latest projects. It was not unlike any other conversation they’d had in the last decade, if Tenzin ignored Bumi’s long pauses and the occasional stutter, which he tried his best to do. Tenzin, as he always had, tried his best to engage with them, but found himself falling short. He could blame his age, or the months Bumi spent with their uncle, becoming a jack of all trades, while he studied their father’s element. But in truth, Tenzin felt they were just very different people. Tenzin’s brain didn’t work the way Sokka or Bumi’s did, he couldn’t picture every component of an invention yet to be created, imagine something into being. It was all too… abstract. There were no rules, no guidelines to follow in their work, and it made him nervous. By the time Aang and Katara arrived with dinner, Tenzin wouldn’t have been surprised if Sokka started sketching out the idea on his cloth napkin.

Dinner, on the surface, seemed as normal as it could be. Katara almost immediately took to Bumi, cutting up his food and making sure every pillow was in its place. Sokka continued to make everyone laugh and not-so-stealthily tracked his niece and nephew, making sure they ate and drank water and that their smiles were genuine. If someone were to peek their head into the room, they would see a family grateful to be together, happily making the best of an awful situation. This was not untrue, of course, but Tenzin couldn’t help but feel that was off. He was sensitive. That’s what his siblings told him. And while they were talking about emotional capabilities, in a different circumstance they were right. The air moved differently for Tenzin. Every breeze, every sigh, every shift in the wind - he could sense it, and even more he could change it. When he was younger, it overwhelmed him. He used to cover his ears in crowds and cry with wind storms. The world moved differently for Tenzin. He was sensitive. But all that changed with control, mediation. His father explained that a clear, centered mind would not only help him control his own bending, but let him pick and choose what and when to listen. He was reminded of that, as he watched his family weave around the cramped hospital room. Out of habit, Tenzin tried to pinpoint each noise. He could hear his sister’s tapping foot, his uncle’s fidgeting hands, his mother’s quick footsteps from one side of Bumi to the other. But not as well as he should have. No, everything was duller. To anyone else, things would’ve seemed normal, sounded normal. But Tenzin wasn’t like everyone else. Tenzin was sensitive. And there was only one other person in the world who could feel air the way he could. Who can move the air the way he could. And he was just a few steps away.

Tenzin had realized, throughout the years, that there was this… way his father could get sometimes, hazy. He was different. There was an eerie stillness that washed over Aang, and the waves always seemed to knock him off of his feet. The most unnerving part to Tenzin, the part he’d convince himself he imagined each time he noticed, was that each step was just a little too light. It was as if his father was almost, almost floating. At thirteen, Tenzin knew more about the Air Nomads than most scholars. There were passages, myths, that described his ancestors as beings that could fly, or at least float, because they were had separated themselves from the world. Completely detached. But Tenzin wasn’t a master yet. What did he know.

Kya, much to Tenzin’s private jealousy, had gotten her cyclical bout of energy from the moon’s light and was noticing too. They locked eyes between spoonfuls of soup just slightly spicier than either of them were comfortable with, and through a subtle nod the confirmed they were thinking the same thing: it was happening again. Every reaction was the slightest bit delayed, every smile a little smaller, his eyes a little duller. Aang was always one to know when to listen and when to speak up, but tonight’s silence was not purposeful. Uncle Zuko could get like this too, and Auntie Suki from time to time. Their Atta said it was a warrior’s tremor, Auntie Toph called it her leftovers, and Uncle Sokka insisted it was a small price to pay for the world they have now. But whatever they called it, it never changed any of their footsteps. Just dad’s.

To Tenzin’s relief, Sokka had convinced both of Aang and Katara to sleep at the inn that night, promising to keep Bumi company until the next morning. Tenzin’s parents were always happier when they were together. Everyone was happier when they were together. His family felt different when they were apart. Growing up, Bumi was always less ridiculous when they were left with one parent. Tenzin had never quite realized his brother’s behavior until the first time his mother went on a medical trip after Bumi left. While Tenzin waited outside the hospital while his mother gave last-minute instructions to his uncle, he was reminded of that fateful week. It was the week Tenzin realized how much he didn’t change when left with only one parent. Their entire routine was thrown off by the second day. As he shrunk into the dim glow of streetlights, he found himself thinking the same thing he had over a year prior, if Bumi and I switched places right now, would things be different? Tenzin concluded, as his family slumped up the steps to their room, that the answer was yes. Bumi would know how to make sure everyone was alright. Bumi could bring their dad back down to earth, he may not have ever left.

As Tenzin curled into his makeshift bed on the floor of their room’s living space, he tried his best to push away all the mess from the day. The monk’s had taught his father that going to bed with a cluttered head led to cluttered dreams and cluttered days. He tried not to think about his dad’s silence at dinner, or the telegram, or Bumi’s eyes, or Kya’s grip on the bedpost, or his mother’s nervous whispers coming from the bedroom door a few feet away. Instead, Tenzin focused on his own steady breaths. For a moment, it worked, just as it had every other time. He slipped into a peaceful, uncluttered sleep. Everything was still. But it couldn’t last. Four hours later, everything was loud.

What seemed like the loudest sound he had ever heard was ringing through their room. The sound was so loud, and so all encompassing, it felt like something that you would be able to see. At first, Tenzin thought they were under attack. But as he squinted through the darkness, surveying the room, it appeared there was no threat. Kya, who was wide awake just a few feet from him, had been experiencing the same thing. He could make out the faint outline of her water pouch, once clutched readily in her hands being slowly discarded.

Tenzin realized the root of the sound just a few seconds before Kya did. His heightened hearing giving his disoriented mind a half step ahead. But he waited for her. He wanted to be wrong. Two sets of eyes, wide with painful realization, turned to their parents room. Even without opening the door, they knew what to expect. It wasn’t a sound, but a scream. And all at once, it made sense. The silence, the glazed eyes, and the floating.

Aang was having a nightmare.

Notes:

okay! so this chapter got a little more intense so here's a few things:

- we love katara in this house, no katara slander. she is not the 'bad guy' of this, i just wanted to portray a way i think my otp could have a real heated argument, and i think really it's fueled on both sides by ulterior feelings/being scared/being tired/etc
- aang has Trauma and he's working through it, i wanted to play with the idea of complex abandonment/suriviors guilt issues causing him to feel unworthy and scared that the people he loves will leave (both because he feels that he left them and due to genocide)
- also, in terms of mental health stuff, im basing it off of both research and private experience, and everyone is different

- Kya is a lesbian and she deserves to be a funky little gay teen so as a funky little lesbian i had to incorporate this, also love the idea of some sort of "friend of dorothy"/do you listen to girl in red for atla

please let me know what you think!

Chapter 9: my endless love

Summary:

the aftermath, some heart to hearts, and a revelation

Notes:

darlings, i am so sorry for the delay. i really tried to be on time with this, to get this to ya in a timely fashion, but it was not in the cards cause a got real sick this past week. anywho, i hope you can forgive me, thank you so so much for being patient :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

South Pole, 13 Years Earlier 


Everything Katara loved started in the South Pole. Her bending, her culture, her mother and father, her brother. It was where she found Aang. Where she started the journey that led to her meeting people that became her family. And now, it was where all three of her children were born. Katara had known, from the first moment she realized she was going to have a baby, that she would have to go home. She was nourished by the South, as if every snowflake packed into the ground was not only supporting her weight, but lifting her, guiding her. It provided an energy she didn’t know she’d need when she returned to have her final baby. Something had been off, and then off turned to wrong and then wrong turned worse. And then she had the tiniest pale baby she’d ever seen breathing,
and no strength to hold him.

After one month, Bumi and Kya were allowed to sleep in the room with their parents and new baby brother, just as they usually would in the South. It was the most wonderful sleep Katara had had in a long time. Holding them, bringing all three so impossibly close and drifting off together - it felt so new, and yet how it was always supposed to be. Now she couldn’t picture it differently.

That first morning together, albeit early, was bathed in the same ethereal haze. Bumi, who, in the night had somehow migrated across the bed, was bundled in the crook of his mother’s arm, while Kya had stayed put all night, tucked neatly at the side of her father. To Katara’s surprise, the father in question was already awake, and completely enamored by the baby in his arms. She understood the feeling. Lovingly, Katara reached her free hand to stroke the baby’s back.

“Good morning,” Aang whispered, watching the action, “did I wake you up?”

“No,” she said softly, before turning to check on her two older children, “they’re still…”

“Yeah.” Aang repiled, finishing the thought. Everyone else was still asleep, it was just the two of them. Katara watched, heart open, as Aang held their son. She gazed as the little soul rose and fell softly on his chest, completely content. “I just love holding him.” Aang whispered, seemingly reading her mind.

“Me too,” Katara agreed. Just like with her other children, she loved everything about him. She loved his tiny toes, his nose, his eyes. He was not only the first baby to share his father’s ancient grey iris, but also her first baby born with hair. Aang had mentioned, in the days after the baby was born, that he too had been born with a black tuft on his head. How he knew she had no idea. Katara, privately, couldn’t help but wonder just how many traits her son would share with his father.“He’s gotten so much bigger too, haven’t you my brave boy,” Katara said, as Aang passed the baby gently to her, adding, “at some point he’s going to need a name.”

“We thought we had another month,” Aang defended. He smiled lightly but she could see the new worry lines on his forehead crinkle as he spoke. It had been a precarious past four weeks for both the baby and herself. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m better,” Katara sighed. “I’ll want to take him to the healing baths again today with me.”

“Of course.” She hugged the baby just a little tighter. Together they sat in a comfortable stillness, neither parent failing to appreciate that every member of their little family could just be, even for a moment. Even without the last month of pain and chaos and worry, it was rare for all four, now five, to spend so much downtime together.

“I know a lot didn’t go as we planned,” Katara started softly, watching the little soul on her chest move up and down with each breath.

“You can say that again,” Aang cut in, brushing a strand of hair out of Kya’s face.

“But… I’m really…really happy right now,” Katara said sincerely. “Things feel… okay.”

“I know what you mean. It all feels… good,” Aang agreed. He looked lovingly into her eyes, with that same, sappy grin he’d put on since they were teenagers. “Have I told you how much I love you today?”

“In the first five minutes?” Katara questioned, “not yet.” Aang shook his head.

“I’ve been off my game.” Aang gently grabbed her free hand, squeezing it lightly as he declared, “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too.” Katara replied, giving him that same sweet smile she’d had since she met him. Wistfully, she added, “can we just stay like this forever?”

“Yeah,” Aang agreed, “I’d like that.”



Red Sand Island, Present

Everything was dark. And then everything was not. Katara had barely fallen asleep when she was shaken out, completely overwhelmed by her senses. Immediately, she sat up and instinctually dug her hands into the mattress for stability. The bed was shaking. Squinting across the bed to the person beside her, a cold wave of dread passed through her. Aang was having a nightmare. Even more, there was a faint glow of blue shining on his waving arms. No. No. No. No. No. No. They had been here before. Many times. Sometimes it was reversed, and she woke up in tears on moonless nights. But when it was Aang it always felt worse. Katara would rather cry herself to sleep each night than see her husband like this. It would ache less.

Quickly, Katara moved to wrap her arms around his chaotic body, pulling him close as they had discussed. It will be over soon, she reminded herself. She just had to keep holding him. “Aang, Aang, you’re okay, it’s safe, you’re safe!” she shouted, over his screaming. The glow from his tattoos hadn’t subsided. She hugged him tighter.

“Mom?” A faint voice called out from the doorway. Katara turned to see both Kya and Tenzin, hovering. She hadn’t heard the door open, but the presence of her children only confirmed that the screaming was as deafening as she believed.

“Go back to bed,” Katara called, firmly. Thankfully, Aang’s screaming and thrashing was just beginning to subside, but she still cringed at the worried faces she could make out in the darkness. Aang was going to despise himself.

“Is dad okay?” Tenzin asked, ignoring her request.

“He’s fine,” Katara said, keeping her hold firm, “it’s fine, go back to bed.”

“He doesn’t look fine.” Kya stated. She and Tenzin tried to move closer, but Katara put a hand up.

“Don’t come in, it’s okay,” Katara added. She took a few deep breaths. The screaming had ended, but his tattoos were still glowing faintly. From experience, she knew they would dim when he woke up, but until then nothing could change. They just had to be patient. “He’ll be okay,” she whispered, finally. The three waiting in silence all watching as Aang slowly came into consciousness.

“What…” Aang murmured, half asleep. Katara gathered his hands, placing her face in his line of sight.

“It’s over.” She started, “what saw isn’t real. It’s over. It’s okay, I’m right here Aang.” She could feel her children staring behind her.

“Oh. No…  I need to…” Aang dropped her hands and got out of bed, walking to the doorway. Katara moved to join him.

“Wait, Aang,” Katara said, moving to meet him. He hesitated at the door.

“I need to go… I need to see him…” He stammered.

“Let me go with you,” Katara said slowly. He couldn’t leave like this. She grabbed his hand, trying to pull his mind back to her. He still wasn’t here.

“No. It’ll be okay.” Aang confirmed. Katara’s heart ached. His grey eyes felt so clouded over, it was like he was seeing right through her. But what was even worse was watching Aang notice his two children, right before he left the room. Katara saw his face falter, as he whispered earnestly, “I’m sorry.”

No. Katara thought. They had a plan. Aang left the room with his wife in tow. “Aang!” Katara called out, stopping him on the other side of their inn room door. It was early enough in the morning that no other guests were in the halls. It was just Aang, Katara, and the faint, flickering lights. “Aang, come on. Three breaths,” she instructed.

“Katara.” Aang said, rejecting the proposal.

“Just three,” Katara pleaded, placing a hand on his cheek. Aang sighed. Together, they breathed in and out, quoting the mantra they had planned out many years ago.

“I am safe. I am in control. I am here.”

When Aang’s eyes met hers again, they already seemed clearer.

“Okay. Does anything hurt?” Katara asked. Sometimes, especially in their teens, after a particular nightmare, the scars on Aang’s back and foot would burn. Each time, she’d use healing water over the healed wounds.

“No.” Aang replied.

“Good. Do you want to mediate? Or we could bend together?” Katara added, continuing down the list of things they discussed they should do if this happened. At a medical school in Ba Sing Se, years ago, Katara had learned different techniques to quell what they called a soldier’s heart. Aang also had his own list of things to help her.

“I need to… I need to see Bumi,” Aang said again. Katara nodded.

“Okay. Do you want me to come with you?”

“I think I need to walk alone,” Aang decided.

“Okay. I’ll stay here with the kids.” At the mention of their children, Aang’s face warped with guilt. Instantly, Katara placed a comforting hand on each of his shoulders, adding, “…who are okay. They’re okay. Hey.” Katara said, waiting for Aang to met her gaze. “We’re okay. We’ve both been here before. In both shoes.”

This wasn’t the first time their children had seen a parent like this. Katara and Aang had both worked hard for years, trying desperately to ensure it wasn’t the case. They wanted so badly to maintain that part of their childhood, where they saw their parents as dependable, unshakeable pillars in their lives. But plans changed. And nightmares happened. And their children watched the unbreakable shatter. And now instead they breathe deeply in the comfort of an empty hotel hallway.

“I’m…” Aang started, trying to find the words.

“I know.” Katara said, bringing him into a hug. They stood together, his head resting gently on hers, until he let go. “I have you. You can go.” She added. With that, Aang slipped down the staircase and Katara was left alone.

Inside, Kya and Tenzin hadn’t moved. They stood like statues in the frame of her bedroom door. Katara sighed. 

“Come here, come on.” she said, opening both arms to collect her children. They both came in close, closer than they had in a long time. Together, still embraced, they made their way back to the big bed, where they all filed in. Katara kept her arms around either child, holding loosely as she waited for them to be comfortable.

“I could tell- I should’ve said something,” Tenzin muttered.

“Oh, honey no.” Katara started. That thought alone was enough to make her want to break. “This is not your fault. I understand, believe me.” While many at first wouldn’t notice, Tenzin was a lot like his mother. And while parts of this scared her, it also meant she often knew almost exactly how he was feeling. “It can be upsetting not being able to protect him sometimes, huh.”

“Yeah.” Tenzin agreed.

“It’s been a long time,” Kya piped up, “since I’ve… um… seen him… glow.”

“It has,” Katara confirmed."Did it startle you? The Avatar State is something really powerful, that even I don’t totally understand all the time. But what I like to remember is that at the end of the day, it’s sometimes how your dad’s body processes stress, it’s just another part of him.”

They had heard the speech many, many times under many different circumstances and with different words. Each of their children had been young, too young, the first time they each watched their father go into the Avatar State. Aang was mortified each time, sure that his children would be terrified of him afterwards. And each time, it was never the case. And while this instance was incredibly different, the sentiment shared by their children remained the same: they weren’t scared of their father, they were scared for him.

“Where’s he going?” Tenzin asked, after a moment.

“He’s going to visit your brother,” Katara answered. It felt wrong to lie to them. Doing so wouldn’t feel like protecting anymore.

“Why?” Tenzin asked.

“I think his dream had to do with Bumi,” she sighed.

“Oh.”

“But he’s going to be okay,” Katara added. “This will pass, I promise."

“We know,” Kya said. Katara could feel the tears well up again. There it was.

“I know you know little bird,” Katara said, after a deep breath. “And I wish so badly that you didn’t.” Katara felt as her daughter’s hand found its way into her own, squeezing it assuringly as she responded.

“It’s okay.”


It never really got cold in the Fire Nation. Cool, maybe, but never cold. That used to annoy Sokka, when he was younger. Every time the sun set, a gnawing feeling would settle in his bones, telling him to get inside and make a fire. But now, on Red Sand Island, he quite enjoyed the ability to gaze out into the night sky through the open hospital window. He’d changed.

The hospital room was quieter at night without everyone else. It was so quiet, save the shaken breaths of his nephew, that Sokka could hear the soft murmur of lightning crickets chirping outside their window. At first, they were another nuisance Sokka had to get used to. Now they brought him company. He’d changed.

The boy who grew irritated over warm nights and singing insects became the man who appreciated them both over many, many years. He saw it as good change. Slow change. And although hindsight would disagree, at the time these trivial irritations seemed monumental. But he’d had time.

Now, however, they had anything but. The changes happening to his family were much, much faster and far more devastating. He could feel it. Sokka knew, as soon as he saw Bumi, that this would be bigger than a physical recovery. It was like the weight laboring each breath he took hung heavy on each of their shoulders.

The past few days had been exhausting, to say the least, and the night would not be any better. Bumi had finally drifted off into a drugged daze after being woken up for his routine checks, and as Sokka leaned further back into the uncomfortable hospital chair, he could feel every bone in his back begging for his bed. But every ache and pain was worth it if it meant the dark circles under his sister and brother-in-law’s eyes would subside. Sokka knew that something was off with Aang. Ever since they’d reunited, and he watched him collapse into the arms of his sister, he’d known something was off. And maybe that was why, when the cool stillness of the night was softly interrupted by the lightest steps you’d ever hear, something clicked.

“Aang?” Sokka whispered as his brother-in-law slowly drew back the door and walked inside. He didn’t respond. Instead, he put up one finger, signaling for a moment. The moonlight that shone through their window illuminated his pale grey eyes, which were fixed only on his son. Sokka waited, still standing beside his chair. He watched Aang knelt beside Bumi and gently took one of his hands. “Hey Aang?” Sokka whispered again, after a moment, “what’s going on?” Aang sighed and took a beat. Swiftly, he turned to sit against the bed, and facing his brother-in-law, he motioned for him to take a seat.

“I just needed to see him,” Aang said, resting his hands on his knees. 

“Did something happen?” Sokka asked. He had an inkling of an idea, but he wanted to be wrong.

“I… I had a nightmare.” Aang sighed in frustration, meeting his eyes.“The nightmare, Sokka. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had that nightmare? Since I’ve put Katara through that?  And -” Aang stopped mid sentence, and let out a small gasp.

“What?”

“Kya and Tenzin.” Aang said, wracked with guilt. “They-they saw everything I’m- I’ve-I” The younger man began scrambling to get up, before Sokka put a steady hand on his shoulder. It was clear that Aang was still shaking off the post-nightmare fog, as Sokka coined it, and the best way to lift it, was to talk things through.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Sokka said slowly, helping Aang sit back down. “They’ll be okay. You and Katara have planned so much for this, it’s okay.”

“My tattoos. My tattoos, Sokka.” Aang said, eyes still wide with distraught.

“What?” Sokka questioned, worrying momentarily if his friend was deeper into an episode than he believed.

“It triggered the Avatar State,” he explained. Aang leaned his head back against the bed, adding, “because it was about Bumi.”

“Which is why you needed to see him,” Sokka said, putting the pieces together. At first, he had been confused as to why the nightmare would lead him here. The nightmare, as Aang once described, years ago, placed him in the Southern Air Temple on the day of Sozin’s comet. Each time, he watches, helplessly, as his people die around him. And each time, he relives the shock, pain, and guilt, long after he wakes up.

“Every time it feels so real, you know,” Aang started, rubbing his palm with his thumb. “I’m there. And for a moment, I love it. I’m in what was my home. And then… It happens. And I see all of my people on the ground. And this time I just-” Aang stopped to take a breath, his face twisting as he continued, “I turn and I just. I see… Bumi. And he’s just so still. And I try to get to him but I can’t, and I’m screaming at him to wake up and he doesn’t and I…” Aang paused for a moment, cradling his head in his hands like he would when they were kids, before adding softly, “I wasn’t there Sokka.” Sokka waited, wondering briefly which there his friend was describing, his temple when they were attacked, or on his son’s ship. The two sat in a still silence, letting the sounds of the hospital engulf them, for just a moment. When Aang spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, burying deeper within himself. “For a while… aside from you guys, I never thought I’d have anything more to lose. And I am so just so terrified of loosing him.”

“You won’t. You didn’t.” Sokka answered. He wasn’t sure what else to say. A part of him felt foolish for not making the connection earlier, for not tying together the two events, the strands between the present and the past which had his friend in an everlasting hold.

“Whenever things like this happen,” Aang started again, “when ships get attacked and people get hurt, I can’t help but think to myself, what could I have done? What should I have done better, or faster, or differently to stop it. And sometimes I can rationalize it, and sometimes I can’t. But with Bumi… I’m the Avatar and I couldn’t protect my son.” Sokka grimaced. He knew, he knew, they’d go down this path. His friend had a fairly vicious habit of trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Aang-”

“And even more than that, I just- I watch as he, goes out into the world to make things better, and I’m so proud of him, truly I am, but I’m also so scared that he’s going to end up… like me. I want him to have everything in life, not be trapped in these cycles of nightmares and tremors and being burdened down by his own mind. And I feel like I’ve set him up for that, not just as the Avatar, but as his dad.” Aang’s words hung in the air as he leaned back further into the side of the bed. Silently, Sokka slid off his chair, moving to sit beside his friend on the ground.

“Aang.” Sokka started, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This is not your fault, none of this is. And Bumi’s going to be okay.” Aang didn’t respond. Sokka thought for a moment.

“Look. I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what you’re going through, or what it’s like navigating what you’re navigating, but I do know you, and I know you’re son. It is terrifying to realize that you can’t always protect someone, and it makes you feel like anything that goes wrong is you’re fault, but this is not, not as the Avatar, and not as his dad. This spirit he has, it’s not a curse. Your modeling, the values you and Katara instilled, those are tools that he’ll use to get through this. He’s a strong man, this won’t take him down.” Sokka took a breath, watching Aang’s face change under the moonlight.

“I… Thank you Sokka.” Aang said, wrapping his arms around his friend. Sokka knew this wasn’t going to be the ‘end all be all’ on the topic, but it was a start. Bumi’s healing journey was going to be a long road for them all.

“Plus, he’s the kid I’ve gotten to train the most, so he’s basically set for life,” Sokka joked as they released from the hug.

“Sokka,” Aang said, shaking his head.

“A miniature me.” Sokka added, smiling smugly.

“Well then I should be very worried.” Aang joked. Sokka let out a laugh just a little too loud, causing Aang, eyes beaming with surprise and that wicked, buggered grin, to laugh just a little too loud, which, of course, led to even more laughter from the two of them. Back and forth they tried to stifle their chuckles, neither party succeeding. Be it due to sleep deprivation, borderline-embarrassing childlike senses of humor, or a combination of the two, Sokka was grateful.


Katara woke up early, that next morning. She didn’t open her eyes at first, wishing for just a moment to turn and find her husband when she finally let the light in. Both of her children were still asleep, curled into themselves on either side of her. Katara’s arms ached as she sat up in bed, crying out from spending the night wrapped tightly around Kya and Tenzin.

The sun had just barely risen in the sky, but there was enough light for Katara to take in the scene around her. Everything on Aang’s bedside table was on the ground, it had fallen, she realized, during the shaking. The bedroom door had been left ajar, and across the room she could make out the chaotic beds of her children, blankets cast aside in the middle of the night. It was the aftermath.

Deciding to let her children soak up what little sleep they’d have, Katara slipped out of bed, shut the bedroom door, and began to clean up their new home. She began by unpacking the last of their things, trying to ignore how the air felt stiff, rich with looming disappointment. The night before felt hazy, like they had all been trapped in a terrible, complicated dream. Katara could only vaguely remember, as emptied the cup of tea that had been left on their table, that Sokka had also visited them last night. He had come by, hospital-brand tea in hand, to ensure in a hushed whisper that her husband was safe and had fallen asleep on the floor beside their son. While she trusted Aang and was not worried about his physical safety, it was the relief she needed to finally drift off to sleep.

Katara spent the next hour trying her best to control all that she could. It was only after she tucked all of their clothes into shelves and remade her children’s sleeping mats that she finally made her way into the bathroom to get herself ready for the day. Mindlessly, she glanced in the mirror and nearly took herself by surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked. The woman staring back at her was tired. And scared. And in pain. It was as if the last twelve hours, the last few days, were all catching up at once. Katara leaned in and pressed a finger to a new wrinkle just under her eye. She could see all that she gave, all the energy, the patience, the prayers, the tears, reflecting back. There would be time soon, she told herself, to put it all down. With a breath, she rebraided her hair and stepped back from the mirror, purposely neglecting a second glance on her way out. 

From the living area, Katara could hear the hushed tones of her children, seemingly bickering in the bedroom. To her surprise, the two were speaking in their father’s language, an Air Nomad dialect. When Bumi was born, both Aang and Katara decided they would teach their children both of their native dialects in tandem with the language spoken by the people of all nations. Katara spoke to her children frequently in the Southern Water Tribe tone, but they also had the opportunity to practice with their uncle, grandfather, and every visit South. To learn Air Nomad tongue, all they had was their father. To cement fluency, Aang almost solely spoke to each of his children in his first language until they were around five or six. It felt wrong for the words of his people to be kept only in books, not flowing in the wind. It was freeing for Aang to speak with someone in his native tongue, he hadn’t realized how much he missed doing so regularly.

As they got older, her children would use the Air Nomad language like a secret code between each other. After thirty years, Katara had a very good understanding of the language and could speak it fairly well, but when her children wanted to keep a secret from her, they would speak in their father’s language, just to give her an extra step.

“Well I think it’sKya said, switching languages to find the right word, “crazy.” Her extent of the Air Nomad dialect, like Katara’s and her brothers’, was limited by what their father chose to teach them, paired with the fact that it was a one hundred year-old language, meaning some words did not translate as well.

“You’re crazy.Tenzin argued back.

“But,” Kya started again, “it could work. I’ll back you up.” Katara raised an eyebrow. This was her signal to engage.

“Good morning lovelies,” Katara said, opening the door to the bedroom. Both of her children jumped at her entrance. “What were you talking about?” Kya shot a knowing look at Tenzin, who lightly shook his head as if to say later.

“Nothing.” Tenzin said, passively, “school stuff.”

“Okay,” Katara said, waiving it off for now. At some point, she would have to circle back to whatever plan her children were cooking up, but it was far from the priority. Gathering both of the newly repacked day bags from beside the wall, she continued, “just so you both know, dad is fine, he spent the night with Bumi and Sokka at the hospital. We’re leaving in ten minutes, bring these with you.” Katara handed each of her children a bag and watched them each walk groggily to find their clothes.

Together they left the hotel so early the market stands had yet to open. But Katara knew it was the right thing. She couldn’t stay in that hotel room. And although neither child had mentioned it, she knew they didn’t want to either. There were too many questions, to many unknowns to have a normal breakfast. So with a methodically packed bag swung over each of their shoulders, they trudged on, walking over cobblestones in the warm early light.

Despite the hour, the hospital was already up and running, as hospitals always are. It was strange for Katara to know so much about this place without spending any time there. She had been to enough hospitals to pick up the routine unconsciously. In a deep, deep corner of her mind, where every normal problem and thought had been pushed into, was a list of ways this specific center could be improved. But there wasn’t time now. When they finally reached the room, Bumi was still asleep, but Sokka and Aang were not. The Aang greeted her was different from the one who left the night before. The bags under his eyes were still there, as was the stubble and vague air of fatigue that had wrapped each of them in a terrible blanket, but this Aang was steadier, sharper. To Katara’s relief, the fog had lifted.

“Hey,” Aang said, standing to greet his family. He seemed almost nervous, at first, his fingers twitching slightly, unsure of what to do. Katara wanted to run to him, to fall into his arms and soak up every present part of his being, but her son beat her to it. Tenzin slammed so hard into his father, Aang had to take a step back.

“Hey, buddy,” Aang said, pulling his son closer into their hug. Katara watched, smiling. It was almost better than doing it herself. Sokka moved to stand next to his sister, giving the two some space. Kya, who had stayed next to her mother, walked slowly up to her brother and father and waited.

“Tenzin, Kya-” Aang began.

“It’s okay dad.” Kya spoke up, cutting him off. Aang placed a hand around her arm, pulling her into a half hug.

“It’s alright if it’s not,” Aang said gently, turning to speak to the both of them. “I know your both older, but it’s still weird and scary. I’m nearly forty and it scares me,” Aang confided before adding, “you’re both so incredible, and this part… it’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.” Katara watched on as her husband reconciled with Kya and Tenzin. It was good, she realized, that her eldest was not awake yet. They needed this time. When the three finally left their embrace, Katara made eye contact with Aang, and signaled to speak outside. It was their turn.

The first thing Katara did when they stepped outside, their second hallway discussion in far to few hours, was pull her husband into her own overdue hug. She had longed for it, craved it so deeply the night before. Aang could always read her, could wrap his long arms around her during a stressful day and make every worry melt away, if only for a moment. It was painful to realize how badly she had wanted to be comforted by the very person she was helping.

“How are you?” She murmured. The stubble on Aang’s chin tickled her face.

“I’m better.” Aang muttered into her hair.

“Do you want to talk about what you saw?” Katara said, gently pulling away. She kept his hand intertwined with hers.

“I think you have an idea,” Aang said, not quite meeting her eyes. 

“I do,” Katara confirmed.“I still want to hear your perspective.” Aang looked down to meet her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back.” Aang said sincerely, although not answering the question.

“It’s okay.” Katara responded.

“It’s not.” Aang’s face was lined with regret.

“You were dealing with a lot,” Katara insisted.

“You can tell me if you’re upset,” Aang pressed on, rubbing her hand with his thumb, “I’m upset. They… were there.” Katara nodded.

“They were.” She said, sighing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it so we navigate that together,” Aang said, melancholically.

“Aang, please,” Katara started, trying to find the words to make him understand.“It was hard, and it hurt, and was imperfect… but you’re also allowed to react imperfectly to all of this. I promise. We’re all trying our best.” The feelings about the night before, harbored heavy on her chest, were not those of contempt or anger. She had taken up that space before, and so had he, under far less strenuous circumstances. Katara knew that pain, and often, there was no other way around it.

“You are too. Allowed to react imperfectly, I mean,” Aang added, squeezing her hand.

“I still… can’t really believe all of this,” Katara said, after a moment, watching the ebb and flow of the hospital hallway around her. It had been a phrase playing on a loop in her head since they received the telegram.

“I know,” Aang agreed, “but he’ll get through this. We all will.” Katara lifted her hand to his face and drew him down for a kiss.

“We always do,” she said, pulling away with a tired smile. It had been a long time.

When they walked back into the hospital room, hand in loose hand, Bumi had already woken up. All three of their children and Sokka seemed to be in a deep discussion, that abruptly ended upon their arrival. Katara looked between Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin, the two former of which gave a confirmational nod to the former, who cleared his throat. Katara raised an eyebrow.

“Mom, dad, I’ve made a decision,” Tenzin said, in his most professional voice. Katara tried look to her brother for answerers, but he avoided eye contact.

“Okay,” she said slowly.

“I want to go to Caldera.” Tenzin declared. Katara and Aang gave a puzzled look.

“With your dad?” Katara asked, confused, “We don’t even know if-”

“Not with dad, instead of,” Tenzin started, cutting her off. He took a breath before continuing, determined, “I want to go in dad’s place as the Air Nomad representative.”

Notes:

okay here it is! a few things

this chapter was pretty parent-specific, and i really wanted to showcase these two, katara and aang love each other endlessly, and i really wanted to showcase how that can look sometimes, like a real ache

aang has some Feelings about his son's current state, and from the beginning ive felt this is how his stress/guilt would manifest (and again, everyone is different, im using some light research and personal observation/experience when writing aang's specific mental health problems)

katara is really strong, and she'll have her break, i promise

tenzin is our unexpected wildcard, stay tuned

soon we'll check up on everyone in the fire nation, i've kept yall from the princess too long :)

again im so sorry this was so late - please tell me what you think!

Chapter 10: i watch them grow

Summary:

tenzin's decision is met with mixed reactions and we check up on the fire nation palace and meet a very special someone :)

Notes:

yall. thank you thank you for your endless patience, this took me a long time, but i am really psyched by this chapter and i really hope you will be too :)

you finally, finally get to meet the girl we all know and love :)

xoxo
aza

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

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.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

okay! so a few things

- katara and aang learning and unlearning what is okay and Not Okay for a kid to do is a process that i think would be interesting to explore, especially with a kid who may be more ready than they are for some things
- this plan is crazy but so are they, cant be helped
- as a writer, i was having trouble at first trying to showcase this duality that i think izumi would have of being kind of hopelessly tied/entrenched in all of this and also feeling weak/selfish for feeling that way and want to kind of show her navigating that with some auntie help :)

i hope you enjoyed, and again thank you for your patience :)

Chapter 11: on my way

Summary:

traveling, sibling moments, uncle/parent/family timez :)

Notes:

yall i just want to thank you again for your patience, seriously seriously thank you.

here it is!! ah! yay!!

this chapter really features some of the boys and their feelings so i hope you enjoy!

im sorry if theres typos!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You know what they say about the young 

Red Sand Island, Present

On the evening they left for Caldera, Tenzin sat, perched on the back steps of their hotel, as his uncle rested against the wall beside him. His bag was set neatly on his lap, ready for the moment they’d finally spring into action and his carefully crafted haphazard adventure would finally begin. Sokka sighed, leaning his head back as he cursed their family’s tardiness.

Tui give me strength,” Sokka groaned, “thirty years and they can’t get anywhere on time.” Tenzin smiled softly. His parents were keepers of many skills, but punctuality was not one of them. His mother had a habit of tracking five too many things, and his father, ever bound to his nomadic roots, believed schedules to be much looser Sokka would like. That, and he would never, under any circumstances, rush his wife. Unlike his siblings, Tenzin did not adopt the same chaotic practices, and found it better to take control of his time rather than be beholden to his family’s timetable. And it was how, years ago, Sokka gained a stoop buddy to gripe to. Tenzin didn’t mind, though. He liked to think of it as their thing. Sure, it wasn’t sword fighting or engineering, but it was theirs nonetheless.

Sokka leaned down to his nephew, asking loudly, “on a scale of one to ten how badly do you think it would go if we just left?” Tenzin chuckled. Before he could answer they could hear footsteps, clattering quickly down the back staircase.

“An eleven, probably.” Aang joked, floating down the last few stairs. He had a pack under his arm, with bags of snacks poking out of the top. Katara was just a few steps behind him, holding another bag, seemingly full of other, miscellaneous items Tenzin may need for his trip. Sokka clicked his tongue disapprovingly at his sister’s entrance.

“It’s about time!” Sokka exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. Tenzin stood up, covering his giggle with a hand.

“Oh relax,” Katara said, rolling her eyes. “We just needed to grab a few more things.” She hoisted the heavy bag into her brother’s arms, who accepted it with a grunt.

“He does not need all this.” Sokka said, almost laughing as he gestured to the bag. Tenzin looked between his uncles small pack and the now three bags he would bring, face reddening slightly. His mother had packed enough clothes to last him months.

“He might.” His mother agrued. Tenzin was sure he wouldn’t.

“Where did you even get all this?” Sokka asked, opening the pack in his hand and gazing at the contents. Tenzin could spot another second toothbrush, a blanket, and a hair comb poking out, none of which they had come with.

“We went shopping.” Katara said, smugly. Sokka gasped.

“Without me?” Sokka squawked in mock-outrage.

“Alright, alright.” Aang said, stepping between the siblings. “We have room for everything and there are shops in Caldera, let’s just start moving.” Even though he was trying to take charge, Tenzin could tell his father was taking it all as seriously as they were, stifling laughs through the whole ordeal. Tenzin often felt like his parents, aunts, and uncles were operating on a different switch board, one that only they had access to, built over a lifetime of inside jokes and secrets. Their bond, Tenzin believed, shined brightest during what the adults in his life still called “team time.” Team time could last anywhere from a couple of hours to a month, with the only rule being that all members of the famed “Team Avatar” were present. When Tenzin was younger, he used to creep out of bed during these times to listen to their conversations. Even now, he could remember their laughs, echoing late into the night from whatever living room they’d taken over. That, and the overwhelming want to join in, to effortlessly connect the way they could.

“Yes, fine, we’re leaving,” Katara said, smiling as she shook her head.

Together, bags in tow, the four of them set off towards the edge of town. Tenzin knew the way, but he didn’t work his way to the front of the group, choosing instead to linger in each step. Aang had taken him just earlier that day to feed Appa, and he could still feel their conversation, taking residence in his mind. His father hadn’t talked much on the way there, making idle conversation regarding breakfast and the weather, despite both of them being able to control their own body temperature. But when they got to the great sky beast, his father’s best friend, Aang grew contemplative.

“You know, my first council meeting happened when I was your age,” Aang started, brushing the side of Appa’s face affectionately. Tenzin set down his bail of grasses at the bison’s feet.

“I know.” He responded. It was nearly impossible to describe how intensely he knew. There were very few people on earth who had studied his father’s life and accomplishments as closely as he had. They were a part of him. The hollowness in his stomach. The pressure on his chest. The tension in his shoulders. He knew.

“The first official ‘global meeting’ was held the week of Zuko’s coronation,” Aang continued, reminiscing. “He was still injured, but insisted on coming, obviously,” he added, laughing. Tenzin wasn’t sure if he should smile too, or frown. “And I remember thinking it went on forever…and I remember I was tired. Really tired.” Aang put down the brush and met his son’s eyes. “I think you’ve already felt that. That kind of tired.”

“I think I have.” Tenzin responded. There was an understanding, unspoken, passed between their lonely grey eyes. He was born tired.

Young one,” Aang had started, in his native language. Tenzin stood, all but forgotten his task, wrapped with attention. His father, he believed, only addressed him like that when he was relaying some of the most important, sagely, advice he’d ever receive. Words that followed would be stored deep in the folds of Tenzin’s brain, ensuring they’d be safe for a lifetime. “I won’t pretend it’s not hard, or that I have all the answers,”Aang continued, stepping forward to put a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “But when you’re in there, and it’s just you and this sea of people who… who don’t quite understand… I want you to remember that you aren’t alone.”

I’ll remember. I’ll make you proud.” Tenzin confirmed, speaking in his father’s tongue. It was painfully ironic, really. How the weightlessness he was given came with such a heavy, insurmountable chain. Often, the only solace was that his father was tethered beside him. Aang’s expression faltered at his son’s response, making a face lined with shock and complicated pride. But Tenzin could see there was a sadness, just behind his eyes. It was the sadness that had lived in his father since before he was born, and would stay, he feared, well into his next life. 

Aang sighed. Tenzin waited. He watched as his father began to open his arms, nearly leaping into the embrace to meet his father in a crushing hug. The two stood for a moment, wrapped in the beating sun and salted air. Tenzin had needed it. They both did.

Before they stepped out of their embrace, Tenzin could hear his father’s voice, whispering a confirmation as he clung to his son. “Young one,” he started, “I promise, you already have.”

Tenzin’s second walk to Appa was far different than the first, riddled with loud conversations and awkwardly oversized packs and the reality of his situation abruptly setting in. In all the fray and chaos of his decision, it was easy to rationalize what he was about to do, to confidently ride into his adventure. But as he walked under the night sky through the all too familiar streets of this spirits-forsaken island, it was hard not to reflect on what was about to happen. His plan was going to work. It was both terrifying and gratifying at the same time.

As they got to the bison, and Sokka began loading pack after pack, Tenzin felt a soft hand in his. It was his mother. Calmly, Katara pulled her son aside to say goodbye. She started, as she always did their farewells, by doing her last minute fixes, to send her children off as the very best they could be. As she brushed through his hair with her hand, Tenzin could feel some of his nervous dissipate. She whispered in a steady voice, the same one that used to tell them stories before bed, about her pride and misgivings as his mom, sending off to a grown person’s job. And Tenzin listened, just as closely as he would her nighttime tales. He took the snack bag she had in her pocket, promising to eat it on the ride, and leaned in close when she gave her last hug. The world so often and foolishly debated whether or not he was her son, but it was an indisputable fact that she was his mother.

Before they said their last goodbyes, Katara ran a hand over his arm, pausing, as she always did, on the faint white splotch on his wrist. Tenzin was told it had happened the day after he was born. He was too small, too fragile. His mother wasn’t awake to heal him. Even now, she blames herself, he thinks. He doesn’t.

In times like these, it served as a reminder that he was strong, once. That he could be strong again.


Bumi said his goodbyes to his brother and uncle after dinner. Tenzin was nervous, he was always nervous, but not enough that he would back out. His father and mother had both suggested they stay back, but Bumi insisted they see his brother off. The world was about to see him as an adult for the first time, Bumi didn’t want to take away any more of his childishness.

It had been getting easier to fall asleep. Like the hospital was now less foreign. His bed more comfortable. The constant sounds finally blurring into the background. Or maybe the drugs were just finally starting to sync with his system. Maybe both. Bumi was more than ready to go to sleep that night, to let the night do away with the cruel intentions and expectations of daylight. For some reason, this goodbye was harder than their last few farewells, despite this being the shortest time apart in a long, long time. It donned on him, as he lay alone in his hospital room, that the roles were normally reversed. He was always the one going, never having to wait in the apartness of it all. Maybe it was always like this.

Regardless, it was easier to fall asleep. As soon as his family slipped through the door, Bumi drifted off, ignoring the last streams of sunlight peeking though his window. And for a mere moment, he started to feel at some sort of peace, despite it all.

That moment ended quickly.

Bumi awoke with a start to a cool, whirring sensation on his forehead.

“AH!” Bumi yelled in surprise, moving his uninjured hand toward the presumed attacker. A girl in an orange toned tunic moved easily out of the way of his poorly calibrated punch, rolling her eyes in frustration. It was his freaking sister.

“Hold still I’m not done.” Kya said, unfazed. Her eyes stayed fixated on his forehead, which she had been healing in his sleep.

“I thought you guys were gone!” Bumi pressed on, frazzled.

“Well I hung back.” Kya said, matter-o-factly. He’d kill her.

“You need better boundaries.” Bumi said. Kya snorted at the remark.

“Okay.” She responded, bending her water back into her pouch. Bumi watched as she took a seat on the foot of his bed, comfortably. There was an ease to her mood that left a gnawing feeling in his stomach.

“You know, you can go. Say goodbye, and everything.” Bumi said, earnestly. She didn’t need to be here. He didn’t need someone to stay back, to feel like they had to be with him.

“What? And miss all this?” Kya joked. “We hugged it out and everything already, don’t worry.”

“I have a check-in in like…”

“Forty-nine minutes.” Kya finished, adding firmly, “I’m not leaving Boom.” Bumi sighed. He knew when to quit. His stubborn, medically versed sister wasn’t going anywhere.

“So,” Bumi started, after a moment.

“So.” Kya retorted, from across the bed. It was the most awkward the two had been in a long, long time. It felt like scraping metal over glass. It occurred to Bumi, in this moment, that this was the first time they had been left alone since he was in the hospital. Before, it was always so easy to pick up where two had left off, but his last visit home felt like a lifetime away.

“We haven’t been able to… talk.” Bumi started, almost embarrassed.

“Nope.” Kya agreed, fiddling with the bracelets on her wrist.

“Get into any trouble?” Bumi asked. It was the first question he used to ask when they reunited and their parents (and Tenzin) were out of earshot. Kya smirked.

“Maybe.” She responded, vaguely. Bumi wanted to raise an eyebrow.

“Fun trouble or trouble trouble?” He asked. His sister was never one to create any real, unrectifiable messes, but as someone who used to not only walk that particular line, but use it as a jumprope, he always had to ask.

“Bumi, relax.” Kya said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t do anything stupid and I don’t get caught… unless our brother snitches on me,” she added, leaning back on the bed frame.

“Yikes… I’ll to talk to him,” Bumi offered. He was used to being the peacekeeper between his two younger siblings.

“He’s too serious and stuck up for his own good.” Kya said, wrinkling her nose.

“I don’t know, this plan is pretty insane.” Bumi commented.

“Exception that proves the rule.” Kya returned.

“Hey be nice,” Bumi instructed, in his most I’m still older than you both voice. “He’s got a lot going on… even if he… even if he doesn’t show it.” Kya made a face.

“Everyone has a lot going on,” Kya shrugged. Bumi watched as she leaned all the way back so that her head could rest on the bedpost, and the tips of her toes could jab his uninjured shoulder. His sister may not have inherited many physical features from their father, but her height was already rivaling his own. “He thinks he knows about you and Izumi by the way.”

“He… um… he kind of does,” Bumi said sheepishly. Kya sat up, shocked.

“You told him?” She asked, with more than a hint of judgement.

“It came up.” Bumi said, vaguely. Inwardly, he was cursing himself. He didn’t like to get between his siblings, but in this he’d have to side with Kya. Their sweet, brave, incredible brother was, as he was learning, terrible at keeping secrets.

“How?”

“He was asking for advice and it kind of…” Bumi started.

“Advice?” Kya said, eyes widening as she cut him off. Bumi winced. He was no better than Tenzin. “Spirits above!” Kya cackled.

“You can’t… you can’t say anything!” Bumi insisted. He should not have said that.

“I won’t, I won’t.” Kya smiled, shanking her head before adding, “I knew.”

“He told you?” Bumi asked. Their brother was not one to talk about his feelings, especially not with their sister.

“No, I live with him. And her, basically. It’s obvious.” Kya explained. It would occur to Bumi later that neither of them ever said who their brother liked, or even asked for confirmation. The realization made him oddly happy, as though it was some sort of proof that despite it all, they still knew each other. Despite distance and time and fights and secrets, Kya could still read Tenzin who would still confide in Bumi who could still talk to his sister who would still understand, even if they never said her name.

“Sounds like it.” Bumi agreed.

“Speaking of obvious.” Kya said, poking his arm with her foot (which Bumi found gross).“You and Izumi…”

“We’re good.” Bumi started. “I miss her.” He had almost voted against staying another two weeks, so that he could see her, but the very idea of getting out of his bed sent a pain shooting from the open gash in his chest. He needed to be stronger. As of yesterday, it had been three months and two weeks since he last saw her. One-hundred and five days. He and Izumi were supposed to meet two months into his tour, but one too many things got in the way and the date he’d been picturing for weeks was thrown out. At the time, they both tried to be positive, insisting that they’d see each other soon enough. In her letter, Izumi had said they had the rest of their lives for a perfect date. Then, it had been something to cling to, a wonderful, love-filled promise. But now Bumi had faced the end of the rest of his life. And now he was on the other side. He needed to see her. To hold her. To brush that strand of hair that hung down over her face when it was braided back. He wanted to hear her mumble while she read a book to late at night. To feel the unbelievable warmth of her palm in his under the table at family dinner. He couldn’t live another moment only promising for a future nobody could guarantee. So, yes, they were good. He missed her.

“Right.” Izumi hummed, compassionately. “Is she going to visit?”

“She can’t.” Bumi sighed. He wished with everything that she could.

“She can’t?” Kya questioned.

“There was a terrorist attack in her kingdom’s waters…” Bumi started, “She can’t leave the palace.” Governmental Protection was something he’d learned in his first year in the UF. He understood, of course, he’d couldn’t imagine if she was hurt because of him, but it still ached.

“But they caught who did it.” Kya reasoned, bringing her knees to her chest.

“They think…” he started. Bumi could feel the pounding that always lingered in his head start to come on a little stronger. “They think it’s something bigger.” He realized afterwards that he probably shouldn’t  have told her the very secret information Mai told him once when she visited, but truthfully he didn’t care. His siblings and cousins knew enough government secrets to fill every page of a newspaper if they wanted.

“Oh.” Kya said, in an indistinct tone. “Gross.” Bumi let out a dry chuckle, that stung just a bit more than he wanted.

“Yeah…” he agreed. “It’s not… great.” As they had been talking, started to feel a little fuzzy again, bit by bit. Bumi knew, or rather he became painfully aware, as to when his daytime rounds of medicine would wear off and his nighttime rounds would begin. It wasn’t quite exhaustion, he was always tired, but a dull ache that would start and only become worse until the nurse arrived. Since his mother started doing his wound cleaning, it was the most uncomfortable part of his day. Without realizing it, Kya had shifted to his side, so that her head was now resting on his un-bandaged shoulder. She could tell he was in pain. Of course she knew.

“You’ll see each other soon Boom.” Kya whispered. She didn’t need him to respond. 

Tonight was different, much different than their regular talks. But laying together, stuffed into a bed much too small for both of their tall bodies, discussing trouble and brothers and loves, felt about as normal as they could be.


Sokka believed in the plan. Not only was it practical, but it brought out a side of his nephew he hadn’t seen before. His sister and brother-in-law were right to be hesitant, to want to protect their son for as long as they could. Tenzin’s reality as the second air bender was, nauseating, to say the least. But this plan, this ridiculous plan, didn’t feel like another burden his nephew was lifting onto his shoulders. Tenzin was practicing spontaneity. He was practicing confidence. He was leaning into his own vulnerabilities. Sokka wanted to welcome that.

Despite his nephew’s newfound attitude, they spent most of the ride to Caldera in silence. Sokka understood, it would be a lot for anyone, and spent his time enjoying the view and thinking about his reunion with Suki as he led Appa through the night sky. He and his wife had been apart for just over a month now, as she was doing work as the one of the leaders of the Community Building and Outreach Committee for the United Alliance, and personal advisor to Zuko. Suki and Sokka accepted long ago that part of their relationship meant spending time apart, with the many hats they both wore perpetually pulling them in different directions. Sokka liked to think it made their time together even sweeter.

Sokka’s thoughts of his reunion were interrupted however, by the swarms of lanterns twinkling below them. They had reached the shores of Caldera.

“We should be there in ten minutes.” Sokka said, turning to alert his nephew. Tenzin was leaning against the front of the saddle, facing backwards away from his uncle.

“Great.” Tenzin responded, not turning around. But even at an angle, Sokka could tell his nephew’s body was wracked with tension. Sokka had been giving him space to process throughout the ride, but was now heavily debating that decision.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Sokka said, climbing over the saddle to sit beside his nephew. From Caldera, Appa could fly to the palace with his eyes closed.

“I’m not.” Tenzin answered quickly. He was playing with the end of his sleeve, resting his hands on his knees which were pulled in towards his chest. Sokka raised an eyebrow.

“Okay.” Sokka said. It was best not to push the issue. He knew he was nervous, Tenzin knew Tenzin was nervous, forcing him to admit it wouldn’t do any good. Sokka leaned back against the saddle, letting his arms spread out along the rim. “Meetings start tomorrow night, so you’ll have the day to rest and prepare.” Sokka started. He and his nephew, while they didn’t spend much one-on-one time together, had many similarities. One that was usually overlooked, was their mutual love of schedules. They could feel like a lifeline, a tether pulling you on the right course. Knowing what was about to happen often granted Sokka a moment of calm. A reminder he was in control. “We can through the statement you wrote with your dad a few times if you want,” Sokka offered. Tenzin nodded. “It’ll be a long process. Typically there’s a sort of dinner held for all members in the banquet hall beforehand, so everyone can get reacquainted. But Zuko usually does a quick family dinner before all of that, since the meeting kind of starts there.”

“At dinner?” Tenzin questioned, a hint of agitation in his voice.

“Yeah. I’ve found most politicians can’t really turn it off.” Sokka said, folding his arms back and resting his head.

“Oh. Of course.” Tenzin reasoned, sitting up straight beside him.

“But I’ll be with you the whole time,” Sokka said comfortingly, “for you it will be more of a meet and greet.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” Tenzin said, visibly relaxing at the notion.

“Of course.” Sokka assured, smiling. So far, it had worked.

They sat in a far less anxious silence for a few minutes, both staring at the stars. Sokka was always taken aback by how quiet his nephew could be. It was like every shift, even every breath, was muffled. He’d noticed the phenomenon with Aang, but Tenzin was different, somehow. If he closed his eyes, there would be little to no other indication there was a person right beside him. It was like he was so seamlessly aligned with the world around him, it carried the weight and movement of his body. At times like this, he wanted to ask him just how differently he experienced the world.

But before he could, his quiet, aligned companion sat up in a state of shock.

“Sokka!” Tenzin alerted, eyes widened. Sokka clumsily shot up, trying to spot whatever danger was obviously afoot.

“What!” Sokka said, panicked.

“I don’t have any clothes!” Tenzin gasped, covering his mouth with his hands. Sokka paused.

“What?” He asked, relaxing away from his fight-or-flight position. Tenzin took a breath.

“For the dinner, the meetings, any of it,” he lamented. “I didn’t pack any formal wear.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Sokka started. “We’ll find you some fancy clothes.” This was a problem he could fix easily.

“But they have to be Air Nomad robes…” Tenzin murmured, growing smaller into himself, “we won’t find any of those.” Sokka frowned. He could almost see the weight hanging around his nephew’s neck.

“Hmm…” Sokka thought. He could solve this. He had to. Wracking his brain, the solution dawned on him, tucked away as a forgotten detail of his youth. “You know,” Sokka started, his face lighting up, "your dad used to keep a bunch of his clothes at Zuko’s when we were all still traveling. I’m sure Zuko’s kept them.”

“Will they fit?” Tenzin asked, unsure.

“I’m sure there’s stuff from when he was thirteen. “And if there isn’t anything that fits, we can find someone to make you something. I promise.” Sokka confirmed. For years after the war ended, Zuko was the only friend in the group with a permanent residence. Because of this, every member of the group ended up keeping a few things at his home, but none more than Aang. Since Aang, for several reasons, did not have another functional ‘home base’ for a long time, he ended up keeping most of his clothes and personal items in a spare room at the palace.

“Okay.” Tenzin said, settling slightly. Sokka could still feel a nervousness in the air, and he had an idea as to where it was coming from.

“Hey.” Sokka said, putting a hand on Tenzin’s shoulder. “You’d be enough even without the clothes, Tenzin.” His nephew seemed almost surprised by the comment, pausing before he answered.

“I… I know.” Tenzin said finally, sitting up straighter as he spoke. 

“Good.” Sokka confirmed, squeezing the hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t quite sure if his nephew believed it yet, but he had time to convince him, they still had a long trip ahead of them. Appa grumbled, signaling to his riders that they were approaching their destination. Sokka and Tenzin both looked over the edge, spotting a small crowd that had begun to gather below. “Ooo, looks like we’re in for a royal welcome!” Sokka said, excitedly.

As soon as Appa landed in the courtyard, Sokka slid off the bison and clambered over to his family with Tenizn trailing closely behind.

“Sokka!” Suki shouted, running to meet him. Sokka’s heart swelled at the sight of his wife. Every exhausted, mortifying second from the last four days came flooding back as they clung to each other, his hand cradling the back of her head, her arms fiercely around him. It had been too long.

“Hey.” Sokka said, his voice thick with emotion. When they released from the hug, he saw Toph and Zuko standing beside them, and his heart leapt once more. “Come here, come here,” Sokka motioned, pulling his friends into the hug. The four of them stood embraced, like they would when they were young, shouldering the weight together. “Tez, come on in here!” Sokka called, extending an arm. Tentatively, Tenzin came into the embrace, pressed snugly between Sokka and Toph. He could tell that the other’s were already confused by the young air bender’s presence, but before he had a chance to explain, another family member stepped out from behind the cluster.

“Zooms!” Sokka motioned, bringing her into the hug. She gave him a gentle squeeze before stepping out of the hug, her arms still clutching his as she asked her question.

“What’s happening? Is he here?” She asked. Sokka’s face faltered. He knew even before he came that this was going to be hard for her. He’d watched it before.

“So, I know you have a lot of questions but-” Sokka started, trying to figure out how to explain their situation.

“Bumi’s not here.” Tenzin started, catching everyone’s attention.“He’ll be okay, but he’s still on the island with my parents.” Sokka put a hand on Tenzin’s shoulder, ready to answer the slew of impending questions until they heard the creak of the door at the end of the hall.

“Tenzin?” Lin asked, standing in the doorway. Sokka blinked. A part of him had assumed that Toph brought her girls, given the circumstances, but it was still unexpected for one of them to walk through the door. But if Sokka was surprised to see Lin, Tenzin was in a state of total shock.

“Oh! Um. Hey, Lin.” Tenzin said, taking a step towards her. He seemed visibly unsure as to how to continue. The group watched as Lin took initiative for both of them, racing up to her friend and pulling him into a crushing hug. “I missed you,” Sokka heard Tenzin mumble.

“So…” Toph started, bringing the attention back to Sokka.

“Why…Tenzin?” Izumi asked.

“What is the plan?” Zuko added.

“We have some questions.” Suki continued, squeezing her husband’s hand. Sokka sighed.

“Okay, I need you all to remember that both Aang and Katara said yes…”

Notes:

okay!! yay!!!

a few things
- katara we love her and/but she doesn't give a shit about her brothers schedule, never has never will <3
- i figured that the air nomads definitely had words for daughter and son, but they wouldn't hold the same meaning to aang since its not what he was called by his father figure, but i did find that Monk Gyatso calls Aang "Young One" in a flashback, so i think that every so often Aang will call his kids that too
- bumi and kya are a lovely sibling duo trying their best
- a mini reunion! yay! sokka kinda gets to let others hold some of the weight, katara and aang will get that eventually too i promise
- in my mind, suki does a lot of different things after the war, and one of them is helping bring the community-focused ideals of kyoshi island back to other countries that had to adapt to different ways of life in war (fire nation and parts of the earth kingdom), its kind of mainly getting people to trust each other again, getting more community programs going now that funds can be allocated, etc - she works a LOT with katara on this i think :)
- mai wasn't there cause she offered to put su down since they weren't sure exactly when sokka was coming

thank you all :) it means the WORLD that people are reading this

Chapter 12: just one bead

Summary:

tenzin and izumi bodning, suki is a great auntie

Notes:

hello my loves! i apologize for the wait, my life has changed quite a bit since my last posting so thank you for being so patient <3 i hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Fire Nation Palace, Present

Aside from their boisterous arrival, the rest of Tenzin’s night was largely uneventful. As soon as their packs were unloaded, Sokka decided it would be best for his nephew to head to bed, a suggestion Tenzin accepted with open arms. He stepped into his room with welcome familiarity, tossing his bag onto the empty bed beside his as he tried not to think about how this was his first time in the palace without his sister. Tenzin could hear the soft murmurs of his aunts and uncles from the sitting room outside his door. He was thankful, truthfully, that most of their questions, about his brother, his family, himself, would be answered by the morning. Watching their faces churn at his arrival, lined with confusion and pity was about as much as he could take.

When Tenzin woke up the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky, shining through his window. Running a tired hand through his hair, he realized it had been days since he’d slept all the way through the night. And with tomorrow bringing what it would, Tenzin doubted his nerves would allow him another full night tonight.

The young air bender tossed on a clean blue tunic, and groggily made his way to his father’s favorite spot, the royal gardens. Despite the pang of hunger settling in his stomach and the bouncing in his knees, Tenzin found a comfortable patch by the pond and folded his legs as he had since before he could remember. It felt wrong to start his first day as the Air Nomad representative without meditation.

His practice was fine. It was always fine. Before about a week ago, before everything turned upside-down, Tenzin used to meditate every morning before school. Or at least, he would try. On paper, he was a fantastic air bender. He spent hours practicing the techniques, perfecting breath work and posture and pouring over ancient texts. But it never quite clicked.  He could never quite let go. His father spoke in reverence of the practice of meditation, of all the clarity and ease it would bring him. But as Tenzin opened his eyes, letting in the warmth of a Fire Nation spring, instead of knowing the peace he yearned for, he felt the wave of anxiety flood back in.

How could I be good enough? They’ll see right through me. I’m going to let my family down. Let Bumi down. Bumi almost died and this is what’s getting me? Bumi almost died. Almost died. Almost-

Tenzin sighed, drooping his shoulders as he got to his feet. He could almost hear the voices of his ancestors muttering their disapproval. It was fine. He would try again tomorrow.

Breakfast, to Tenzin’s private dismay, did not provide the boisterous escape he was hoping for. While he could usually hear bouts of laughter erupting from the dining hall from around the corner, he was met instead with soft conversations and painfully empathetic smiles and almost-awkward glances that screamed your brother’s in the hospital and we’re not sure how badly you’re taking it. And what’s more, Toph and her girls had already left for the morning to practice sand bending, meaning that Lin and any hope for an escape wouldn’t be back until lunch. Tenzin could still feel the weight of her hug from the night before. He couldn’t remember a time when she had ever hugged him (or anyone) like that before. It felt nice.

After wading through the slough of questions, insisting that he slept well (true) and that meditation went great (false) and that he felt ready for tonight (undetermined), Tenzin was able to sit back and resume pondering his own fate. He was so consumed by his own thoughts, that he nearly jumped when his uncle slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, we nearly forgot!” Sokka exclaimed, between bites of sausage. “Do you still have some of Aang’s clothes? I remember he used to keep some of his stuff here-”

All of his stuff,” Zuko corrected, with more than a hint of indignation.

“Okay, all of his stuff,” Sokka said, waving off Zuko’s statement. “Do you still have it?”

“We keep it all in his old room,” Zuko said, pouring his daughter a new cup of tea. “You know, the one diagonal from their new room, I remember because I always could hear Katara when she would sneak over to…” Zuko trailed off, seemingly remembering his audience. Tenzin tried to avoid eye contact. “…you know what never mind. Its all there. Why do you ask?”

“I need formal nomad wear for meetings,” Tenzin pipped up, trying to brush past everything else revealed in his uncle’s description.

“There should be a whole chest of things from that first year, I’m sure something will fit.” Mai confirmed, before motioning to her daughter who was consumed by one of her many medical books, “Izumi.”

“Mhm?” Izumi said, looking up.

“Will you take Tenzin?”

“Of course,” Izumi nodded, giving him a small smile. “We can go after breakfast.”

Although Tenzin had spent a good portion of his life navigating the immense nature of the Fire Nation Palace, he was grateful to have another person with him on this part of the journey. It felt easier this way.  Less time to get lost in his own thoughts. That, and even he could tell that the princess needed a distraction.

“So, here’s the room,” Izumi said, opening the door after a particularly silent walk through the halls. The bedroom was small - for palace standards - and the only remnants of his father’s life here was an incense holder on the bedside table. Standing in the doorway, Tenzin couldn’t help but think about all his father did while staying in this room.

When they opened the closet door, Izumi and Tenzin were met with dozens of robes, ranging in different colors, styles, and sizes. It was a vibrant, dynamic collection, steeped in the echoes of all his father had accomplished. At a glance, Tenzin could determine what type of ceremony or gathering Aang would have worn each one. He felt a strange pang through his body at the sight of all the different robes, knowing that the nomads practiced life with limited attachment, a lifestyle not shared by the Fire Nation, which commissioned each garment. Tenzin could tell that his father had felt the same, noting that some robes were very worn, while other’s looked brand new. What’s more, on many of the robes left untouched, some of the specific attachments that went with them, a ceremonial tassle or tie, had been worn separately and then reattached. As if his father couldn’t bring himself to live too frivolously, but did so quietly, discrete.

“A lot of these are really… big,” Tenzin said, slightly worried. His father had hit a growth spurt around fourteen and didn’t stop, making many of the pieces hung up much too large.

“We’ll find something,” Izumi insisted. Kneeling down, she began to root through a series of chests, which, luckily, had clothing that seemed to closer to a better fit. Tenzin joined her on the ground, thumbing through various articles of clothing. Every so often Izumi would hold up a robe, and Tenzin would point out why it couldn’t work, be it size, type, or, in the case they both tried to ignore, due to the burns and cuts in the fabric. He could see now why some of these were not hung up.

“So.” Izumi said, breaking the silence after a while.

“He misses you.” Tenzin said.

“That’s not what I was going to ask,” Izumi countered.

“Okay.” Tenzin said, unconvinced.

“How are you?” She asked. Tenzin blinked.

“How am I?” In honestly, he wasn’t expecting that question, not from her. The two had spent able time together throughout their lives, but rarely (if ever) without the company of Bumi. Or Kya. Or Lin. Or Su. Or any of the many, many people that made up their circle. They loved each other, of course, but seldom found the time to practice it.

“How are you.” She asked again, looking up from her pile to meet his eyes.

“Oh… I’m okay.” Tenzin said. Her sudden question caught him off guard. He thought for a moment. “I mean… I’m nervous, but this is it, you know.”

“I know.” Izumi said, giving him an understanding look. Tenzin sighed. If there was anyone who might know what “it” felt like, it would be the princess.

“Bumi’s doing okay too.” Tenzin added, focusing hard on his pile as he continued, “he’s bed ridden, obviously, and he gets a little… off, if he goes too long without his medicine, but other than that he’s his same self.”

“Off?” Izumi asked, worried.

“Dazed, distracted…” Tenzin paused. “He’s sick.” It felt odd to say what had been left unspoken. To push past all the nerves and the daunting reality of what those words meant.

“Oh.” Izumi sighed, shrinking slightly into herself.

“But that’s why he’s coming here.” Tenzin added, quickly. There was a reason it all had been left unsaid. It was the same reason he wanted to comfort her now, why he came to Caldera in the first place. It felt easier when things could work out. When things could feel okay.

“I’m sorry.” Izumi said, squeezing Tenzin’s hand.

“Me too.” Tenzin squeezed back. The two continued to work in silence, sitting in the closet of a long-empty room, surrounded by a superfluous, and painfully ironic number of what, in another life, would have lived as nomadic clothing, until Izumi got to the bottom of one of the oldest chests.

“Here.” She said, pulling out a yellow robe. “I think could work.”

Tenzin admired the garment. It was old, but still appeared to be in good condition, and by the design was something that had been worn to formal events. And what’s more, it looked like it could fit. They had found the right robe.

“It could work.”

In a close to perfect world, because Tenzin, after growing up the second air bender, could never bring himself to say that anything short of  the Air Nomad’s bending returning would be perfect, putting on the robe would have solved all of Tenzin’s problems. It would act as a fan to the fog of his doubts, bring the clarity and confidence he sought. In a close to perfect world, this robe would be his meditation. But as he stood in the mirror of father’s old room, nothing clicked.

“It still doesn’t feel… right,” Tenzin said, messing with the collar.

“You look great.” Izumi encouraged, from her spot on the bed. Tenzin wasn’t satisfied. His skin crawled under the fabric, as if the robe knew he wasn’t worthy of wearing it.

“It’s me.” Tenzin realized, defeated. He ran both hands through his hair, his frustration turning quickly to panic. “It’s me. Why am I doing this? I can’t do this!I can’t represent an entire nation, I look like a child playing dress up.”

“Hey, hey, Tenzin relax.” Izumi said, jumping to place a comforting hand on his back as they both started into the mirror. “You look fantastic.”

“It would look better if I was a real master.” Tenzin muttered. He left his spot by the mirror of shame and flopped onto the bed. He could sense Izumi hovering above him, before she took a gentle seat.

“Look,” she started, “it’s not the same but I think understand, okay? Living up to their legacy…” She sighed. “Sometimes when I feel like I don’t quite look the part… I wear Roku’s headpiece.” Tenzin perked up.

“Oh?”

“It’s silly, I know, but it makes me feel more… connected to it all.” Izumi continued, smiling, “fake it till you make it, right?” Tenzin moved to sit at the foot of the bed next to her.

“I can’t exactly draw on tattoos…” He said, thinking. “But I could do something else. If you help.” Izumi nodded. It was an idea he’d had for a long, long time. Something that always took residency in the very back of his mind, coexisting beside his desire to be mistaken, just once, for a member of his mother’s tribe.

Wordlessly, Tenzin found a bathroom and filled small cups of soap and water before going across the hall to his father and mother’s room. There, he went to the chest beside his father’s desk, and looked in the second drawer from the top. In it, just like at home, contained one of his father’s razors.

“Are you sure?” Izumi said, eyes wide as Tenzin returned with the items.

“No.” Tenzin said honestly, taking a seat on the floor. He gave her the razor. “Do it.”


Fire Nation Palace, 12 Years Ago

The war, as it would, stole many things from Suki. But the thing she took, tied away under her skin, was the importance of leaning in. Life was too short to dwell on what ifs, to spend your time longing for something more out of an experience. She had more fun, she believed, more laughs, more moments, simply leaning in.

This mentality served her well in many cases, but none more than when she spent time with her family. Her group, carved through loss and trust and a more than a touch of fate, seemed to attract, if not thrive, in chaos. As they grew, but never settled, and gained titles, but seldom matured, the nature of their reunions persisted. If it wasn’t what brought them together, like someone trying to disrupt their peace, it would be manufactured through childish antics, or the actual children, who were often heard running amuck far past whatever bedtime once held them. Suki loved it all.

More often than not, their ridiculousness would ensure in the newly-hallowed halls of the Fire Nation Palace. It became a refuge for her family, a place where some of the strongest people she knew could leave their armor at the door. On the first night of this particular stay, they had decided to take residence in Zuko and Mai’s private sitting room, playing rounds of pai sho and soaking up each other’s presence. Suki had been living at the palace for the past month, but was being reunited with her brother and sister-in-law’s family, the Beifongs, and her husband, who’s hand sat comfortably in her hers as he thought out his next move.

“There they are!” Sokka exclaimed loudly, noting the arrival of Aang and Katara.

“The kids go down okay?” Zuko asked, making room for the two of them in their circle. 

“They’re all in a pile in Izumi’s room,” Katara said, taking her seat and leaning lazily against her husband’s shoulder.

“Is there a way to get Bumi and Kya up here more often?” Mai said, glancing up off of the board. “It normally takes us three rounds of stories to get her down.” Suki smiled, knowingly. She had been in more than one evening meeting sweetly interrupted by the princess. Her parents always went, of course,  their somewhat stoic professional demeanor shattered by one tug on their robes, every time, without fail.

“Oh, ours are the same way at home,” Katara said, waving away any praise. “It’s the combination, they totally tire each other out.” Bumi and Izumi had spent the better part of the afternoon running rampant, with Kya toddling after them.

“Did you check on the littles?” Toph asked. With Lin and Teznin being born so close together, they had created their own class, quickly deemed ‘the littles’ by their ever-creative uncle.

“Still asleep,”  Aang stated proudly, “we’re in the clear.”

“Yes!” Toph rejoiced. With all five children down, Suki knew the parents in her family could start to unwind. She and Sokka had discussed, many times, the possibility of joining that particular group, but they never quite wanted to take that last step. It felt good to be auntie, to be able to tap in and tap out, to give all the love she could and know they had other, fantastic people doing the heavy lifting. She leaned in.

“You’re just in time,” Suki noted, motioning to the game, “it’s Sokka vs. Mai, his move.”

“Which is taking forever.” Zuko muttered, leaning onto his elbows and throwing his head back. Suki laughed. Despite having many differences, their spouses shared a mutual love of pai sho.

“Hey, you’re watching geniuses at work here.” Sokka countered, finally starting to move his tile. Zuko rolled his eyes.

“He’s just frustrated because he lost the first round,” Mai added.

“And what ‘round’ are we at now?” Aang asked, nervously. The two took the game very seriously, and could play a single game late into the night.

“Three.” Mai and Sokka said together, neither party looking up from the board.

“Has it been like this the whole time?” Katara whispered to her sister-in-law.

“I’m still waiting for my turn.” Suki shrugged. Katara sighed, shaking her head.

“I’ll settle in then.”

She and her group watched the game for some time, with Suki and Zuko attempting to give their spouses suggestions, with varying levels of success. The conversation flowed, as it often did, from politics and irritating council members to ridiculous stories and all the trouble they’d been bound to have gotten into since the last time they met up. Suki inhaled it all. She loved hearing about all the adventures, as big as stopping a civil war and as small as a trip the store gone wrong, that she missed. She loved the sound of Sokka’s laugh, near tears, as she told her own tales. But as they started to settle, and the moon shone, high in the sky, the topic shifted, as it always would, to the new lights in their lives, the reasons, the whys: the children.

“Oh, Zuko, Mai,” Aang started, taking a piece of fruit off of their dwindling snacking tray, “Izumi showed me some of her new moves in the yard today, she’s fantastic. I didn’t realize you were starting her training.” Zuko visibly stiffened. Suki took another sip of her drink. Izumi’s training had been a somewhat controversial topic since before her arrival.

“It’s been… a long conversation.” Mai said, vaguely. Suki, for better or worse, had been privy to many parts of the conversation during her stay. Mai and Zuko, as she learned, had varying opinions on when to start their daughter’s training. The princess had produced her first flame at five, but only began to work with it as of three weeks ago.

“I just don’t want her to feel pressured,” Zuko confided. “She’s only seven, and it… it can all be a lot.”

“How old were you when you started?” Sokka asked, sitting up slightly.

“I was the same age, but that was only because I hadn’t produced a flame until then. Typically, in the Fire Nation, you begin training at six,” he clarified. They had all heard the upsetting history of Zuko and fire bending, including the grueling visits to the Fire Sages he endured as a child, praying each time they would awaken the spark. 

“Is there a reason it’s six?” Toph asked, intrigued.

“It’s when most children can produce a strong enough flame to work with,” Zuko explained. He paused for a moment, taking a breath before he added, “of course Azula… she started at five.” The room was still, for a moment, at the sound of her name. Suki watched as Katara’s hand wrapped itself more protectively around Aang’s, and Sokka pulled her closer in. 

“Oh.” Toph said finally, breaking the silence.

“Mhm.” Mai hummed, putting her arm around her husband.

“I feel like the kind and mindset of the bending matters almost more than age,” Toph challenged. “My parents had me start training at ten, but I had been working with the badger moles since I was six. But to me, that never felt like work, at least not in the same way.” Suki agreed. Toph always had a way to shift the perspective. When comparing her own upbringing, growing up training on Kyoshi Island, to what Zuko had described, she knew the earth bender was right. “I’m planning on teaching Lin to see with her feet as soon as she can understand the idea.”

“That makes a lot of sense.” Katara agreed, “in the North, they don’t have any students learn to fight until ten or eleven, but they start healing around eight.” 

“Have you decided what you’re planning to do with Kya?” Zuko asked.

“We’ve done little things with her since she started bending, but I don’t think we’ll do any real training until she’s older.” Aang explained, “like you said, it depends on the training.”

“What about Tenzin?” Mai asked, “what’s a normal age to start air bending?” Katara, like everyone else in the room, turned to Aang with a knowing look. Suki wondered, briefly, if his bending practice had been has ‘long’ of a conversation as Izumi’s. Discussions of bending regarding her -in law’s children had only recently become a topic that the group, herself included, felt comfortable to discuss in a casual setting, despite Katara and Aang’s unrelenting insistence that all was fine.

“Oh, pretty young,” Aang said. Suki raised an eyebrow. After well over a decade of friendship and a lifetime of people-reading practice, the warrior could tell something was amiss. Aang could get into this way, sometimes, when they were discussing his past. Every answer was hazy, every follow up quelled, even with his family. It was protective, almost. Like he was shielding his lost way of life from the modern mindset that may not understand.

“Like how young?” Zuko pressed.

“Younger than all of you, I promise.” Aang said, taking a sip of his drink. Suki watched as Katara placed a hand on his knee.


“What age?” Toph continued. Aang sighed.

“Well… typically…” He started, finding the words, “we would start it all, meditation, forms, and classes, at around three.” Suki blinked.


“Three?” Sokka asked, as nonchalantly as possible. 

“It’s one year after you’ve moved into your Temple.” Aang explained. “Typically babies spend around one and a half to two years at their mother’s temple. Of course, I moved when I was one because they found out I was the avatar…” he paused. Suki had always been told, by Aang, that he had never really thought about his parents. And for only that moment, as Aang took a beat, she questioned if she believed him. And then he continued.“But normally, you move to your home, and you spend a year getting acclimated and then you start… but like Toph said, it’s the mindset. Air benders show really early, so without that discipline it can be really hard to control. It’s also how I became a master at 12,” Aang concluded.

“But we decided not to start Tenzin that early.” Katara added, squeezing her husband’s hand as he nodded. Suki glanced around the room, taking in the wide eyes and raised eyebrows at their friend’s words. It was hard to picture any two year old, even Aang, meditating the way he did each morning. She, like her friends, had more questions to ask, but chose to refrain.

Sokka, instead, joked, rather loudly, about the amount of bender talk during his (never ending) pai sho game. Suki smiled, as did Mai. While in earnest, Suki didn’t mind if bending took the focus of their conversation, her husband’s comment reminded her of a missing piece, a child they had yet to discuss.

“Wait,” Suki started, interrupting the current conversation, “are you going to do any kind of training with Bumi?”

“We’ve talked about having him work with something, but we’re not sure,” Katara confided. Katara and Aang were some of the most caring, wonderful people Suki knew, and they were no different as parents. But they were also benders. Since the day they were told Bumi had no bending abilities, Suki and Sokka felt somewhat protective of their nephew. Bumi would experience things differently than his parents and siblings, and all of them would need non-benders to help navigate that. Suki could do that. She could be that. She could lean in.

“I feel like it would be good to have him training in some sort of physical art form,” Suki gently advised. She saw Aang and Katara sit up, leaning in to hear ever syllable of her words.

“Especially if both of his siblings are going to be,” Sokka added.

“That makes a lot of sense.” Aang said, sincerely.

“He’s turning eight soon, right?” Suki asked, getting excited at her own realization.

“This spring.” Katara confirmed.

“If you wanted,” Suki started, “Bumi could come stay with us on Kyoshi Island for a few weeks this summer, just to start learning some basic Kyoshi forms.”

“And we can continue whatever he wants to start in the South in Kyoshi too. I know he’s been eyeing my boomerang,” Sokka added. Suki grinned. Bumi and her husband had been like two snow peas in a pod since he was born. 


“He’d also probably appreciate my knife lessons too,” Mai pipped in, “I’m planning on teaching Izumi, and it’ll be easy for him to keep up since you’ll be spending some time here each year anyways.” Suki met her eyes across the circle and smiled. She wasn’t the only auntie who had been keeping an eye on their boy.

“All of that would be wonderful, I think it would really help him.” Aang said, gratefully.

“Thank you,” Katara said squeezing her sister-in-law’s hand. Suki squeezed back.

In the last few years, when people asked her and her husband when they were going to have children, Sokka would insist that they already had kids, just not quite their own. Suki had always loved the sentiment, but had never fully understood until now. She leaned in.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Izumi had had an eventful, shocking week. So shocking and so horrible, in fact, that she almost felt as if, for the time being, nothing would be so surprising or notable, that it would get her attention long enough to catch her off guard. And then she spent the afternoon with Tenzin.

Tenzin had always felt like somewhat of an open -yet closed off- book. An easy read. He was the kind, and serious over-thinker that toddled nervously along with their little band throughout her childhood. She knew he was not childish or impulsive like his brother, or the wild card that was his sister, and believed he was the calculated bookworm that made her, in comparison, seem rowdy.

Until last night. Until he stepped up to perform a plan that seemed insane and brilliant at the same time, it was hard to find the boy who refused to steal extra dessert just years ago in the steely grey eyes that looked back at her.

And now, Izumi was sitting on the edge of a long-empty bed, shaving his head after another quickly calculated decision. It occurred to her, as she worked, that she wasn’t sure if Tenzin had ever had a shaved head before, and if this action would require time to process or ritualize, so she decided to stay silent. The quiet was broken, however, when she was half way done.

“What… what else do you do?” Tenzin started, sounding slightly less sure of himself than he had moments before. “When you feel like you don’t quite fit the part, I mean. Aside from the headpiece.” Izumi blinked.

“Oh.” Izumi said. She thought for a moment. Izumi had always felt a special sort of connection with Tenzin. Although they were not the closest of their family, she knew that no matter what, that in ten or twenty or thirty years, they would be in a far more similar boat than anyone else. Despite what anyone said, they knew a version of what the rest of their lives would look like. “Well… sometimes I try to perfect a form, or wear my mother’s necklace…” She listed, adding more suds to Tenzin’s head. “But most of the time… I think about my dad, and how much he did with so little. And how much I have now. The resources, people, peace…Cause this is the plan, you know? That we don’t have to endure it all.” Tenzin was silent for a moment.

“That… that makes sense.” He said, at last. Izumi let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. They were on the same page. She finished the rest of her work in a comfortable silence.

After Izumi finished her work, she guided Tenzin to the mirror for the two of them to inspect the outfit once more, now with the new key difference. Watching him change at the sight of his appearance was something she knew she’d never forget. Tenzin’s face phased through mixture of shock and awe as he stepped closer to the mirror, touching his head so gently as though it would switch back if he was too rough. He looked more secure than he had before. It was as if something clicked.

“It’s about to be lunch.” Izumi said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

With a nod, the two of them emerged from out of Aang’s old room together for the first time since that morning. As they rounded a corner, a voice called out from an open door to one of the private sitting rooms, drawing them both in.

“Is that you, Tenzin?” Izumi’s Uncle asked, his eyebrows raised. Iroh and Mai had been sitting together, playing a game of pai sho when they entered.

“Iroh!” Tenzin exclaimed, hugging Uncle, “it’s so good to see you.” Iroh returned the embrace, but Izumi couldn’t help but notice the level of surprise on both Iroh and her mother’s faces at his appearance.

“It is wonderful to see you as well, young one,” Iroh said.“Although the last time I saw you, you had much more hair.”

“I shaved it for the meetings,” Tenzin grinned. “Izumi helped.”

“Well you look very respectable,” Iroh commended, motioning to the robes. He shot Mai a knowing glance as he added,“a lot like your father.”

“The spitting image.” Her mother confirmed. It was the first thing she said since they’d arrived, her eyes still widened at the sight. Izumi raised an eyebrow.

“We won’t keep you longer, you should both go to eat something.” Iroh insisted. While Tenzin was seemingly unaware of their family’s odd reaction, Izumi knew there was something being left unsaid. Even still, she knew better than to go against anything her Uncle instructed. As they left, Izumi could hear her mother ask Iroh a question in their native Fire Nation language. 

That wasn’t?

It was.

They’re going to lose it.

Izumi made a point to enter the dining hall first, curious to find out if her mother and Uncle’s reactions would be shared with other family. Auntie Suki and her father had already begun eating, speaking quietly over a scroll as they came in.

“Good afternoon,” Tenzin started proudly, standing in the doorway.

“Did you find any…” Suki started, pausing when she looked up, “…thing.” Her mouth dropped. Beside her, Zuko’s started chocking loudly on his soup as soon as he saw his nephew. Tenzin and Izumi shared a look. Amidst the confusion, Sokka entered from another wing, flipping through pages as he walked in.

“So it looks like San will be arriving late, but-AH!” Sokka startled as he looked up at Tenzin, knocking into the table and dropping everything in his hands. Izumi’s brows furrowed as she looked between an increasingly less confidence Tenzin and all the seemingly misplaced chaos that was unfolding in front of them.

“What?” Tenzin exclaimed loudly over Zuko’s hacking, “what is it?”

“Nothing!” Sokka said quickly. He was trying to pick up his pages but seemed unable to take his eyes off of Tenzin, making his pile even more haphazard. “Nothing is wrong, I promise.”

“You look great.” Izumi’s father said weakly.

“Was the hair too much?” Tenzin questioned, rubbing his head.

“It’s not so much hair,” Sokka said gently, trying to find his words, “but the… the…”

"The robes.” Suki said suddenly. Izumi was confused.

“What about them?” She asked.

“It’s…” Zuko started delicately, “it’s the outfit your father wore to my coronation.”

The room went silent. Izumi watched as Tenzin’s eyes widened.

He was wearing the war ending robes.

Notes:

yay!! this chapter is like part one in what im calling the "bending series" with bending, the dynamics, the obligations, the challenges, etc, being the main focus within our story

also, i just loved the idea of tenzin being in the war ending robes and i thought all of their reactions would be fantastic :).

and i love the idea of suki and sokka and mai looking out for their guy :)

also on a personal note - totally disregard if you want - if anyone has any homesickness tips, i just moved away from home for the first time for school and would love any advice:)

okay thank you so much for reading, sorry if its rougher than normal ! love you all

Chapter 13: on a bracelet

Summary:

the bending chapters, part 2/2 (finally)

mixed kid stuff ft.
the cloud babies have some Feelings about bending

Notes:

its here ! it is here! we did it !

thank you thank you thank you for being patient !!!! i had a HUGE move two months ago and things have been insane ever since but now i am on a schedule and you can expect weekly/two week updates again my lovelies thank you thank you thank you !

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Republic City, 6 years ago

Most days, Aang liked being the Avatar. He liked solving problems, contributing to the peace. He liked the way people looked when he came to help, how the arrow on his head became a symbol for more than mastery, for hope. But he didn’t like his paperwork days. As Republic City grew and flourished, Aang found himself holed up in his office more and more often, hunched over bills to sign and licenses to approve as one of the leading council members. It felt wrong. With every flick of his pen he could feel a gnawing, deep beneath his skin, yelling at him to go.

At times like these, Aang would try to picture what he got to do later because of the paperwork. Make dinner with Katara. Talk with Bumi. Take Tenzin flying. Braid Kya’s hair. Practice forms with Lin. Play with baby Su.

On some days, Aang and Sokka would work together, snuffing his restlessness before it began, but today his nomadic calling was interrupted was something much more unusual. About an hour before lunch, a secretary quietly knocked on his door, bringing the news of a radio call from his children’s school. Oh no.

Following the young man on his heels, Aang found himself swimming through the possibilities that awaited them.

“This is Avatar Aang,” he said, taking his seat in the newly furbished communication room. Each wall was lined with radios and each radio had a manager. Per Sokka’s invention, every government building in Republic City was now home to one of these rooms, so that there would always be available communication. Aang always felt silly taking personal calls here, but when his children were involved he bent his own rules.

“Good afternoon Avatar, I’m Headmaster Hui,” the deep voice explained from the other line, “I’m calling because of a matter regarding your son, Bumi. We’ve been unable to reach your wife and-”

“Is he okay?” Aang asked. He knew he was fine. He would know if he wasn’t fine. They were safe. But even still, his grip on the device was just a little too tight not to ask. Old habits.

“Yes.” Aang leaned back into his chair, and let out a tense breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. But there was more. “He took part in a… physical altercation during a break, and has been suspended. We need you to come pick him up.” Aang deflated. There was always more.

On his short flight from the City Hall to his children’s school, Aang could feel himself growing more and more tired. It was the kind of tired that settled square over his shoulders, a familiar sort of feeling that came with the nasty voice in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite shake. He was letting his kid down. They’d been here before. Bumi had been struggling in school for as long as he’d attended. While academically he did fairly well, the firstborn son of the Avatar had always struggled socially in part because of that exact title. Aang didn’t hate many things, but he hated this.

“I’m so sorry Headmaster,” Aang said, bowing to the man across the desk. The office was small, not grand like at some of the other, privately funded schools they’d visited outside of the city before making the choice. Aang didn’t mind, of course, but he could tell his son would’ve preferred more space between him and his disciplinarian. Bumi was hunched over in the chair beside his father, with a measly ice pack nursing his whopping black eye. “I’m sure my son didn’t mean it, and we will work together solve the issue.”

With the signing of more forms than Aang felt necessary, he and Bumi were free to go. The walk back to Appa was silent. Bumi walked directly behind Aang the whole way, refusing to make eye contact even as they boarded the sky bison. Aang didn’t push it. He didn’t need Bumi to talk before he was ready. The two sat, engulfed in the whispers of the wind, the whole ride back home.

After they, finally, made their way through the front door, both Aang and his son found themselves in the kitchen. Aang hadn’t given Bumi any instructions for what to do, like his mother might after getting in trouble, so the boy seemed to keep following his father. Maybe he should’ve told him something, maybe it was fine. Bumi took a careful seat at the table in the kitchen and watched as his father leaned deeply over the counter, and sigh a deep, long sigh.

As a parent, their bad days were his bad days, and his hand in it was icing on the cruelest cake. He loathed the idea of making his children’s lives harder, that the job, the title, the purpose, that was his life was seeping into theirs. Aang wanted to crumple. He wanted to let every inch of exhaustion and self-doubt into his body. But he didn’t. A lifetime ago, when Aang was younger, and the streets felt precariously safer, with the dust of war not quite settled, his father in-law had given him what he called fatherly advice. It was just after the announcement of Katara’s pregnancy, and Aang obliged to listen, despite whatever private thoughts he had about the man who, in many ways, only lightly parented two of his most favorite people in the world. Hakoda explained a lesson which, at the time, he couldn’t understand, but now, nearly fourteen years down the line, rang clear in his ear.

When they get upset, even as babies, Hakoda had said, be careful how they see you react. I know I’ve had trouble with that, but it makes them more stressed, like they have to take care of you.

And maybe Aang should’ve ignored Hakoda’s advice, maybe he should’ve shown Bumi how frustrated he was, or maybe it was fine. Regardless, the Avatar took a breath instead, and started the water for tea. It was only after the water had boiled, and Aang was fishing for two cups in their cupboard, did he hear a shuffling coming from the corner of the room.

“Does mom know?” Bumi said, at last. He was slumped over the counter, cradling the nearly-melted pack to his face. There was a puddle on the table now, and the sleeves of his uniform were wet.

“Not yet.” Aang said, taking the seat across from his son. “She’s at work.” He leaned over and bent the water off the table before refreezing the icepack with a light tap. To his surprise, Bumi wrinkled his nose at the act.

“Oh.”

“So-” Aang started, after a silent few sips of tea.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Bumi pushed back.

“Okay,”  Aang said, gently. “We have to pick up everyone else in two hours, so if you want to get anything off your chest, now is the time.” It would be nearly impossible to have a serious discussion when the tornado of kids came through. Kya and Tenzin would already make things hectic, but the Beifong girls, while tiny, didn’t necessarily mellow things out.

“It was stupid,” Bumi huffed, sitting back in his chair and avoiding eye contract. “It was just stupid kids saying stupid stuff.”

“Alright.”

“You won’t get it.” Bumi argued. Aang raised his eyebrows. 

“Let me try,” he asked. It wasn’t like his son to be this outright. Bumi paused, eyeing his father like he was sizing him up, measuring the sincerity of his plea.

“They’re all benders at that school.” Bumi explained, matter-o-factly. “And no one knows what I am, so I can’t blend in.” Aang was confused.

“What you are?” He asked, puzzled.

“Dad.” Bumi sighed, as though his father was proving his point. "I can’t just be with the Water Tribe, and I can’t just be an Air Nomad…” Bumi hesitated, trying to find the words.“And then they all get these looks, these ‘aw look its the half nomad who cant bend life must be so hard for him.’ It’s… it’s suffocating.” Aang sat in silence, absorbing it all. In his thirties, he’d finally felt that he was at the point where less and less was starting surprise him. He was prepared for what was to come, in most cases. But as he sat across the table from his son, Aang realized this was not the case. Bumi was entrenched in a turmoil as new as their peace, and his father didn’t have the vocabulary.

“I’m sure.” Aang uttered, at last.

“So when this kid came up to me,” Bumi continued, swirling his finger around the edge of the cup, “…and wouldn’t stop asking me questions and saying stupid stuff about bending I… I just wanted to show them I could do it. I don’t need bending.”

“You don’t.” Aang said quickly. This wasn’t as new.“it’s just one-”

“Bead on the bracelet, I know.” Bumi said sharply, finishing the saying his mother had coined. “There’s just… there’s no place for me. Bending gives Kya and Tenzin some standing but I just…” he lowered his voice, shrinking back in his chair, “I don’t have that.” Aang frowned. Reaching across the table, he placed both hands over his son’s arms and squeezed, firmly. He didn’t know how to fix all of it, but he thought  knew how to try.

“Bumi.” Aang started, “you’re just as much apart of the Air Nomads and the Water Tribe as your siblings. You’re all both, regardless of bending.” The words slipped nearly unconsciously, muscle memory built from years of assuring and reassuring. Surprisingly, Bumi’s hands stiffened beneath his.

“That’s not the point dad.” Bumi said, shrugging off his father has he stood up in his chair. “it doesn’t matter whether I am or not if nobody sees me.” Aang’s eyes widened. Bumi sighed, relaxing his stance, as he stared, defeated, at his father. “This was a mistake. It’s fine, okay? I’ll be grounded again or whatever. I’m going to my room.”

“Bumi-” Aang started finally, his thoughts finally caught up with him. But it was too late. Maybe he should’ve said something sooner, maybe it was okay to let him go, but it definitely wasn’t it was fine. He sat back in his chair, letting the disappointment wash over him in the emptiness of the kitchen.“I see you.”


Red Sand Island, Morning

The morning sun poured through his hospital window, washing everything in its path in a warm, blanketing light. As Bumi laid in bed, waiting for the pandemonium to begin, he pondered the events of the night before. He hoped that the light of day would bring some sort of clarity, or assurance to what had unfolded, he was left with the same mixture of anxiety and relief that had sat with him since yesterday afternoon.

While normally, Bumi felt the spring air was a welcome change from the cool winds of the winter seas, all he could feel this particular morning was the heat that came with it. The beginnings of a Fire Nation summer were creeping up onto the shores of the little island. Bumi’s sheets were plastered onto his skin, making his bandages impossibly more uncomfortable. While most of his body was compromised, he tried to push his covers off, shifting his arm delicately as he fumbled with the edges. He would have succeeded to, he believed, if he wasn’t interrupted by the soft sliding of his door. His mother and sister.

They entered quietly, weaving through the pillows and blankets strewn through the room, remnants of the sleepover from the night before. His mother clicked her tongue discouragingly at her son’s actions, the same way his great grandmother would, and guided his arm back to where it was.

Bumi opened his mouth to defend himself, before his mother put a finger to her lips and motioned to his father, who had gone unnoticed, asleep in a chair in the corner. Aang was folded in on himself, his head between his knees. For such a tall man, Bumi was always impressed at how lightly his father could take up space if he wanted.

“It’s hot.” Bumi whispered in his mother’s language as Katara began slowly stripping back the covers.

“It’s the Fire Nation,” Kya whispered back matter-o-factly, poking her head from behind her mother to judge his actions. She was just at Katara’s heels, standing delicately on one of the only non-blanketed spots of the small floor.

“You know you can’t move it like that.” Katara muttered, fussing with the lining of one of his bandages. Kya twisted to a spot closer to the headboard, and with an annoyed face began to inspect the cut on his shoulder.

“Exactly,” Kya whispered, giving his shoulder a light thwap with the back of her hand. “You’d ruin my good work.” Bumi flinched at the action, although much more than was necessary.

“Hey!” Bumi yelled, receiving an annoyed shh from his mother. Kya smirked.

“Kya,” Katara started, feeling her son’s forehead, ignoring his plea, “would you go grab us some water and some cloths from the room? I think that will help with the temperature. Oh, and some tea.”

“For sure.”

“Thank you, little bird,” their mother whispered, as Kya slipped out the door. In the stillness that followed, as Bumi watched his mother sigh and collect her long, flowing hair onto one shoulder, he realized it had been a long time since he’d heard that nickname for his sister. It had entered their vocabulary, as many expressions would, on a long visit South. Kya, as the story goes, was just over a year and particularly new to walking. The village fell in love with her unsteady steps that spring, with the aunties and uncles and passerbys comparing her footwork to toddling of the arctic hen.

Bumi knew why. Why the nicknames, the adoration. They looked at her and saw his mother She was their future, once, and that kind of hope would take more than a generation to shake. And it didn’t help she had the name. Bumi remembered watching is grandfather and uncle talk one particular winter night, about how nice it was to say it. He wasn’t supposed to hear that part. His dad loved saying his name, he was sure, but it didn’t carry weight on the tongue of anyone else alive. It was almost too perfect, the child that took the most after the tribe was given a Water Tribe name. When Kya moved a puddle for the first time, Bumi remembered asking the spirits why the tribe gave her so much, and him so little.

But his sister had her own struggles, he knew. They were all children of lost nations, tethered and astray in their own ways.

“Good morning,” Katara said at last taking a seat beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Bumi said, her face coming into focus. She was smiling, but he could tell she was tired. “The same.”

“You should start feeling a bit better in the next few days. But this will give some relief,” Katara said, confidently. Gently, she started to lift off his bandages, exposing the angry cuts and bruises below. “Alright,” Katara started, lifting the water to her hands. “One… two… three..”  With a steady motion, the glowing water reached Bumi’s chest. He let out a sharp breath. Even if it didn’t hurt, his skin never felt ready. “How does this feel?”

“Good.” Bumi said, breathing deeper now. “Did she do a good job?” He asked, as his mother moved to his shoulder.

“Hm?” She questioned, not looking up from her work.

“Kya, I mean.” Bumi clarified, staring at the ceiling. He never liked to look. “I’m joking I know she did good.”

“Oh… she did.” Katara confirmed, focused. There was more than a little expectation when it came to his sister’s bending skills. At times Bumi couldn’t imagine the pressure she felt. She was in a different position from their younger brother, and in terms of global scrutiny of skill specifically, Bumi sometimes felt she was worse off. It was easier to wow the world with bending when no one knew what it was supposed to look like. Privately, Bumi wondered if that was part of the reason why his parents let his sister push herself as hard as she did. Even if they didn’t want to admit it, their prodigal success was setting her up for a lifetime of shortcomings if she couldn’t measure up.

“Can you feel if it was healed by a different person?” Bumi asked, after a moment.

“Not really. But I can tell with her,” his mother replied. He wasn’t sure if that was because she trained her, or because of some spiritual, inherited connection he’d never have the vocabulary to understand.

“Oh. Cool.” His parents didn’t normally talk to him about bending. And Bumi didn’t normally ask questions. But this felt normal, somehow.

“Yeah,” she said, sitting up. As the water swished gracefully from his chest to the bowl it came from, Katara’s gaze landed on the sight of Aang, still asleep in the corner. Bumi followed her eyes to the slightly less blurry figure.

“I’m surprised he’s still asleep,” he murmured. Katara sighed.

“It’s been a long few days.” She whispered back. His mother took another moment to stare, a mixture of concern and fatigue settling on her face, before she snapped back.“You know I really should keep teaching him too,” Katara muttered, unwinding a fresh set of bandages. Bumi blinked.

“I thought dad couldn’t heal?” He questioned. In his entire life, he’d seen his father do countless, spectacular things, but healing wasn’t one of them.

“He can’t, not really,” his mother continued, lifting part of his back slightly as she redid his wrap. “But it’s silly at this point that he can’t.”

“Why didn’t he learn?” Bumi asked. For just a moment, he felt twinge of frustration him for his father.


“Oh, everything.” Katara said, smiling as she reminisced. Bumi didn’t get it. “He wanted to, and I wanted to teach him… But we’re busy people, and there were always other things we wanted to do when we were all together.”

“But why not just learn?” He asked. If he could do any of the things they could, he wouldn’t leave a single stone unturned. 

“I was going teaching him the year you were born, actually,” she said, her face going soft as she fastened the bandage. “Enough had slowed down, it made sense. But if you couldn’t guess it’s hard to do much with a newborn. And then our priorities shifted, and now we’re here.” Bumi pictured his parents, just older than him, carrying him across the world as they tried to figure out how to keep putting it back together. It made sense.

“Everything.” He echoed. His mother was looking at his father with a tired smile. Maybe it was because he was the oldest, or because she was never his teacher, but Bumi liked to think his mother got more honest with him than his siblings. Like the bow she tied so carefully around their childhoods could come undone when it was the two of them. She was never fake with them, but she was real with him. And their mutual lack of sleep never hurt.

“But he should keep learning.” She confirmed, looking at her husband. Bumi hummed an agreement. Katara turned, switching back into her doctoral role as she moved a finger close to his face. “Okay, now tell me where things start to go fuzzy.”

“There.” Bumi said, as the hand that was pulled away from his face started to go blurry. “Is that bad?”

“It’s normal for what’s happened.” Katara began fixing up the room, folding blankets as she found them and stacking pillows by the bed.

“How many days until you think I can move my own covers?” Bumi asked, realizing his session, and talk, with his sleep-deprived mother was over.

“It depends,” she thought, before we go to Caldera, for sure.” Bumi sighed.

“So two weeks?” He groaned. Those fourteen days were about to feel like a lifetime.

“Probably before, my love.” She reassured, yawning. He frowned.

“You know, you should rest too.” Bumi started delicately, gesturing as best he could to his father.

“I’m fine, Bumi.” Katara said, sternly. He knew that was a sore spot. He still had to say it. “I’ve done far more with far less,” she said, as though it was reassuring. He knew that. It wasn’t.

“Okay,” he said, unconvinced. Katara walked over to her son, bending down to place a kiss on his forehead like she would when he was a child.

“Just worry about you, my love.” She whispered, before adding,“and maybe your sister because she was definitely supposed to be back by now.” He laughed, just a little harder than he should for her, and she smiled, just a little bigger than she had been.

He would never be their bird, but he was Katara’s son. And right now that felt like more than enough.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Tenzin had been called many things in his life. People always felt the need to talk to him when they met his parents. Even before he had the words to respond, he could remember strangers bending down to clasp his small hands in their own, and getting so close to his face, take it upon themselves to tell him things he already knew. He was special. He was hope. He was needed. But more often than not, luck was brought up. How lucky is father must feel, they’d say, how lucky he was to be born with the gift.

Tenzin was lucky, they’d say. Lucky his siblings would mock, sneering behind their parents back. He understood it, as he grew. Kya’s luck was bound to the poles, and Bumi’s never existed. Not to them.

Tenzin never believed it. Nothing felt lucky about being alone. No, if anything, he was a paradox. Ironic. He could air bend, but his water bending sister was more spiritually connected. His father was the bridge between spirits and their world, but he could barely mediate. His ancestors traveled the world, but he’d be shocked if he ever moved off the island permanently ever again. He was of mediocre talent, but expected to revive an entire culture. No, it was irony that followed him.

“It’s… it’s the outfit your father wore to my coronation.”

Of all the choices he could have picked. Tenzin felt the heat raise in his cheeks. The fabric turned hot on his skin, like the leaves of a poisonous plant. He couldn’t breathe. Everyone was staring at him. He hated it when people started at him. It made him feel different. Like a reminder that he was alone. They stared on the island. They stared in the South. They stared at school. But they didn’t stare in his family. Here, everyone tried to understand. They did understand. Until now. Their looks of concern turned blurry with every shallow breath. It was like the air was getting sucked out of the room. Tenzin’s eyes darted across the room, and with a few unstable steps he made his escape. Someone said his name on the way out, but he’d ignored it. He had to get out.

The warm breeze and sunny skies of the courtyards Tenzin sprinted past so intensely contrasted the panicked suffocation of the dining room, it nearly gave him whiplash. There was no air in that room. But the sun outside was still too bright. His eyes burned. The breeze was loud. He still couldn’t settle. Not yet.

By the time he wound the final corner to his room, slamming the door behind him, Tenzin could have passed out. It was only after he locked the door, and placed both fidgeting hands on the cool wood of the door frame, that he could finally breathe.

Tenzin wasn’t sure how long he stood there. Forehead resting against the door, eyes shut. But it was as long as he needed to unwind his mind. As the initial panic subsided, the young air bender kept waiting for the shame to set in. For the embarrassment to wash over him as it often did when he tried to be more than he was. But this time, it never came. This time, all that trickled in was anger.

The shaken hands pressed up against the door formed into fists as he played through the events in his mind. Of all the boxes and chests and copious, frivolous mockeries of his father’s culture that he was too polite to throw away or change, he picked that one. How lucky.

In honest, his own thoughts surprised him. Tenzin didn’t like to be angry. Not the way he was right now. It never felt worth it. With a dejected sigh, he ripped off the robe, the garment stinging him with every touch, and threw it behind him. He’d never put it back on.

He’d been so lost in thought, he’d been oblivious to the figure watching from the bed, patiently.

“Teznin?” A careful voice rang out. The boy whipped around, pulse spiking as he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“AH!” Tenzin yelled. Standing behind him, a bit confused, was the eldest Beifong daughter. “Oh. Lin. Hi.” Tenzin gulped, awkwardly. He was now suddenly aware he was shirtless. 

“Hey…” She started, staring. Tenzin stood, trying to remember how much of his breakdown was internal and external. “Sorry I was looking for a wrap I let Kya borrow the last time we were here… I didn’t realize you’d be back…” Lin gestured to the cloth in her hand, still not taking her eyes off him. He could tell there was more she wanted to ask, but she wouldn’t, not yet. She always understood like that. “Do you want to spar? I was on my way to the practice courtyard.” Lin asked, after a silence that was far too long.

“That-that sounds nice.” Tenzin mustered. Things had changed so fast from terrible to so, painfully, awkward, that his mind didn’t have the capacity to catch up anymore. His uncles and aunt would be coming to find him soon, but they knew better than to do so before giving some space. Tenzin and Lin walked in silence to the yard, which he appreciated. Lin started first, as she always did, and Tenzin recognized the move immediately, as he’d been there when she learned. His counter was textbook, coming from the same period in their lives. Her lips quirked at the sentimentality. Lin always understood the little things. It was easy to ignore the rest with her.

“So…” Lin started, a few minutes into their second round.

“So.” Tenzin echoed, weaving. The conversation was unavoidable.

“You changed your look.” Lin said, amused. Tenzin raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. Yeah.” So much had been occupying his mind, Teznin had nearly forgotten about his hair.

“I like it,” she smiled, knocking him off his feet.

“Good.” Tenzin sighed, reaching for Lin’s extended arm from the ground. “This isn’t exactly a quick fix.”

“I can see that.” Lin laughed. They assumed starting positions. She took the first move. “And the robe was nice too. You know, before you threw it off.” Tenzin cringed.

“Yeah…” he said, avoiding eye contact. He wanted that moment to disappear forever from her memory. “I’m sorry about that.”

"It’s okay,” Lin said, sincerely. She dodged his offense. She always did.

“I’m not going to wear it,” Tenzin added, uncomfortably. “But thank you, also.” He was ready to put it away, gearing up to counter her next move, but Lin relaxed her stance.

“We can talk about it.” Lin put a careful hand on his shoulder. “If you want.” He blinked. This was new.

“It’s… it’s just… it’s a lot of responsibility, is all.” Tenzin went to run a nervous hand through his hair, and was met with the still-surprising smooth surface of his head.

“Yeah…” Lin undid the clips in her hair, letting the strands fall by her face. Tenzin looked away, not quite sure why. “But you knew that going in, right?”

“I’m not talking about the meeting, I mean yes, but…” He struggled to find the words, folding his arms over his chest. He took a breath. “That robe was the one my father wore to Zuko’s coronation.”

“Oh.” Lin’s eyes widened as she put the pieces together. “And you didn’t know that putting it on.”

“Yeah.” Tenzin sighed. He took a seat in the center of the sparring circle and leaned all the way back, letting his bald head feel the polished stones below him.

“Oh.” Lin said, taking a seat, cross legged, beside him. Tenzin stared up at the sky, taking in the stillness of the clouds above them.

“Since as long as I can remember,” Tenzin started. It was always easier to start with her. “I’ve been trying to live up to all of it. I have to, you know…And now for the first time I’m actually going to represent my people, and I’m already stressed about that and then I’m trying to look the part and I put on that fucking robe-” Tenzin shot up. The anger, that bone deep anger, was flaring. He hadn’t even realized he was this worked until he pinched the wrinkled bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Lin said. He was suddenly embarrassed. She was seeing too many sides of him today. “I’ve never heard you swear, I don’t think.”

“I don’t.” Tenzin said quickly. “Well… not really. But I think…” he looked into her eyes, taking in every glint of light, every freckle, it was like strength was glowing through her. “I think I’m different with you”

“Different bad or different good?” Lin asked, moving closer. Their knees were almost overlapped now.

“Better, I think.” Tenzin confirmed, definitely. There was no question.

“I think I’m better around you too,” Lin agreed, giving him a playful jab on the shoulder. “And I think you should still wear it.”

“Oh, no it’s too…” Tenzin gestured widely, “much for me.” Lin sighed, getting up from their pile and dusting the dirt from her pants.

"You said it yourself, your their legacy.” She stared at him head on, in the way she would when there was no changing her mind. When she was one hundred percent sure. “Say wear it.” 

“Really?” He asked, unsure. Tenzin followed her up, stretching out his hands and trying to shake off the tingling on his knee from where their legs bumped. That didn’t used to happen before.

“It’s your first conference,” Lin shrugged, “go big or go home.”

“I don’t know.” Tenzin scratched the back of his head, feeling for nonexistent hair as he tried to come up with an excuse. Lin raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Lin offered, “you beat me, you don’t have to.”

“Seriously?” Tenzin laughed. Lin’s eyes narrowed slyly.

“You’ve been slacking off, this whole time, airhead.” She assumed sparing stance. “Don’t make me go find Izumi. Or Su, even,” Lin teased. Tenzin clutched his heart in mock-pain.

"Ouch. Fine.” Tenzin bent into fighting stance, meeting her eyes. “You’re on.”

Lin was one of the best one-on-one fighters in their year. Tenzin had been sparring with her for as long as he could remember. Agreeing to the bet was saying yes. They both understood, but neither needed to say anything. They were good like that.

Notes:

okay i know this took YEARS but thank you so much for sticking around !!!!

i wanted to do two chapters about the cloud babies (and those around them) and their relationships to bending as told through different perspectives within this story so here it is !

a few things
- the aang and bumi scene in this is a metaphor/drawn on a version of the mixed experience and a parent not understanding all the implications of that, i hope it resonated with the mixed kiddos but its ok if it didnt, just my version haha

- i like to think that Katara has a different relationship with each of her kids, as parents do, and because of a bunch of things, including the fact that he's the oldest, and the fact that he never had the parent/teacher relationship with his mom, their able to have a more transparent relationship

- the water tribe is great amazing this is just my take on bumi's experience, especially since we've seen how sokka felt being a nonbender in his village. theyre descendants of genocide on both sides, so things are going to Come Up it is imperfect

- i started writing the tenzin bit as him mostly being sad/ashamed/upset, but then i realized with how he is metamorphosing rn it would spur more as anger i think idk i just think he should be let the "serious" benders have rawer emotions 2k21

- my loves you are fantastic i love you all

Chapter 14: leave all your love and your longing behind (the Bumi and Izumi Chapter)

Summary:

The Bumi and Izumi Chapter
eleven year, two points of view, watch them grow up together:)

also this is the longest chapter ever, i know, but it's them so i couldnt help myself

Notes:

so Okay. I was oh hiatus for literally four months, that was never the plan nor my intention, and believe me if i could've not been i would have but sometimes thats how the cookie crumbles. thank you for waiting and being so patient, i hope you can come back to this story and these characters, i adore them and i hope you still do too

also, there just will be typos today. im sorry. i wanted to get this out asap so . i apologize

i'll be more normal now, i promise, and i want to finish this story before next august, that's the goal, so if you can bare with me for a bit longer, i'm forever grateful

This chapter's vibes: Dog Days Are Over, Hearts and Bones, Romeo & Juliet by Peter McPoland!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Happiness hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with her drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink"

The South Pole, 11 Years Ago

He was eight. She was seven. He was her best friend.

Bumi loved going South. Each spring, when the winter blizzards finally subsided, but one could still get a taste the everlasting daylight, his family would make there way down. It was the sweet spot, as his uncle called it. They spent their days bundled in layers, cramming all the work and play they could in the space between snowflakes, and their nights wrapped in blankets, telling stories around the fire. Bumi always tried to sing the loudest, earning a proud slap on the back from his grandfather. Nobody ever told him to quiet down in the South.

Katara promised herself to take her children South at least once a year, no matter what. And because of that promise, the rest of her family started to come as well. Zuko, Mai, and Toph, despite having no prior connection, started spending weeks at a time huddled under the same quilts, singing the same songs, and teaching their kids the same sledding techniques alongside her own.

Bumi used to count the days until Izumi arrived, begging Sokka to take him up the watchtower to wait for her ship. Izumi was the greatest. Together they would play all day, making forts and chasing hens, and when the stars shone in the sky she’d stay up late with him, the perfect audience to the stories he’d been born with deep in his bones.

And this particular visit would be no different. Bumi waited at the pier, as he always did, bouncing with anticipation as watched their boat dock. As soon as she started to walk down, and he saw the bright, gap-toothed smile peeking behind the hood of her coat, he couldn’t hold out any longer. Bumi never waited for the ramp. Dropping his father’s hand, Bumi bolted up to the boat, meeting Izumi in the middle with a crushing hug. With all their layers and a lack of balance, the two nearly fell off, to her father’s dismay, but it didn’t matter.

The trip was perfect, by Bumi’s standards. Each second filled with exploring and singing and laughing and ridiculousness only bred in the South. They spent every moment together, from morning till night. Izumi was the greatest.

“Are you cold?” Izumi asked one particular day, during an afternoon snowball fight. Bumi lowered a gloved hand, packed with snow. He had been shivering under his coat, but was hoping no one had noticed. That was the only thing Bumi didn’t like about the South. His mother would bundle him as tightly as possible, but by the end of the day it was always the same. When he complained, his grandfather would shake his head, insisting his chattering teeth were reason enough to come more often and get used to it.

“No.” Bumi lied. If his mother caught wind of his shivers, she’d drag him back inside to get warm, and he  wanted to keep playing. Izumi saw right through him.

“Come here, dummy,” she beckoned. Bumi shook his head.

“I’m not cold!” Bumi crossed his arms to try to get them from shaking. Izumi sighed and pinched her nose, the way her mother would, before marching over to him with authority and taking off her mitten.

“Take my hand,” she instructed. Bumi took off his glove and watched as she took his near-numb hand in hers. At first he was confused, curious as to why taking off clothes would help at all, but Izumi was smart, and she seemed to have a plan. He watched as she shut her eyes, scrunching her eyebrows together like her father would, and all of the sudden he felt a woosh of warmth rush through his hand and into the rest of his body.

“Woah!” Bumi exclaimed. It was unlike anything he’d felt before. It was electric.

“Isn’t it cool?” Bumi nodded ferociously.  “My dad taught me last week, I just haven’t been able to test it out yet.” Izumi smiled big, in that way she would that made her grin and glasses take up her whole face.

“Super cool.” He echoed, mesmerized. After a moment, their parents called them inside for lunch, and Izumi dropped his hand. As Bumi followed behind her, still entranced by what had been done, he realized something had changed. He didn’t wanted her to let go.



Fire Nation Palace, 8 Years Ago

He was eleven. She was ten. She was his best friend.

Izumi never loved formal parties. She liked them, sure, but she never loved them. She liked dressing up, and the way her mother pinned her hair. She liked getting to hear her father’s formal voice. It was part of the reason she’d insist on attending in the first place, to catch glimpses of the regal ruler he so infrequently brought out in her company. She liked them like she liked her walk to school or getting a new pair of glasses. It was a part of life, now and forever, that she’d enjoy but never be enthralled by, like she would a new form or a good book. No, tonight, Izumi grew tired between the clinking of glasses, feeling lost among the sea of introductions and smiles and bows.

When the feast broke and the swaths of guests migrated to the courtyard for dancing and songs, and the stuffed shirts, as her auntie would say, under her breath, got up to sway to words they’d just learned and rhythm never taught, only recently found, Izumi found herself fidgeting in her seat, anchored to the table with the power of Agni himself. She watched as her father clumsily performed something her uncle had only taught him that morning, as her family laughed on. Izumi smiled, but didn’t join them. She was never much of a dancer, especially without a partner.

Just as she was about to go and find her mother, Izumi eyed partially-hidden tufts of unruly hair sticking out from behind a tree at the edge of the party. Idiot.

“Hey Boom.” Izumi said, nonchalantly as she poked around the trunk. Her friend leapt to his feet, jumping out of his skin as she giggled.

“AH! Zooms!” He gasped, “how’d you find me?” Izumi rolled her eyes, lovingly.

"You were pretty easy to find,” she grinned, reaching out to fix his collar. Bumi was wearing the traditional garb of his father’s people, as were his siblings and mother this evening, and rather miraculously he’d managed to keep the bright, warm tones stain-free the whole night. But unfortunately, not many people had really noticed his ensemble. “Whatcha up to?”

“It’s a secret.” Bumi whispered, turning away with that dopey sort of grin he’d put on when he was hiding something. Izumi crossed her arms. She could play too.

“Well it would be easier to keep that secret in a better hiding spot,” Izumi said, after a moment. She reached out and grabbed both of his hands, pulling his face close, like what she was about to say was as serious and confidential as the Earth Kingdom’s secrets. “I can take you somewhere better, if you want.” Bumi’s eyes went wide, and with a single nod, they were off.

Sneaking through the palace was an easy feat. With everyone’s focus on the party, Bumi and Izumi, the next generation, the firstborns, the children, could run freely, hand in hand, through the hallowed halls all the way to the portrait room, and the second painting from the right. Izumi took a breath, and placed a warm hand on the panel beside the painting of her father’s mother. With a few careful seconds, a part of the wall opened, revealing a short passageway to a small hidden chamber, adorned with pillows and torches.

“Woah!” Bumi gasped, takin it all in as he entered. “Zooms, how’d you find this?”

“I didn’t,” Izumi admitted, “my dad showed me once, but I don’t think anyone else knows. He says it’s a hideaway in case of an emergency, but I don’t think he’ll mind if we use it for other things too.” After lighting the final torch inside, Izumi carefully sat onto one of the cushions and watched her friend wander the small room in awe.

“Still super cool,” Bumi insisted, plopping onto the cushion next to her. "Wanna play a game?” He asked, eagerly. Izumi raised an eyebrow.

“A game?”

“Truth or dare.” He offered, scooting closer. They were facing each other now, legs extending onto each other’s cushions as they leaned back on their hands.

“Truth.” Izumi answered. Bumi rolled back in mock-disappointment.

“Boring-hey!” He whined as Izumi, using their position to her advantage, gave him a swift (but gentle) kick to the side in protest. “Fine, fine… who’s your favorite?”

“Lin.” Izumi said, with little hesitation.

“Lin?” He echoed, in surprise. Izumi shrugged, leaning back onto her elbows.

“She’s so little and cute.” she reasoned. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Izumi grinned, slyly.

“I dare you…” she started, sitting up to meet his eyes, “to tell me why you’re hiding.”

“That feels like cheating,” Bumi countered, wrinkling his nose.

“Dare’s a dare.” Izumi said, quoting her playmate from many, many, games played in years passed. Bumi hesitated, his light, laid-back display slowly falling away as he looked at the ground, avoiding her eyes.

“I just…” he started, bringing his knees close to his chest, “I got sick of all the looks, you know. I needed a break.” Izumi stared with compassionate understanding. The party her parents were throwing that night was in honor of Tenzin’s public introduction. The idea was far from new for Izumi, and Bumi, for that mater, as they both had been introduced, though with different customs. But Tenzin’s was different.

It was customary in Air Nomad culture to hold a ceremony for the newest generation of monks before the beginning of their formal education and the choosing of a mentor. As her uncle described it, it was the day the children who had been living and learning in the temples for the last two or three years became apart of the community. They waited, he explained, so that the children could fully celebrate and choose their path. Of course, many of the traditions could not be upheld with Tenzin, and in their place his parents decided to hold an abridged version before he started school. While the more personal, official ceremony was held on Air Temple Island, the global presentation  and celebration of the young air bender took place in the Fire Nation.

It didn’t take much to deduce that it would be hard for Bumi. The whole day had been about his brother and his bending. Izumi had watched as the family was dragged from official to official, paper to paper, accepting compliments and often slightly tone-deaf sighs of relief that at least one child carries the gift. Izumi knew that her uncle and auntie did as much as they could to make their two eldest children feel secure, but there were some feelings that would be unavoidable. She could never understand why other people wrote Bumi off. It was like they couldn’t see him the way she did, the way he really was. It made her angry, mostly, but it also made her sad.

Izumi sighed. Slowly, she moved off of her cushion and gently onto his. Without a word the princess wrapped both of her small arms around him, and waited until he, much faster, like it was out of sheer necessity, returned the hug.

As they clung to each other, in the dim light of their hideaway, Izumi whispered a short response that she hoped showed all the love and sincerity with which she meant it.

“You can always find me.”


Air Temple Island, 3 Years Ago

The Month They Were Both 15. He was different.

Seasons were an often debated topic in Bumi’s household. His mother clung to winter with a pull that felt spiritual. Kya followed in her footsteps, of course, insisting that nothing could beat those snow-filled afternoons. Tenzin said he liked autumn, like their father, but Bumi knew that wasn’t true. Aang got quiet in the fall. They had made it better, his uncle would whisper, reassuringly to Katara on nights when they thought he wasn’t listening. But he was still quiet. So Bumi’s favorite wasn’t autumn. Or winter. Or spring. He loved summer. It was the perfect time of year. The world became his oyster. Bumi could spend hours honing his crafts without the distractions and pressures the school year would bring, and still have time for the ridiculousness the season was practically begging him to create with his friends.

In years past, Bumi had spent most of the summer off of Air Temple island, taking trips to train on Kyoshi, in the South Pole, or in the Fire Nation, but this time he’d be spending most of it at home. He adored his time traveling, but he was almost more excited for what was to come. Izumi was spending the season with them.

Izumi was the greatest. Bumi found out about her stay on their last visit to the palace, just a few weeks before, for Izumi’s birthday (that was another wonderful thing about the summer, it carried the month of her birthday and his).

Bumi could hardly contain his excitement the day of her arrival.  He wanted to get home as soon as possible and begin the festivities, but it seemed like every power on earth was keeping him from doing that. His parents decided that even though it was a special day, he still had to train with Suki like normal, so he could practice discipline and structure and commitment and a bunch of other words his mother would call up the stairs to his room when he complained.

After training, they had to pick up the Beifong girls before walking to the ferry. For some reason, Su decided today was the day she would practice her big steps, which Bumi had promised to ooo and aah at each time, so it took twice as long. By the time they got to the docks, it was practically dinner.

Typically, it was Bumi’s job to set the table, but with a pleading look, Katara shook her head and motioned ahead. With a quick thank you, he sprinted upstairs to the guest room. It was only when he go to the front of the door that he realized he was just a little, little bit nervous. That was new. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, just a little quicker than normal. Huh.

“Knock knock.” Bumi said, getting over his new, odd fear of his best friend. Why did he say that? He heard a small gasp and some shuffling before the door burst open, revealing the smiling face of the Fire Nation princess.

“Bumi!” Izumi exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. It hadn’t been all that long since their last goodbye, but they were always big on reunions.

“Hey Zooms,” Bumi said, ruffling up her hair in the way he knew she hated. The straight black stands were always so perfectly brushed, each long piece in its place. It was impossible not to.

“You know you took forever,” she complained.

“Sorry, I just have a really interesting, eventful life,” Bumi joked, walking in. “Can’t be helped,”


“Oh of course,” Izumi mocked, sitting back onto the bed, “my sincerest apologies.” Bumi joined her, moving the books which had already taken residence in a pile at the foot of her bed, to the side as he leaned his back against her wall.


“Have you liked your Republic City welcome?” He asked. Izumi was already wearing a Team Tiger Sharks shirt, Sokka’s favorite pro bending team, which was without a doubt a welcome gift from his uncle. They could still hear the pandemonium that was their family downstairs. Five, now six kids, and an equally loud group of adults in one house always made for an interesting night.

“It’s perfect. This is gonna be really nice,” she beamed, at first. “Like a little escape from it all, you know,” Izumi added, vaguely. She was turned away from him slightly, twisting a bracelet she and Kya had made on their last trip South. Bumi raised an eyebrow. He knew what that meant.

“Is that why you decided to come for the whole summer?”

“My parents did.” Izumi answered, taking off her glasses to clean the lens. She always needed to keep her hands busy when she didn’t want to talk about something. “Not that I didn’t want to come, you know I’ve wanted to,” she insisted, quickly. Bumi knew.

“So why this summer?” He asked. For their entire lives, he’d always been the one coming to her. The one slightly more out of his element. Izumi had been to Republic City, but it was never the same. This was the first real time she’d experience it all. The first time she’d see all of him. Maybe that’s why it scared him.

“They realized I’ve lived my whole life as a princess,” Izumi said, almost, almost flippantly. Bumi’s eyes widened, but he waited. It was unlike her to ever, ever come close to complaining about her birthright. With a sigh, she turned to face her friend, joining him as she leaned her back against the wall. “They want me to get to be a normal kid, you know.”

“So they sent you here?” Bumi snorted. The thought of his home being any version of normal was hilarious.


“You know what I mean, dummy,” she scoffed, giving him a light shove with her shoulder. “But I think that really it was that my parents just freaked out cause I’m getting older.”

“Something happen?” Bumi asked, turning toward her. Izumi hesitated, her eyes narrowing from behind her glasses the way they would when she was deciding something.

“The Earth King’s advisor… he proposed that I get engaged to his nephew. Since I’m ‘of marrying age,’” she said, finally, with what her companion felt was a terribly misplaced nonchalance.


“What?” Bumi said, his voice going up several octaves. It was, possibly, the most shocking news he’d ever heard. Izumi seemed incredibly calm, but Bumi had suddenly stopped remembering how to breathe.

“Yeah,” she sighed, fiddling with the bracelet.

“What…” Bumi stammered. He couldn’t think. What is happening? “…what did you say?” Izumi could sense his stress, and giggled, in that wonderful way she would, at his response.

“Relax, I’m not getting married! Gross!” She gasped, breaking into a full blown cackle. Bumi felt all the heat in his body rising to his cheeks, but he’d also never been more relieved in his life. For some reason. When she finally calmed down, the princess began to explain.“But I think the idea just reminded them of how stuffy all of it can be… it’s my life and I love most of it but I just…” she paused, getting quiet in that way she would when they visited the throne room. Bumi knew the look well, it seemed permanently plastered on his brother’s face. “…I needed some air.”

“Makes sense,” he mused, honestly.

“But if I’m being honest…” Izumi started, leaning her head onto his shoulder as she grew quieter. “I don’t think I’d mind a political marriage. It makes sense.”

“You wouldn’t?” Bumi asked, leaning his head to rest onto hers. 

“Both our parents…” Izumi started, “they found someone they really connected with on like a…” she motioned her hands ambiguously in front of them, “soul level… I don’t think I can find that.”

“Of course you will.” Bumi said without hesitation. The fear was insane. She was one of the most perfect people he’d ever met. “You’re only fifteen you have you much time. And…and  you’re amazing.”

“Oh shut up.” Izumi said, dismissing the compliment as she sat back up. Bumi tried to ignore now much he hated that her hair wasn’t tickling his chin anymore. “I just… sometimes I think no one really sees me as… me, you know. They just see the crown.”

“I don’t.” Bumi said. The words slipped out before he could stop himself. Izumi looked at him and gave that vague sort of smile with her wrinkled nose, an expression that was new, and one he could never quite place.

“You’re different.” She said, honestly. Bumi stared. He wanted, so intensely, to know what that meant. But before he could ask, there was a knock on the door followed by the rude intrusion by a fairly disgruntled Kya calling them to dinner. And so Izumi chuckled and Kya huffed and Bumi followed them down the stairs, completely distracted by the thought of being different, and how that’s all he wanted to be to his best friend.

For some reason.


The Fire Nation Palace, Three Years Ago

He was 16. She was 15. She was beautiful.

The next time Izumi saw her friend after they parted ways at the end of the summer, the endless sunny days had slipped gracefully in and out of autumn and into the long nights of winter. It was a busy three months for the royal family, with new laws and a new school, all leading up to the newest part of their lives: the official addition of a new family member, Tom Tom’s husband. The wedding planning had started practically the moment he’d proposed, with planners and decorators and designers flooding the palace all fall. The advisors had been up in arms at the thought of a winter ceremony in the royal palace, but Izumi’s mother had put a very threatening stop to their grumbling, she wasn’t going to let anyone ruin her baby brother’s wedding.

Despite most of her Republic City family coming early, Izumi didn’t see much of her friend all week. It seemed that as soon as they touched down, Bumi, along with Katara, Sokka, and his grandfather had been whisked away by  Tom Tom for some sort of “special surprise” for his betrothed. Koa was from the Southern Water Tribe, and apparently her uncle had roped in anyone over twelve who could lend a hand. Everyone was so busy, it felt like the first time she and Bumi really got to interact, was the quick wink and face he shot her as she descended with procession. It made her smile and laugh and roll her eyes, like he always would. Idiot.

The wedding was magical. It was everything. Tom Tom spoke every word he said in the langue of Koa’s people, and had Water Tribe blues sewn into his robes. It was a surprise, of course, for not only Koa everyone in attendance. It was a bold statement for the Fire Lord’s brother-in-law to make, but as soon as the guests saw the look on Koa’s face, they understood. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

And then everyone was dancing. Izumi felt like they were always dancing now. It was an eclectic group, with the usual stuffed shirts trying their hardest to get the footing, Koa’s family from the South, wary, but laughing along with them, and, the youngest of the bunch, the grooms’ friends from Republic City, stealing the show. They were different somehow. The people of Republic City had puzzled Izumi all summer. Like their rough edges were lighter, still, than those in the Fire Nation. They laughed louder and clapped harder and had new stories and accents and traditions, and when they danced, it was freer than Izumi felt she ever could be. These people, some less than ten years her senior, seemed more carefree than any of her peers. It was like that had something, some spark, some zeal that she could never quite catch, no matter how hard she tried. So Izumi took her place by the drinks. She could spot her uncle immediately, his hand firmly placed on his husband's back as they made their rounds. After her second cup, she’d placed father and mother, swaying close to the center, and found most of her family, dancing sporadically across the floor, all but one. Izumi had half a mind to assume her supposed partner in crime had long disappeared from the festivities, taking advantage of his parent’s distractedness, until she heard the laugh of a scruffy haired boy who’d just walked out of the crowd.

“So is the juice really that good,” he started, pointedly, “or do I need to cut my brother off cause you’ve spiked the punch?” He took the spot next to her on the wall, elbowing her as he smiled at his own joke.


“What?” Izumi’s eyes widened. “No, don’t say stuff like that.”

“It would make sense,” Bumi gestured with his glass, “look at him go.” In the center of the dance floor, Tenzin was moving intensely to the music, seemingly unaware that he was extremely off beat. Izumi sighed, he was trying.

“Oh be nice,” she pestered. Izumi stared at the cup in her hand, the third she grabbed since the dancing had started. She didn’t like being this nervous. It was stupid, she literally played with fire on a daily basis. But the wall she clung to felt like a cliff, and the dance floor a steep drop. “I’m just… thirsty.”

“Yeah…” Bumi drawled, unconvinced. They stood for a moment, as he studied her face. Izumi could tell, even with her eyes fixed on the commotion in front of them, that he was making that face he would, that worried sort of frown he wore when she was lying. “Hey… not that I don’t love reminding friends of my grandpa that I’m not the air bender, but I was thinking of taking a beat outside, wanna come?” Izumi nodded and let him guide her across the party, ducking past officials and their family to the empty balcony. Izumi leaned against the railing, taking in the glittering city below.

“Wow.” Izumi said, at last, catching her breath in the fresh air. She touched her cheek, absentmindedly, and could feel the burning heat beginning to subside. “It’s a lot in there… I mean, it’s lovely, but just… a lot.”

“Oh definitely.” Bumi agreed. He leaned up against the railing to face her. “I forgot to say it before but you look…”

“Ridiculous?” Izumi finished, laughing lightly as she smoothed the folds of her robes. “I feel like I’m playing dress up.” The ensemble was beautiful, naturally, with gold threading so fine and detailed, it looked as if the patterns danced across her robes as she moved. It was one of the most professional, most ‘grown up’ outfits she’d ever worn. Before now, her clothes, even those for events, were those of a child. It was a turning point she wasn’t entirely sure she’d earned.

“No, not at all.” Bumi started, confidently. He was looking straight at her, her amber eyes flickered under his gaze. “I was going to say… beautiful.”

“Oh… thanks.” Izumi uttered. She turned to face the view, rather quickly. The princess was surprised by the compliment. They didn’t do that. Not like that. And it scared her, a little, that she didn’t hate it. “You look pretty good too,” she added, glancing back.

“I try,” Bumi accepted, running a hand through his hair. Izumi rolled her eyes. Typical. She moved to slap his shoulder, but landed squarely at his elbow.

“Hey!” Izumi shouted, grabbing his forearm, which was far higher than hers now. “Did you grow?” It had been such a whirlwind of a week, Izumi had yet to take in the changes in her friend. Bumi was dressed in a traditional Water Tribe outfit, adorned with orange and yellow accents in its pattern. It was not only gorgeous, but highlighted the slight, slight newfound broadness of his shoulders. Had he been that much bigger that summer? That much taller?

“Nah,” Bumi said, patting the top of her head in a patronizing manor, “you shrunk.” Izumi slapped his hand away and wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, of course,” Izumi sighed, sarcastically, “my mistake.”

“You know,” Bumi stared, hoisting himself up onto the railing. Izumi decided to stay with both feet on the ground, but moved closer, so her leaning hands just brushed his legs on the rail. “I’ve been to a lot of weddings, but Tom Tom and Koa seem…” he paused, shaking his head, “I don’t know just, really happy.”

“They do don’t they,” Izumi agreed, smiling. At times, Tom Tom felt more like an older brother than an uncle. With just eleven years between them, Tom Tom would often say that as she grew up, he grew into himself. It had been, the princess felt, a privilege to witness and be apart of.  And now he was getting married to someone he loved so completely. She couldn’t be prouder. “It was so nice of you to help him out all week. It must’ve been a lot.”

“Oh it was no problem,” Bumi assured, gazing up at the night sky, “I love Tom Tom and I know the language and traditions and stuff so…” He trailed off, either distracted by the view, or embarrassed by her praise. Izumi studied her friend, contemplating a topic that had consumed her since her uncle’s engagement announcement. 

“Do you ever think about it?” She asked, finally.

“Think about what?” Bumi asked, leaning back far further than he should.

“I don’t know…” Izumi fiddled with her sleeve,“this, the future, all of it.” She gestured back to the doors behind them and the muffled music leaking through. Bumi sat back up at her declaration, his eye brows furrowed. She always liked how seriously he’d take her musings, no matter how big or small. 

“I mean… I guess.” He said at last. His voice had grown worn. “Tenzin’s the only airbender… but my kids could be so it’s…. y’know important that I-”

“And you say I’m weird for thinking politically?” Izumi mock-gasped, accusingly. Bumi put his hands up, in protest.

“Okay that’s totally different.” He defended.“You’re scared, which is stupid because you’re amazing and anyone that can’t see that is ridiculous,” Bumi said, unbearably nonchalantly. Izumi felt the railing grow warm, just slightly, under her grasp. It was a nice thing for him to say. A very nice, very normal thing. He was comforting her. And yet. Amazing. He said it in a way very few had ever had ever talked about her. So freely and so fully, like he was quoting an undeniable fact. Like something so obvious, it barely required mentioning. And he had brushed passed it as such. “I’m thinking about the very real issue of there being two air benders in the entire world, and while I wasn’t blessed with the gift, I may harbor the very genes that will be passed on to the Avatar in 400 years.” Upon his declaration, Izumi watched her friend, in classic Bumi fashion, begin to stand on the railing. After two careful steps, he seemed satisfied enough to extend his hand to help her up. And in classic Izumi fashion, brushing past the amazing, she refused.

“So you’re thinking long term then, marriage-wise.” Izumi offered instead, looking on as Bumi teetered between the safety of the deck and sudden demise below. “Assuming you last that long,” she added, pointedly.

“I’m careful,” he argued, biting his tongue between his lips in concentration as he wobbled along.“And yeah, just doing my part.” Just before Izumi could respond, they heard a loud rapping on the window from inside. Still in the party, an annoyed Katara motioned violently for her son to get off the rail, leading to a dejected sigh and muttering from Bumi in a language Izumi didn’t understand as he jumped back to safety. The princess shot her auntie an apologetic look, to which Katara gave her a malice-free smile before heading back to the festivities. “She likes you way better, you know.”

“I think she likes that I don’t fall of roofs. You should try it,” Izumi countered, smirking. Bumi rolled his eyes “So… your plan is to settle down and have tons of children and hope a few of them being air benders?” She asked, finally. Bumi had settled much closer to Izumi than he had been before, their shoulders touching now as they looked out over the city. She didn’t mind.

“Yep,” Bumi sighed.

“And is this before, or after, your illustrious military career?” She asked, nudging his elbow. Izumi knew, or at least wanted, her friend had to be half joking about ‘have children for the culture’ aspect of his future, but the United Forces had been apart of it since they were kids.

“After. Way after.” He said, after a moment, looking straight ahead. “I need to make a name for myself first… Then I can be stay-at-home dad to my kids and tell them the fantastical stories of my travels,” he added, shamelessly.

“Naturally,” Izumi agreed, sarcastically.

“You know…” Bumi said, his face breaking into a chaotic grin, “politically… I might be the very husband you need.” Izumi raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” She asked, slyly. Over the summer, this started to become their wheelhouse. This was what they did.

“What?” Bumi leaned back and clutched his chest, as though she had wounded him, “you wouldn’t have me?”

“Well I never said that,” she responded, coyly. “My great-great-grandfather was the Avatar, so your weird air bender plan might just work.” Izumi added, sliding back over to his side.

“The first air bending Fire Lord.” Bumi said, almost triumphant, as he realized the implications.

“The press would have a field day,” Izumi mused. She turned to face her friend, so close now she could press her forehead to his cheek if she wanted. He was wearing the same, almost wicked grin as she was, but behind his eyes there was something more, something she couldn’t quite place.

“We can’t let Tenzin be the most famous sibling now can we,” Bumi smirked. She was so close, she could take in all the details of his face. Every curve as he smiled, every nick, every sun-kissed freckle. Izumi knew his face just as well as she knew her own, and yet tonight felt like the first time she’d ever seen it.

“I suppose not,” she uttered finally, finding her voice. It’s been a long night, she said, over and over in her head. She was discombobulated from the whole affair. Tired. That was all. Bumi, on the other hand, seemed as normal as ever, chipper almost, despite the hour.

“Indeed, indeed,” Bumi nodded, laughing at their joke. As he snickered to himself, moving from her side to run a hand through his hair, Izumi took a breath. Ignoring her disappointment when their arms parted, she instead decided to focus on her friend, and what he had said.

“You know…” she started, taking a more serious tone. Bumi looked concerned at the sudden shift.“you don’t….” The princess paused. All their lives, it felt as if she and Bumi could talk about anything, but despite what he might say, this was sensitive topic, even with her. “You don’t need to have air bending kids to contribute to your culture or anything, if that’s what you might be thinking. Just since you said-”

“I know Zooms.” Bumi said, quickly. His playful demeanor faltered, ever so slightly. “I know, really.” He whispered again, as if to himself, looking at the ground. Izumi frowned. When his cool eyes met hers once more, the doubt that aged and fractured her friend was gone, and they were instead bright with foolishness. “‘The beauty of the silver wisteria comes from every one of its flowers, not the vine,’” Bumi said, giving his best impression. Izumi scoffed, shoving him slightly.

“You can’t Uncle-quote your way out of this conversation.” She said, plainly. Izumi knew him. This was how he was. It was how were. 

“I feel like I just have,” he countered, guiltlessly. Izumi was about to respond, eye roll at the ready, when she was stopped by Bumi, shh-ing dramatically as he waved a hand in the air. “ Wait! They’re playing your favorite song. This is your favorite song, right?” Izumi listened for a moment, only needing to hear a few beats before confirming.

“Yeah?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Well what are we still doing out here then?” Bumi gasped, taking her hand. “C’mon!” Izumi’s eyes widened, her face turning a bright red as he started to lead her back inside.

“Bumi!” She yelled, over the music, as they entered the hall. This all felt like a long ploy to get out of their conversation. That, and he knew her thoughts on dancing. Izumi could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as they stopped, just before the dance floor.

“We don’t have to,” Bumi whispered, as they watched their friends and family spin, carelessly, across the hall. “But I think you’ll have fun. I promise.” He squeezed her hand in his at his last remark. Izumi looked between the guests and her friend’s reassuring grin. Izumi nodded. For whatever reason, in that moment, she didn’t necessarily believe him, but she trusted him enough to try.  Izumi nodded. Following his lead, they made their way onto the dance floor, and began moving to the beat of what she believed was the most perfect combination of sounds and silences ever created. As they found their rhythm, Bumi ducked his head and whispered again in her ear, “see? It’s just a little dancing. You and me.” Izumi laughed in response, shoving him playfully as they started to take up more and more space on the floor.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Izumi shouted, smiling. Bumi shrugged in response. He knew it was true. But sometimes Izumi wanted that lightness, that spontaneity he carried so effortlessly.  And she knew he needed her too, sometimes. Because it was how she was. It was how they were.


The Fire Nation Palace, 2 1/2 Years Ago

He was 17. She was 16. He was thinking.

Bumi was told, by many a teacher, many a coach, many a sibling, many a auntie and uncle, that he created trouble. However, never quite saw it that way. Bumi liked to think he lived life they way his pai sho tiles had been laid, and trouble was, on a rare occasion, merely attracted to his moves. That being said, the events that led to his arrival outside Izumi’s window on a rather warm Fire Nation night after having started the evening on the streets of Republic City, could, in a particular light, be described as self-created trouble. But in his painfully thin defense to his mother the next morning, there was very little of it he would ever remember.

For another, it would be near-impossible, a miracle of sorts, to break into the Fire Nation Palace without alerting anyone. But Bumi, attractor of trouble and lead of no ordinary life, not only knew of the secret escape tunnel in and out, but could find it with his eyes closed. In his short seventeen years, the boy had spent his fair share of evenings weaving through them, both serving its in-case-of-emergency purpose, and using it alternatively. He’d found, during his summer training with Mai, that the teenagers of the Fire Nation had a reputation for ending their parties only after Agni began to rise, and that a direct way back into the palace was incredibly necessary.

That being said, it was, still a sort of miracle that Bumi made it all the way to the princesses window without getting caught. Or, reprimanded, that is. “Caught" was rather large exaggeration for the situation, as was “break in,” but those were the words that Bumi would use to describe the event for the rest of his life. The next morning, Bumi could hazily recall a jumbled conversation with a guard and a few friendly waves from the staff. Anyone who saw him had assumed he was supposed to be there, as the diplomat-in-training made frequent trips to the palace. Nonetheless, at the time, Bumi felt victorious.

After what felt like a million years, the disoriented teenager finally arrived at his destination. He could see a light on in the princess’s window, and as not to be disrespectful, Bumi gave a polite, quiet rap on the glass. Apparently, he’d come to learn, the knock was not only incredibly loud, but very, very alarming. With a flash, the window was open and Izumi’s fist was inches from his face.

“Don’t!” Bumi screamed, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s just me!” Izumi froze.

“Bumi?” She said, bewildered, lowering her fist in surprise. “How the hell did you get here!” The two were standing in the dark now, a warm breeze rushing between them. Izumi’s arms were crossed over her ruby red robe. Bumi realized now, as he took in the scene, that shirt was the same color. He smiled, it was her favorite. He wanted to share his findings, but found that the princess was still waiting on an answer.  

“Well I…. huh.” Bumi started. The events were a bit fuzzy. A lot had happened in the past few hours. “A ferret’s in there somewhere…” he continued, leaving out the fact that he now owed said ferret thirty silver pieces, “and a violin? Hm.” Izumi seemed unconvinced by his response, frowning in that way she would that wrinkled her nose and bumped her glasses.

“Okay get inside,” she sighed at last, pinching the bridge of her nose as she pushed him towards the window, “my parents will freak out if they catch you.”


“Fine, fine.” Bumi obliged, gracefully hoisting himself onto the sill and promptly falling through. Once they were safely in her bedroom, Izumi shut the window and closed all the curtains, muttering to herself about ridiculousness and something else Bumi couldn’t quite catch.

“What are you doing here?” Izumi demanded, whisper yelling. “What are you doing in the Fire Nation at all?” Bumi thought for a moment.

“I missed you,” he said. The words slipped out before he could catch himself. It was the truth, of course, but never something he’d say. Not like that. They didn’t do that. But the night had been winding down, and his friends were going home, and thought of her. He was always, sort of, thinking about her. Izumi didn’t say anything. She only stared, making that face he could never quite place. “I found myself in the neighborhood, so thought I’d pop by,” Bumi smiled, starting to fiddle with the buttons of his overcoat. Izumi’s room was, like all of the Fire Nation, just slightly too hot. The princess narrowed her eyes.

“You’re drunk,” she stated, unamused as she watched him struggle with the sleeves.

“Psh,” Bumi shrugged, which was difficult, being trapped in his jacket. Izumi raised an eyebrow. “Okay maybe… But don’t give me all that, I was out with some friends and the night got a little…”

“Bumi-y,” she finished, grabbing his arm gently to help. Bumi stilled, and let her remove the coat, arm by arm as opposed to all at once, which had been his angle.

“I prefer the term… memory-collecty,” Bumi countered, after successfully being freed.

“Not a word.” Izumi sighed, folding the jacket neatly and setting it on her bureau. Everything about Izumi’s room was neat, because everything about Izumi was neat. The paper on her desk was always kept in stock, the mirror above it was polished and the bookshelf beside it organized. Even the table beside her bed looked as though it had never been touched, the only sign of life being the steaming cup of tea. 

“Oh because we all learned Bumi-y in school,” he argued, plopping sideways onto her bed. To his surprise, he was not met with the luxurious, plush feeling of the palace blankets, but instead the stiff, sharp pain of a book digging into his back. “What is this?” Bumi said, dislodging it from his spinal chord. 

“It’s a book on the history of the social organization of the very first villages,” Izumi said matter-o-factly. Bumi scooted further down as Izumi joined him on the bed. The princess took the more traditional position of leaning against the headboard as opposed to paralleling it.

“Cool.” Bumi commented, rolling onto his stomach. “Why… why is it on your bed?”

“I’m reading it, dummy,” Izumi chuckled. Bumi raised his eyebrows.

“For fun?” He uttered, doing nothing to hide his sneer. Izumi scoffed and attempted to kick him, which would have been easy from her position, if Bumi wasn’t in possession of possibly the thickest book (now block) he’d ever seen.

“It’s interesting!” Izumi protested.

“I’m sure,” Bumi nodded, laughing. She was one of the smartest, most talented people he knew, and with that, an incredibly big nerd.

“It is! I’ll prove it.” Izumi snatched the book out of his hands, which wasn’t hard, and started flipping through the pages. Once the princess found where she’d left off, she began reading aloud. Bumi tried to focus, and take in the information on ‘one of the greatest and most important  journals discovered this century,’ but he kept getting distracted by the reader. Izumi had placed the book right above his head, and was hunched right over it, looking right down at him. He remembered the years before she got her glasses, when she’d practically smash her face into the page, determined to see each word, even if her eyes refused. The day she received her first pair, she didn’t want to walk around, take in all the things that had once been blurry, no, she bolted straight to her room and consumed an entire book, cover to cover. Bumi had been there. He sat in the room beside her for some time, just to listen.

He didn’t think they were much different now. Izumi still squinted, just a little, when she read, still scrunched up her face when she disagreed with the author, and her eyes still flickered when she learned something new. Bumi was never a person who loved reading, or staying still in general, but he’d listen to her read for hours, just to watch her light up like that.

But something was off tonight. Something that, for a while, he couldn’t quite place.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” Bumi asked, realizing it, suddenly. Izumi stopped reading.

“What?” She blinked, almost flustered at the question. Bumi pursed his lips, trying to find the words. It was a sensitive subject, Izumi and sleep. Even in a disoriented  state, Bumi knew better than be forthright.

“You just…” Bumi whispered finally, trailing off as reached up to delicately place a finger just under her eye, where a pool of darker hues had formed. The two stayed, his arm stretched up, cradling her face, for just a moment. It wasn’t long, just enough time for Bumi to realize that things felt different.  But not enough to notice the look on her face, and the unequivocal notion that it was different for her too.

“I’m fine.” Izumi said, after a moment. Her hand warmed his as she gently took it away. “I’ve just had a lot going on lately.”

“I’m all ears.” Bumi offered. He noticed, then, that she hadn’t dropped her hand, and he hadn’t let go.

“It’s just school stress, y’know,” Izumi sighed. He rubbed small, clumsy circles into her palm.
  
“I’m sorry Zooms.” Bumi murmured. Izumi been at the top of her class since she started school, always determined to excel. He was so proud of her, they all were, and she was proud of herself. And more than that, Izumi was happy. Most of the time. Anyone who knew the princess well, most of all her best friend, would attest that if the air was warm and the stars shone and only Yue could bare witness, then and only then would the princess whisper, in an apologetic voice, the fears and frustrations that perpetually consumed her. It was as if, for a moment, a veil had lifted, and the pressure of a fragile nation would come into view, stacked neatly on the crown of its successor.

“It’s okay.” Izumi insisted, squeezing his hand. The book had been cast aside, long forgotten. Bumi watched as the princess moved even closer, her knees, folded, carelessly grazing the top of his head.

“Oh. Good.” Bumi uttered. Her eyes were practically glowing, fluttering right above his.

“and…” she drawled. Bumi quirked an eyebrow. 

“and?”

“And you’re here.”

“I am.” Bumi confirmed, almost whispering.

“And…” Izumi paused. For a moment, it seemed like she wanted to say something more. Something real. He could see it in her eyes. Feel the heat rise in her palm. He watched as chewed on the inside of her lip in her hesitation. “And… things are already looking up.” Bumi frowned. The princess sat back up, and with a stretch had moved back to her spot by the headboard.

“Zooms?” Bumi murmured, after a moment. He’d rolled over onto his stomach (painful), gazing at her with a wary look. About half of the time, Bumi was sure about how he felt about his best friend.


“Yeah?” She asked, expectantly.

“I…” He loved her. That much was true. He loved her with every fiber of his being. The kind of love, however, that was a harder puzzle. But all of the time, the teen knew that they didn’t need to feel the same way. He loved her. He knew her. It was enough. “I just…” And then. And then. She would get this look. This confused sort of smile. The kind that felt like it was looking beyond his eyes into the very depths of his soul. Like she was telling him something he couldn’t quite understand. And for a moment. A single, solitary second. He felt as though they felt the same way. Like in that moment, he knew. But as quickly as the confidence came, it left. Bumi sighed, and put on that same dopey grin,“I was curious… what happened after that  writing guy took over.” He didn’t need to ruin it tonight.

“Oh.” Izumi said, shocked. If Bumi wasn’t as disoriented, and had been looking up at just the right moment, he’d catch the twinge of disappointment in the princess’s face. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. Not tonight. “I… I’ll  can tell you.”

“He sounds like a huge dork,” Bumi said, about a quarter into the chapter. He was listening this time. Izumi rolled her eyes.

“You can’t call the founder of modern script a dork.” She said, glaring.

“I totally can,” Bumi jeered. “Why would you even invent your own type of writing? The first one seemed fine.”

“It didn’t-” Izumi started, her face reddening as she flustered. Bumi’s foolish grin broke into laughter. She was almost too easy. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

“I know.” Bumi said, smiling, “but you love me.”

“Yeah.” Izumi sighed, “I do.”


Air Temple Island, 2 Years Ago

The Summer They Were Both 17. She believed.

Izumi’s mother didn’t believe in prayer. She didn’t see it’s validity, not like her father. When her father woke with the sun, he called it a greeting . Her father believed in higher spirits, but not in the same way as the Sages. He didn’t believe that his misgivings were Agni’s punishments, nor were his success’s Agni’s will. He believed in prayer the same way he believed in having a quite cup of tea with Uncle, or writing to his sister on her birthday. It was healing. Or so Suki would say.

Her mother didn’t believe in prayer. She didn’t particularly like the idea of spirits, either. Or Agni at all. For her, it was all too interlaced in her past. Woven into her childhood for force and control, and little else. For Izumi’s mother, healing was waking up just before breakfast and reading in the sun and laughing just a little too loud when her husband made a terrible joke. It was not minding if her brother’s room was dirty and asking her daughter what she wanted to do with her hair.

So when Izumi pondered, as she often would, the worries and unknowns the future could hold, her mother’s advice would often be along the lines of what follows, “I can’t promise you control in life, but I can help you learn to create your own certainty.”

Mai believed in paving you own way and forming your own thoughts and holding on to what you knew was certain. For Izumi’s mother, it was a short list. She loved her family, and her family loved her. 

For her daughter, some certainties felt more complicated. More specifically, the certainty of feelings for her best friend. Since Bumi’s surprise trip last winter, the way she felt was getting harder and harder to ignore.

When Izumi was asked if she would be spending part of her summer in Republic City once again, she would be lying if he wasn’t her first thought. Her parents, unaware of complex relationship between their daughter and the son of two of their closest friends, thought it was time for Izumi to learn and adapt bending techniques from different forms. Her family in Republic City, equally unaware, was more than happy to add another babysitter to their rotation- that and they loved her, of course.

At first, Izumi was worried about spending that much time with her best friend. Although she wasn’t exactly sure for what. There was a version of her, the realist, the steadfast, who said it didn’t matter. That she was in her head. That when she walked through his front door that it would be as it always was. He didn’t feel the same way. This voice was the daughter of war veterans, the successor to a nation only recently put back together. But another part of her, a small part, the daughter of an occasional thespian and a secret painter, knew that something had changed. That all of her overthinking and second guessing and acceptances over the years were pulled right back up by the surprisingly careful hands of her inebriated friend. That in the in-between, the breaths of the breeze on that reckless, ridiculous night, that pieces of their puzzle clicked. And although nothing happened, nothing really, she was tentatively excited to go that summer, because although she wasn’t sure how it would end, something had changed.

Between training and babysitting, Izumi and Bumi spent nearly every waking second together. The first few days felt… awkward, to say the least, which was a confusing feeling to have with someone who, in summers past, she could spend entire afternoons in comfortable silence. But as the days went on, and the   banter started, they fell smoothly into a new routine. It was familiar, but not quite what it was before. Because something had changed.

About halfway through her stay, Bumi decided they deserved what he called (much to Sokka’s amusement) a “baby-splitter’s day.” On a baby-splitter’s day, he explained, they would not take care of any children, clean any messes, or train at all. When Izumi inquired on what else might happen on this obviously well known and thought out holiday, Bumi simply gave her that foolish sort of smile, and asked the royal highness to have a bit of patience.

“Are we there yet,” Izumi called up the path. Bumi’s plan for their baby-splitter’s day was a picnic with a view, far more tame than she’d been picturing. What he’d failed to mention, was that the view was at the top of a very tall hill just outside of the city. Bumi clicked his tongue.

“Pushy pushy,” he scolded. “Aren’t you enjoying the fresh air, the nature,” Bumi gestured to the trees around them with his mother’s basket, which rested between his arms.

“Remind me why we came all the way over here if you have an entire island of that?” Izumi countered. While she enjoyed the outdoors, she had the demeanor of an indoor cat when compared to the children of the formally nomadic Avatar.

“That island,” Bumi said, spinning back to face her with a smirk. “Is full of nosey children and nosier actolytes,” he paused before starting back to add, “and my mother.” Izumi gawked.
     
“So whatever you’ve planned would be too scandalous for Auntie?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 
“Well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” Bumi teased. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Agni have mercy.” She sighed, dramatically. Bumi laughed. That boy.

“Okay!” Bumi said, bursting with excitement as they wound the final turn. "We’re here!” At first, Izumi was worried Bumi was about to loose their dinner to the mountains with all of his animation, but as she met him at the cliffside, she understood.

“Wow.” Izumi said, taking it in. From where they stood, they could see nearly every inch of Republic City. Movement oozed from the streets below, creating energy on an otherwise serene canvas. The city blurred with the sea and the mountains, the only thing separating one form of peaceful strength from another.  “This is an amazing view.”

“Yeah,” Bumi said. When Izumi turned, he was already gazing at her, with that same sort of grin. “Worth it, right?” He asked, the confidence in his voice from mere minutes ago had evaporated, leaving the earnest vulnerability that Bumi often wore just under his sleeve. 

“It really is,” Izumi smiled, taking his free hand to squeeze in confirmation. She almost flinched at the coolness of the palm that touched her own. “Are you cold?” The princess  asked, with a tinge of concern. The hike had originally been planned for a late lunch, but in the classic fashion of their family, they ended up leaving closer to dinner. Bumi was dressed in a light sleeveless tunic, suited for a seaside Republic City afternoon, but not a mountain evening with the setting sun. Bumi set the basket down, and allowed Izumi to take back both of his hands.

“My parents don’t take me South nearly enough,” he muttered. She noticed he blushed, ever so slightly, as they let go. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Izumi smiled. The two sat down on their picnic blanket and began digging into the vast assortment of things Bumi had packed. Their menu spanned the entire world, from grilled Komodo chicken from her home, to the jerky of his mother’s, and a new cherry-berry drink from his. The two talked until long after the sun set, and only when their cups were long empty and only the crumbs of Aang’s fruit pies remained, did they decide it was time to pack up and start the walk back home. As Bumi repositioned the basket on his hip, Izumi took one last look at the view, past the glittering town and into the darkness of the sea.

“You know…” she started, gazing out at the ships below, only seen by the twinkling light of their lanterns, “we should go South soon. Before you start basic training.” She heard Bumi chuckle nervously behind her.

“If I get in.” He corrected. Izumi shook her head and faced him. Even in the dim light of the moon, she could make out the worry on his face. Bumi had been training for his entrance exams for months, now all he had to do was wait until his 18th birthday next month. Although she wasn’t sure which thing he was more nervous to do, officially apply, or tell his parents he was doing so.

“You’ll get in.” Izumi said again. She started first down the path, leading the way with a small flame.

“You’re just saying that.” Bumi muttered behind her. Izumi rolled her eyes.

“Only because it’s true-” she said back, grinning as she charged along.

“Zooms.” Bumi called. Izumi stopped.

“What?” She asked, turning to face him. Her friend had grown serious since they left the top of hill, and in the flickering light of her flame, she watched his eyes dart around, as if he was trying to find the words in the trees around them.

“I just…” Bumi started, running a hand through his hair, “I wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?” Izumi asked. She stepped closer, so only the light was between them.

“For believing in me.” He said. Izumi’s eyes widened. He had that sickly sweet sort of smile on his face, like he was trying to give you all the love in the world.  “I wish…” Bumi sighed, hesitating. His grin turned to nerves under her gaze, and for a moment it seemed he’d never finish his thought. But she waited. And he continued, at a near whisper, “I wish… I could make you feel the same way you make me feel.”

Izumi’s mother didn’t believe in prayer, but instead she liked to say that she believed in moments. The pockets of time, the single split seconds where the choices you made and the actions you took were ones you’d never regret. She’d bottle these moments, and hold them close to her heart, like monuments to the new life she’d crafted from the ashes of her disgraced nation. And she raised her daughter with the same affinity for paying that same sort of attention.

“Bumi,” Izumi whispered. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Her arm nearly shook as she took his hand in hers. “You do. I promise.”

“Yeah?” He sighed, a mixture of relief and euphoria flooded his face.


“Yeah.” She smiled, taking another step, becoming impossibly closer. Bumi released his free hand, which rested clumsily intertwined with hers, and placed it carefully against the side of her cheek. Izumi nodded.

The moment was perfect. Almost.

“I-” Bumi started, taking another step forward. Unfortunately, the two had been so caught up in each other, that the proximity between the open flame in Izumi’s hand and basket under Bumi’s arm had gone entirely unchecked. With the final step, the side of the basket burst into flames. “Ah!” Bumi exclaimed, dropping the basket and quickly trying to stomp out the parts on fire. Izumi, after watching his best efforts, quickly took off her coat, and smothered the flames.

“You okay?” Izumi asked, panting. She could still feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she knelt beside the singed heap.

“Yeah, thanks to you. Thank you.” He sighed, taking a seat next to her. “I don’t know what I was thinking would happen that basket, I mean you were holding actual fire,” Bumi chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Wow, I can’t do any of this right can I.” Izumi blinked. The night sky was the only thing stopping her blushing face from betraying her.

“Well… then can I try?” Izumi asked, bolder than she felt. Bumi’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before he nodded. Carefully, Izumi reached up with both hands to cradle his face, and leaned in cautiously before kissing her best friend for the first time.


Fire Nation Palace, 1 Year Ago

She was 18. He was 19. They missed this.

Bumi loved visiting the Fire Nation palace. It was one of the many places scattered across the world that truly felt like home. Not only for him, but for the people he loved most. A place where he watched his uncle’s face soften, and his auntie’s smile grow wider. It was the perfect place to take his first vacation from official duty. After twelve weeks in basic training, Bumi had spent the last eight months as a fully fledged member of the United Forces Navy. While most of that time had been spent on land in Republic City, this was the longest he’d had off since his training academy graduation. It made perfect sense to spend it with his girlfriend, even if no one knew. Girlfriend. Bumi couldn’t get over it.

After their confessions last summer, after a season of stolen glances across the training room and half-dates into town and starry-nighted rooftop talks, they agreed that that if they worked for another month, a full month apart, that they would make it official, and tell their families. And so, the month passed, and the letters flowed, and when they finally reunited, it was clear this was not something that would be easily broken.

There was only one problem. That same month, Bumi got into the United Forces. Of course, Izumi was elated, and his uncles and aunts were proud, and his siblings impressed, but his parents, most specifically his mother, had a much harder time coming around. In fact, Izumi, sprits bless her, was not the only reason Bumi chose to spend his precious collection of days in the Fire Nation. To her credit, by the end of first year of service, four months after this vacation, the tension will have dissipated, and Katara would be nothing but outwardly proud of her son. But not on this trip. They were there, not quite yet.

It was easier, they decided, to keep their relationship for themselves until the dust had settled. At least that’s what they said at first. In truth, Bumi found the secrecy freeing. It seemed as though everything in their lives, no matter what their parents did to protect them, had been in the public eye. And everything private, had been in the roundtable of their family. It was nice to have something just to the two of them. And they would fight to keep it that way, for as long as they could.

Bumi loved Izumi with all that he was. She was the first sunrise after a polar winter. The sounds of waves crashing on the beach as you landed on Ember Island. The sound of rain on his window. Like ease and exhilaration all at once. After so long apart, he could never pass up the opportunity to be just two doors down the hall. They spent every day of his vacation together, training, picnicking, even spending time with her friends and his, all under the guise of a strong platonic companionship. After dinner, Bumi would slip into his impossibly large Fire Nation bed, and sleep peacefully, knowing that in the morning he’d get to do it all over again.

That was until the second to last night of his trip.

With the moon high in the sky, the sun far from rising, Bumi awoke to the sound of a loud thwap on his window. Upon cautious investigation, the teenager found the Fire Nation Princess, in all her glory, wrapped in a light salmon robe, grinning under the starlight.

“Izumi?” He asked, blearily, poking his head out the window.

“ This feeling familiar, lieutenant?” Izumi whispered, smirking.

“Ha ha,” Bumi said, rolling his eyes. “What are you doing?”

We,” she corrected, collecting his hands which perched on the windowsill, in her own, “are sneaking out!” Bumi blinked.

“Of the palace?” Bumi asked, slowly letting himself be pulled out of the window and onto the palace grounds. 

“Like you haven’t done it before,” she scoffed. In a manner that Bumi could only describe as adorably overzealous, Izumi guided them, arm in arm, through the many hallways of the palace, all the way to the supposedly secret passageway.

“I have been such a terrible influence,” Bumi muttered in the darkness of the tunnel, receiving a harsh shhh from his companion. In a classic Izumi fashion, the two didn’t actually leave the royal grounds (but had left the palace as promised), and instead ended up at the bottom an abandoned guard’s tower, a spot they frequently visited as kids when their make-believe games needed to be kicked up a notch. In the war, the roof of the watch tower had been blown off. The Fire Lord had meant to repair and refurbish the tower, but like many things in the years after the war, it was pushed to the side in favor of bigger issues. So instead, it became a place for the braver children to sneak off and play. “These were bigger when we were little,” Bumi complained, crouching in the entrance to yet another secret entryway.

“Oh stop complaining,” Izumi pestered, guiding the way, “we’re almost there.” With the final rung of the ladder climbed, why everything in the Fire Nation had to be complex Bumi would never know, they had made their way to the tallest place in Caldera.

“Wow.” Bumi said, taking it in. The view even more beautiful than he remembered.

“Right,” Izumi agreed, satisfied. After extinguishing the flame, she revealed the blankets and pillows that had been waiting for them, perfectly placed for stargazing. Bumi shook his head in smitten disbelief. They sat together, Izumi’s head resting on his chest, in a comfortable silence for a long time. So long, in fact, that Bumi was convinced many times that she’d fallen asleep, before hearing the quiet murmur of a constellation the princess had found.

“You know,” Bumi said… after a while, “if your parents caught us here they’d murder us.” Izumi snorted.

“They can deal with it.” She said, boldly. Bumi raised an eyebrow. "You don’t come to the Fire Nation nearly enough.”

“I know.” He sighed. The last few months hadn’t been easy, and settling into their new routine of more letters than face time had been a hard pill to swallow. “But in a few years you’ll start taking diplomatic trips, and I’ll hopefully rise up the ranks, and both of those things will give us more control. This part is temporary,” he added, reassuringly. Izumi sank deeper into his arms.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, tracing circles into his nightshirt. “I’m just being bitter. I’m so glad you came.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Bumi confirmed as he turned up to face the sky. Out of habit, he began forming the constellations, first taught to him by the same person as Izumi. He smiled at this, another reminder that no matter how much space is between them, their lives will always be intertwined, even if it’s only in the stars. “I’ve missed this Zooms,” he sighed.

“Me too.”

Notes:

SO that was a MONSTER of a chapter. Bumi and Izumi!!! while they have yet to reunite I hope this gave you a nice glimpse of who they are to each other and how their relationship came to be

also, we're going to hear more from both sides about the whole katara not loving the UF thing in time, trust me

thank you thank you thank you thank you

Chapter 15: don't wait until i drown to save me

Summary:

(over) sharing and big parties

the siblings vibe

Notes:

okay it's been a minute. thank you for your patience, i have not abandoned this, it just will not have a regular sched which is unfortunate but i hope can be accepted

much much love

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"don't shut down on me now,

don't shut down on me,

don't wait until i drown

to save me from the goodnight"

- rks

The air was light. The kind of lightness Sokka came to associate with change. The same, steadfast breeze that accompanied him tonight as he waited in the courtyard, had greeted him that very first time he hobbled into the palace, unsure of who he’d find wearing the crown. Sometimes, when he grew very quiet and very still, the way Aang would when they visited his home, he could almost hear Katara’s young, scared voice on the wind, screaming, with sweet relief, that they’d all won. It was why now, after all these years, it was so easy for his mind to fill in blue arrows on his nephew. The past and the present grew blurry in the palace.

Of course, his family didn’t help. It seemed decades of maturity, of marriage and children and obligation, could collapse in a matter of minutes when they all came together; giving him all the more reason to forget the amount of time that had elapsed.

“Hey stranger.” Suki grinned, stepping out of their room to join him by the entryway to Zuko and Mai’s lounge. They had all planned to talk before the pseudo-meeting at the very same time they did for every meeting, but after two decades, Sokka knew better than to expect punctuality. Except for Suki. She was always on time.

“Hey yourself,” Sokka said back, catching her at the waist and pulling her close, “you’re looking absolutely beautiful tonight.” Suki folded her arms around his neck and lightly pressed her forehead, which was covered by her headpiece, to his. She was adorned in full Kyoshi Warrior garb and make up, which never failed to stop her husband in his tracks.

“Are you trying to steal my vote councilman?” Suki smirked. Sokka tightened his grip on her armor.

“Why, is it working?” He dared.

“Maybe…”

“Seriously?” A voice rang out, annoyed, from the doorway. Sokka titled his head to look behind his wife, meeting the irritated, sleep deprived eyes of their dear, peeved, friend. “This is my house.”

“Shouldn’t you be prepping, oh esteemed Fire Lord?” Sokka drawled, ignoring the cackles coming from beside him. Zuko opened the rest of the door, ignoring who it hit in the process, and joined his friends in their waiting, choosing to lean against the doorframe. For a moment, Sokka could see a sixteen year-old Zuko sneering beside him, wearing the same crown and a similar discontent for the lovesick antics of his family.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing your nephew for the eagle-vultures?” Present-Zuko countered, raising his eyebrow.

“He’s coming,” Sokka put a hand up in defense, “I told him to get here five past six.”

“But we meet at six?” Zuko questioned, moving his arm absentmindedly so that Suki, who had wordlessly begun smoothing, could better fix a crease in his robe. “Thank you,” he whispered. She nodded.

“I know but we never start at six,” Sokka explained, “and he can actually get places on time. Like a normal person.”

“I was one minute late-” Zuko huffed, raising a carefully adorned hand in protest.

“Where are Mai and Toph?” Suki asked, wrapping an arm comfortably around her husband’s waist. Her hand rested on the same nitch in his ceremonial belt it always had for nearly as long as she’d known him. Sokka squeezed her shoulder in response, not taking for granted the fact that they were in the same place tonight, despite the circumstances. 

“They were training with the girls in the backyard earlier, but they should be here by now,” Zuko responded, peering down the hall and into the empty courtyard.

“Ten pieces says Tenzin comes before her.” Sokka said, raising a finger in the air. Betting. While not the most professional, it was a tradition in their family as constant and relentless as the Fire Nation heat. Money, sweets, and punishments moved faster in these halls than on the streets of the lower ring of Ba Sing Se.

“I’ll take it,” Suki pipped up, shaking a small bag attached to her belt. The two waited, in baited breath, for the next family member to turn the corner. To Suki’s chagrin, the first face was accompanied by a boldly yellow robe and an even bolder haircut.

“Good evening aunties, uncles,” Tenzin said, giving small, professional bows. To his mild surprise, his punctual arrival was met with an uproar of dismay and cheers.

“Dammit Toph!” Suki cursed, handing over her coin pouch to Sokka, who whooped in response.

“Someone call my name?” Toph called out, turning the bend. She was wearing a muted moss green robes, fixed with metal plates on each shoulder. The plating was a traditionally masculine accent, which had been brought to Toph’s attention only once in over twenty years. Each time she wore the outfit, Sokka was reminded of the nobleman-turned-icicle, who made the sorry mistake of critiquing the ensemble in his sister’s earshot in this very courtyard. Katara at any age was a force to be reckoned with, but seventeen had been a special year.

“You couldn’t have come ten seconds earlier?” Suki whined over the reveling of her husband. "You cost me ten gold pieces!” 

“You’re not losing money if you lost to your husband,” Zuko pointed out, from his perch. Suki brushed off his reasoning with the wave of a hand.

"You bet against me, Sokka?” Toph questioned, mock-threateningly. 

"More like in favor of Tenzin,” Sokka explained, motioning to his nephew, who had glued himself to the doorframe opposite Zuko. 

“Fine. That’s fair.” Toph shrugged, weighing the options.

“Should I be hurt none of you bet on me?” The final member of the evening called out, a hand on her royal red hip. Zuko stepped out to greet her, extending a hand as though they were about to dance, as though they were the only two people in the hall.

“You’re never on time, darling.” Zuko said, softly.

“Oh fine.” Mai rolled her eyes, pulling her husband into a loving kiss. “Hey,” she said quietly, tracing the side of his face with her hand, as though she wanted to memorize it.

“Hey.” He whispered, smiling.

“Seriously?” Sokka mocked, loudly. “Right outside the lounge!”

“Get a room!” Suki joined, from her husband’s embrace. Sokka could hear the quiet chuckles of his nephew from behind him, which was more than enough validation for his actions.

"That’s how you sound.” Sokka included, matter-o-factly. Maybe in another ten years, he would grow tired of such antics, or his friends would grow less prone to public displays of affection, but as long as he still earned a hearty clap on the back from Toph and made his wife smile and Zuko blush, he would continue, unabashedly. 

“Okay, fine, I get it,” Zuko rushed, peach-faced, as he hurried them into the sitting room. “Can we just begin, please?” Arm in arm, they filed into the Fire Lord’s private sitting room. Traditionally, the space was the “Fire Lady’s quarters.” It was to be used as a so-called safe haven for the most important woman in the nation. In their youth, Zuko had described it as the only place outside the theatre that his mother would laugh. Naturally, he deplored the idea of shoving all that Mai held dear into one small space, and together they decided to create a private room for their friends and family instead. During Sokka’s first precarious night in the palace, they had all stayed in this room. Zuko couldn’t bring himself to sleep in his old quarters, nor could he dare step into his father’s, leaving him to bring them here. To the only room where his mother could laugh.

This sitting room was the first place that Sokka felt safe, truly safe, in the Fire Nation. And if he truly thought about it, it was the first place he’d felt safe, truly safe, since his mother had died. It was a small room, just off the Fire Lord’s personal wing, but if you were in a hurry you would most certainly pass it with little thought. The door was not special, with no adornments or any signs of significance. Even the interior, specially crafted by the Fire family, could be easily overlooked,  with little inside other than a simple table, sitting pillows, and blankets. As they entered, the adults sauntered in with ease, sitting at each of their respective places, enjoying the comfort of a practiced routine. Tenzin, unfortunately, was far less privy to their affairs.

“Um… what is it that we’re starting, exactly?” Tenzin asked, still standing in the entrance. Sokka wondered, briefly, if he should have given his fidgeting nephew more preparation, but quickly reminded himself of who he was dealing with. Tenzin’s neutral, sprits bless him, was a normal person’s full-fledged nervous.

“Excellent question, nephew,” Sokka started, sitting up and motioning for Tenzin to sit. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands dramatically,“welcome, honored guests, to tonight’s prebrief!”

“A prebrief?” Tenzin asked, brows furrowing.

“It’s like a debrief, but before,” Toph explained, from across the table.

“Exactly!” Sokka grinned, explaining, “it’s when we discuss everything we know about each of the guests, like if we know they’ve changed positions on something, or if we’ve met with them recently. Things like that.”

“Informally, of course,” Zuko added, in his professional voice. Sokka gave a strong nod, and winked at his nephew. Over the years, their familial alliance had caused some issues in politics. While most adored the multicultural synthesis that was the self-described “Team Avatar,” others found it to be threatening. Although the disdain came from parties no one in Sokka’s family would fraternize with in the first place, it was best to keep their professional group musings off record.

“The first up tonight,” Mai started, pulling out a list of tonight’s guests, “is Councilman Yinzin, United Alliance Official from the Hu Xin Provinces. Aka, the current UA scapegoat.” A series of groans erupted at the table.

"Ak-aka, a real pain in the ass,” Toph explained to Tenzin, who nodded slowly.

“He led the vote against the strengthening water protections,” Suki elaborated. “He claimed tightening security would unnecessarily harm the trade to the Fire Nation.”

“Coincidentally,” Sokka continued, “his company’s main buyers are all situated across the sea.” He had despised Yinzin since their first meeting, when the councilman thought that the limiting of cross-national marriage license benefits would be a topic they would agree on.

“He sounds like a real piece of work,” Tenzin agreed.

“Opposing him directly,” Sokka continued, pulling out his own list, “is a crowd favorite, Teo, Technical Management Specialist to the United Republic.” The name earned cheers from around the table.

“Uncle Teo is here?” Tenzin pipped up.

“Yes!” Sokka grinned. “And for nights like this, it is always great to have a familiar face in the room.” He paused, before adding, “when they like you.” At this point in his career, there were, unfortunately, many familiar faces each room whom he and his family did not have incredible standing with.

“He’s been fighting for better protections for all ships since he invented the communicating devices,” Toph added.

“He would be in this meeting, but he’s set to land in ten minutes,” Mai said. After the war, Teo and his father quickly became people Sokka and his family could turn to, no matter the crisis. As they were creating the United Alliance, it was important to Sokka to bring in non-benders on the ground floor, so that their work and experiences never went overlooked. When it came time to fill the position, there wasn’t a question in his mind.

“Unlike you,” Sokka started, motioning to Tenzin, “Teo inherited his father’s sense of scheduling.” Tenzin practically beamed at the praise. 

“Okay who’s next?” Toph asked, picking at one of the plates on her sleeve. 

"Councilwoman Lin Li,” Suki said, taking the list out of her husband’s hands. “A Representative from Taku. She’s new.” The room grew quiet.

“Do we know her?” Mai asked, checking her own piece of paper. Zuko furrowed his brow.

“I don’t.” Toph added. Sokka wracked his brain.

"I’ve heard the name…” He started, “she’s a fire bender, but I don’t know much else.” Sokka frowned. Normally, he liked to go into these informal meetings with at least a short bulleted list of all in attendance, but with the uncertainties leading up to the event, he hadn’t been able to do all of his homework. Before anyone else could add, there was a soft knock at the door. Zuko called for them to enter.

“Fire Lord Zuko, Council,” the servant addressed, giving a small bow. “I was told to let you know when the first guests were arriving.”

“Thank you Lee. I’ll just be a moment,” Zuko stated, formally. As soon as the door closed, he let out a tired groan. “Why are they always so early?” He and Mai stood up, each smoothing out the other’s robe.

“We’ll see you all inside,” Mai said, stretching. Zuko paused, and made forgiving eye contact with Tenzin, who, by all accounts, was looking as pale as Yue.

“You’ll do great,” he said, reassuringly, before heading for the door.

“If you need an out,” Mai added, following her husband, “just tell me and we’ll sneak off.” Tenzin nodded, giving a grateful smile. Sokka sighed. No matter how scared he got, the kid would never use it.

“He won’t need it!” Sokka called after them, slapping his nephew on the back. “You’ll be fine.” Tenzin gave him a strong nod. Despite the nervous smile and the fidgeting hands and the overall agitation, there was something about his face that quelled any Sokka’s worries. If he blinked, he could see Aang etched across his face. And maybe that blind trust that he had for his father all those years ago was misplaced, maybe in this instance the past should stay where it belonged. But Sokka had only seen those eyes once before, and they belonged to the person who saved the world. Who was he to doubt their successor? 


Apparently, the day had passed. Bumi hadn’t realized at first, not until his mother wished him goodnight as she left, taking his sister back to the inn he’d never seen. He’d been having some trouble noticing this morning- or the whole day, apparently. It started with his headache, which, on it’s own he could shoulder, but the awful haze that came with it was harder to fight off. It was probably fine. That’s what he told himself. Just apart of the process. He hadn’t been tracking his time all that closely to begin with, really. Besides the comings and goings of his family, the only way he’d found to pass the time was through the daily reading of the letters that came. Every day, it seemed, they received a letter from Suki or Zuko or Sokka or Toph or Mai or Izumi. There was a new letter from Izumi every single time.

Izumi. The princess had a new question each day, with a new term she must’ve found in one of her many, many books that sat in the palace library. In different circumstances, he would smile at the thought. Bumi could almost picture her there, settled between two stacks, her ebony hair braided back the way would when she had exams. She was probably there now, he realized, his heart sinking, finishing the letter they would receive tomorrow. It pained him to drag her though this. To be the object of her worries. Bumi had spent his entire life watching his parents bring each other to the point of quiet devastation because of what they do. He didn’t want that for them.

As he lay in the dark, an amalgamation of sounds from the hospital and the outside world fusing around him, he tried to remind himself that the unrelenting letters were also a good sign. She was still in. She still wanted this. Wanted him. There had been a fear since, if he was being honest with himself, the moment they kissed, that Izumi might wake up one day and realize she didn’t want this. The mess, the complication, that came with him. Yes, she was the crowned princess and her life would never be normal, but it could be more predictable with someone else. She could make a life with one of many Fire Nation nobles fighting for her hand. These boys shared her history, her customs, her world, and above all else their lives were expected. Bumi’s life was never going to be ordinary, with the United Forces or without. He could understand, even if it brought a pit to his stomach, that this entire… event might be a wakeup call. If it was the other way around… he couldn’t imagine the pain. He was worried now, even, and he knew he’d be okay. He was okay. He was fine, truly, as long as he didn’t think about that night or the man or the fire or falling or falling or falling-

“Bumi?” A voice called out from the sliding glass door. Oh. Bumi blinked. He took shaky breaths as his father stepped through, approaching carefully, studying his face.

“Oh.” Bumi said, his heart still pounding his chest. “Hey… dad.”

“Hey buddy,” Aang started, pulling his chair up to the bed. “What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be asleep for another few hours.” Bumi could see now, that his father was concerned. His now scruffed face was twisting into all sorts of concern. Bumi furrowed his brow.

“Don’t… don’t I have more checks?” He asked, confused. His brain was still hazy, but he knew it was nearly time, if he had calculated correctly, for his nurse to come in with medication.

“Checks?” Aang asked, his stubble contorting. "You don’t… you don’t have those anymore, Boom. With your mom here we can spread it out more,” he explained, gently. “You remember that…right?” Oh. Oh dear.

“Oh… yeah…” Bumi started, embarrassed. “I must have forgotten.” He tried his best to mask his surprise as the mistake, but he could feel the heat rising to his face. How could he get that confused?

“That’s okay,” Aang sighed, tentatively. “How are you feeling?” Bumi thought for a moment. In truth, he wasn’t sure how to answer. He thought he felt fine for now, but the word had lost all meaning. He was fine. He had been fine. Except for before. Except when he remembered the boat. The event. Or Izumi. But why should he dwell? And sure, he was in pain, but he could barely remember what is was like to live without it. It was better not to worry. It was apart of the process.

“The same, I think. Mom really helps.” Bumi answered, truthfully.

“Good,” Aang smiled. “I’m really glad.” Bumi watched as his father settled back into his chair, gazing out the window and into the night sky. He wondered, briefly, if Aang was thinking of Yue. His thoughts turned quickly however, back to Izumi and her letters. The two sat in silence, but his fear, eating away at him, was deafening.

"Hey dad.” Bumi started, suddenly.

“Yeah?” Aang said, sleepily.

“Is…” Bumi drifted off, realizing he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t talk to his father about these sorts of things. The Avatar had his fair share of wisdom, but he would always be needed. Always be loved. Bumi didn’t think his father could understand the fear of not being wanted. Not like he did.

Bumi swallowed. His face grew hot. “Was it ever… too much?” In the darkness, he saw a blurry Aang stop, mid stretch at the question.


“What was too much, Boom?” He asked, moving closer. Bumi’s eyes darted, causing a wave of pain to shoot through his head. He winced. Bumi knew that if he asked his mother she’d say that it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, not with him. But his father carried a heavy guilt, and with it came a sort of hardened truth. It was a truth too hard, sometimes, for others to accept, even about themselves. 

“All of it.” He stammered, growing quiter. “All of it… for mom.” Bumi finished. Aang sat back. For a moment, he regretted the question. They both knew what he meant. It wasn’t something they ever talked about as a family. Bumi and his siblings had all been born into it, it was never a question, never a choice. The battle, politically, physically, emotionally, would always own apart their father. Their mother, the healer, feared just as much as she was revered, was, in many ways, just as possessed by the fight. But she chose to build a life with the Avatar. That was different. Izumi had to make a choice too.

“Oh.” Aang stiffened, slightly. Bumi flinched.This had been a mistake.

“Sorry, that was a stupid question-” he started, quickly, “I mean, of course it wasn’t. Mom doesn’t even get mad when you get hurt- I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry-” Bumi rambled, breathlessly, trying to bury the mistake in his apologies. He was stopped by a still hand covering his own tremors, silencing his prattle without a word. Bumi looked to his father for the first time since he asked, and for a single moment, felt as though he could see all one-hundred and thirty-nine years of his existence staring back at him. And then he blinked. And he saw his dad. His tired, battered, dad.

“Of course she gets mad, Bumi.” Aang said, quietly. It was all he said for a long time. Bumi kept expecting him to continue, to resolve the problem in a single sentence the way his father always would. To tell him some sort of proverb that used to make him roll his eyes, the kind he didn’t quite understand the weight of until now. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, they sat in silence. Not the kind that consumed you, but the kind that left an emptiness. But Bumi waited. “Or… she used to.” Aang stated, after a while. His voice felt far away, as though he was speaking right to the past.“It just hurts now, I think.”

“Oh.” Bumi echoed, his mind racing, shocked by his father’s candidness. He hadn’t been expecting that answer. “What changed?” He said, into the stillness.

“We got older.” Aang sighed, as though that explained everything. Bumi frowned. “What’s bringing this up?” Bumi paused. His coveted secret had been revealed in everything but words. It seemed pointless to lie now.

“We keep getting her letters.” He said, hoping it would explain it all. Bumi fidgeted, wrinkling  his sheets between the thumb and finger of his good arm. “And I just thought… I thought-”

“Oh, Bumi.” Aang interrupted, leaning forward in his chair. His face washed into a wave of concern as he tried to place his words. “You… you are not me, son. And that’s good.” Aang squeezed Bumi’s hand, starting carefully, “and you two… you won’t have the challenges we had. She cares about you, and supports you, and knows what  all of this means. Far more than most.” Bumi let out a shaky sigh of relief at his father’s understanding. Aang’s perceptiveness was, at many times in his childhood, something he loathed, but at times like this he was thankful to have a dad who could do far more than read between the lines. Yet there was still doubt probing his mind.

“What would you do?” Bumi asked.

“What would I do, when?” Aang questioned. Bumi swallowed. He felt he had walked back down a fairly unfamiliar, unwelcome path.

“You said… you said mom used to get mad,” Bumi explained. “And she forgave you.” It felt odd to say at all. His parents had overcome many struggles, but never had he thought they were between each other. They were Aang and Katara. Katara and Aang. The very fact he would even insinuate any semblance of resentment felt like some sort of violation of all that was sacred. And yet, in a way, he already knew. Deep down he knew. She was his mother. He was her baby. He knew.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Aang said, the guilt creeping into his voice. Bumi could almost see his frame shrink in the moonlight.

“You did, though,” Bumi countered, softly. It was no use stopping the conversation now. Any damage had been done. Aang sighed a long, hollow sigh.

“I did.” He reconciled, twisting in his chair. “But it’s more complicated than just being forgiven, Bumi. It’s about understanding. And Izumi understands, I promise you,” Aang smiled a tired, knowing smile. Bumi gave him a small smile back, trying to push past the realization that it was the first time they had used her name the entire conversation. The secret was fully out.

“Okay,” Bumi nodded. Aang stretched back in his chair, as if physically trying to shake off any shame that had settled in the frank honesty he had shared with his son. 

“Does that answer your question, Bumi?” Aang asked. His tone was struggling to be light, open, but his father’s sunken eyes were hinting that the only right answer was yes.

“Yeah,” Bumi murmured. They settled back into a still, far less empty, silence. Bumi thought his dad may have fallen asleep, if not for the periodic creaking that came from the chair beside his bed. He took a breath. The teenager still had one final question, a question that he wouldn’t have the courage to ask in the light of day. The kind he knew would batter him until he had an answer. “Dad?” Bumi asked.

“Mhm?” Aang asked, opening his eyes.

“Why was she mad?” He asked, almost nervously. Bumi didn’t know why it worried him. He couldn’t place if it came from concern or a general curiosity, a peek behind the curtain into his parent’s suddenly-private lives. He was preparing himself, emotionally, for a borderline-dreadful response, the sort that shattered any semblance of perfection you had in your mind. But instead, Aang almost laughed.

“She was mad,” he started, slowly, “because I have done incredibly reckless and selfish things, and she loved me through all of it.” With that, Aang closed his eyes again, and Bumi knew the conversation was over. His son was left, once again, with the echoes of the hospital, and the comfort of the moon. And a million more questions, and a few vital answers.

She knew him. She couldn’t be mad. Just hurt.

Which was worse, somehow.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

The air was buzzing. It was electric. The palace staff, each member hand picked by the Fire Lady and Lord, had dressed the room to perfection, or were still dressing, in fact, as the guests erupted in - although it didn’t seem like they were paying attention. Every representative was already wrapped in conversation, the frenzy so preoccupied they didn’t have the breath to notice the final chair set or curtain dusted. It was astounding that everyone in the room was working, but to the untrained eye that might be a surprise. Tenzin only hoped his was of the right caliber.

“Representative Tenzin, good evening.” The young airbender  blinked. Zuko, adorned in all his best, was standing over him with a kind, yet reserved, smile and, to his surprise, a traditional Air Nation bow. If they hadn’t already been staring, he had the eyes of every representative in the room.

“Good evening, Fire Lord.” Tenzin bowed back. With a nod of encouragement, he moved on. The ruler was welcoming each guest personally as they filed in with their nation’s tradition, a practice Tenzin knew had been regarded as completely informal and beneath someone of Zuko’s rank before his reign. He watched on as his uncles’ clasped arms as customary in the Water Tribe and tried not to think about all the time he’d spent growing out his hair just enough to fit into one of his grandfather’s bands. Tenzin’s focus was pulled quickly, however, by a quick tap on his shoulder. The night went on.

The guests moved like a pack of arctic hens, fast, sprawled and disorganized, tied only to each other by a common goal: talk. It was so loud it felt as though his ears could burst from the sound. Tenzin staggered along, allowing his body to be led by his uncle while his mind tried fervently to focus up.

The room was grand -all of Caldera was grand- but it was not the biggest hall in the palace. Sokka had explained that Zuko did this on purpose for the first dinner, that less space meant less temptation to break off or divide from the group. However the closeness, combined with the spring heat and the robes and weight of stares and gasps and expectations, only added to the disorientation of the evening. 

Together, Sokka and Tenzin made the rounds, ignoring the whispers and smiling at familiar faces in as they went. Suki scoffed at someone and Toph shrugged at someone else and when pulled aside Sokka chuckled lightly at a mildly funny joke a representative had made- all the while Tenzin flipped quickly through his mental list of names (there were so many names), trying to keep up before it was his turn to speak. It was hard to figure out which conversations were harmless and which would determine the votes for tomorrow. His uncle had said it was a skill that he would refine with time, but for tonight to trust his instincts. Privately Tenzin didn’t feel as though his instincts had enough experience to be trustworthy, but they were all that he had.

Somehow, thank Yue, Sokka had shuffled the two of them to the outskirts of the swarm. Tenzin felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and his pulse spiked. Tenzin hadn’t realized how much of his insides were reflecting outside. As nonchalantly as he could possibly be, the boy nodded in return. This was unideal, yes, but even still Tenzin was grateful for the space. It gave him a minute to think. A minute to breathe. A minute to notice. He had worked for this, fought for this, and now, after it all, he was spending his first evening as a representative letting himself be guided through the room, half conscious, without even trying to take part. Tenzin gazed out into the crowd and watched all the smiles and bows and nods happen in slow motion. He thought of his brother, of all the parts he must have played, all the comments he must have endured on nights like these.

“We can always go. We can eat in the sitting room,” Sokka offered. His uncle was trying to sound reassuring but his forehead was creased in the same way Katara’s would when one of his siblings didn’t come home at the time they had promised. Tenzin wondered, briefly, if anyone ever offered his uncle a break while they were putting the world back together. Or his dad. Or his mom. Probably not.

“I’m okay.” Tenzin said firmly. They had probably offered a break to Bumi, but he wouldn’t have needed it. “I can do this.” Sokka nodded cautiously. His eyes moved between his nephew and the woman walking up to the pair.   

“Okay,” he said, patting Tenzin on the back, “then lets do this.” In an instant, Sokka’s face broke into a welcoming smile, and the cadence of his voice shifted. "Councilwoman Lin Li, it is so good to meet you!” He said, not hesitating to greet the representative. His uncle’s memory was astounding. “This is my nephew, Representative Tenzin.”

“Good evening,” Lin Li said, before meeting them both, to Tenzin’s surprise, with a Water Tribe greeting before an Air Nomad bow. The councilwoman was dressed in a green robe, similar in color to representatives from the Earth Kingdom, but the shape and the fabric were much more akin to those coming in from much closer by. She wasn’t stiff, like the others, but was clearly a little tense, like him. And she was warm. instantly warm. “What an honor, I didn’t know I was in for such a treat.”

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Sokka said, grinning at his nephew. Tenzin gave a small smile, still stunned by their first interaction. “So, how was your trip up?”

“Oh, lovely. This is actually my first time in Caldera. It’s a very nice place.” Lin Li started, smiling. “However, I wish it was under better circumstances, of course,” she added quickly, faltering. Tenzin tried his best to look forgiving. Even flustered, Lin Li was as normal as anyone had been all evening regarding his brother. He tried not to take it personally. The allowance non-benders out in the field was still a hot button topic, and the fact that the Avatar’s son was involved was something everyone had an opinion on- representative or not.

“It definitely grows on you.” Sokka said, honestly, brushing past her nervousness. Tenzin could almost hear the gears in his uncle’s head turning as he began to navigate the conversation, thinking of every angle to acquire both information, and a friend on the floor. It was a skill in and of itself. “So, how long have you lived in Taku?” Sokka asked. Tenzin knew what that meant. How strong are your ties to its people? It’s values? What is your position on the Republic itself? Were your parents for or against?

"I’ve lived there for most of my life,” Lin Li began, “my father is from the Fire Islands, but my mother’s family was from Taku originally.” Tenzin’s eyes flickered. The bows, the clothes. It all made sense. “It was always her dream to move back if it was ever put back together…I suppose I have you to thank for that,” she added, nodding to Sokka. Taku was one of the first cities taken over during the war, and its road back to being an autonomous city was long and hard, championed in part by the support of Tenzin’s family.

“Oh no need,” Sokka waved his hands, wiping away any praise. "I’m glad she was able to go home, although I’m sure it was different.”

“Well, different yes, but still special,” Lin Li explained, making brief eye contact with Tenzin. “I feel grateful to represent such a diverse community.” The young air bender smiled back. He might just have found his own set of tools. 

“Likewise.” Sokka agreed, before asking, “do you still have family in the Fire Islands?” Tenzin stiffened. He knew what he meant, too. What side are you on?

“Some, yes,” Lin said, slowly. She knew too. "But I don’t want you to be confused, if you’re really asking if that’s where my loyalties lie. The bill we’ve been called to debate tomorrow isn’t just created to protect cadets, it’s purpose is to make the sea a safer place for all trying to cross, which are mostly merchants of varying descent who need to use these paths either way,” she explained calmly. “I can assure you my duty is to all the people of my district.” Sokka opened his mouth to speak, but before he could Tenzin stepped in. All of the conversations around them grew quiet, and for what felt like the first time all night, he could hear clearly. He knew what to do.

“People have been asking you all night which side you’d be on, haven’t they?” He started. The words slipped out before he had time to think. This was his wheelhouse. His home. His life. He didn’t need to calculate or calibrate. “It can be so frustrating, people assuming you could pick one over the other.” Beside him, Sokka’s eyes widened.

“Yes…” Lin Li said, after a moment, “it can be tiring.” Tenzin nodded, in agreement.

“With families across the nations,” he continued, evenly, “I’m sure you know as well as I do that the Republic is a special place.” There could have been a million eyes on him or none, in that moment it felt impossible to falter. Lin gave a small smile. 

“Oh indeed.” Tenzin took another step, forming his hands into two fists and pressing them together, the unofficial bow of the United Republic.“I trust then,” he started, beginning his sequence, "that you’ll represent it well tomorrow? Keep those like us, those who call it home, safe?” Lin Li received it, bowing back in response.

“I assure you, I will,” Lin Li confirmed, nodding. “I am so glad we got to meet tonight, I look forward to our meetings tomorrow. Ambassador Tenzin, Councilman Sokka.” With final farewell pleasantries, Lin Li walked back into the mob, leaving the uncle and nephew alone once again. Tenzin felt like he was floating. His heart should have been pounding out of his chest by now, loud enough for the entire room to hear, but instead it kept rhythm. It did what it had to do. And so had he.

“Wow, Tez…” Sokka said, his face breaking out into a wide smile, “you were amazing!” Tenzin looked away, instantly embarrassed by the praise. He wondered, briefly, if his brother got this much commendation for simply coasting through a single conversation.

“Oh, thanks.” Tenzin muttered. He’d be lying if the interaction didn’t give him hope for tomorrow, or affirm that he could keep the promises he’d made in that hospital room. But another side of him knew that half of his confidence came from the fact that he understood Lin Li. Or better yet, she understood him.

“Seriously, that was some great work.” Sokka continued, scanning the room for their next potential targets.“I had completely messed up.”

“It was nothing,” Tenzin brushed it off, looking into the crowd, “just doing what you said.” He looked out into the crowd ahead. It was a sea of people, of representatives who claimed to be worldly, to be cultured, and yet only one had greeted him with the traditions of his mother. For a moment he envied their simplicity, the lack of intentionality in the mono-chromaticism of their clothing and their choices.“Oh, I meant to say earlier, I like your ensemble.” But some days he felt it more than others.

“What?” Sokka asked, puzzled. There hadn’t been a conversation about what Tenzin would wear tonight, or to any of the gatherings. He was representing his father’s people and he would present as such.

“Your outfit.” Tenzin elaborated, forgivingly. The question, to everyone else, would seem entirely out of the blue. “I don’t see this version of the traditional Water Tribe garb as often. The beadwork’s fantastic,” he added. It was true, of course, the jacket his uncle was wearing was beautiful. It was also true that traditionally masculine Water Tribe attire had grown scarcer and scarcer on the island since his brother left.  Tenzin had worn pieces in the past, but never that complex, that permanent. He hadn’t even considered incorporating Southern Water Tribe designs in his clothes for the conference - nor did it feel entirely appropriate - but for some reason in this instant, all he could think focus on was the fact that Lin Li’s handshake. The fact that her simple gesture, her outstretched arm, could very well be the last time anyone treats Tenzin like a member of his tribe outside of his family, ever. As soon as he stepped foot in that meeting room tomorrow, he started representing the Air Nomads, and he would for the rest of his life. It was fact. Tenzin’s duty was something he had accepted, nay, welcomed, for a long time, but he’d be lying if seeing the beadwork of his people, worn with pride by others with an untouchable ease, didn’t hurt his heart, ever so slightly, ever once in a while. 

“Oh…” Sokka started. He tried to mask his surprise, but Tenzin knew better. It was okay. “I suppose you don’t. Thanks Tez.”

"Of course.” He said, taking a breath. “Let’s get back into it.” It was time to go to work.

The two continued on their quest, parading around the room until the crowd was called to dinner. The seating arrangement had flagged him with familiar faces on either side, making the final stretch of the evening endlessly easier than the first. The time for talking and planning was over.  Tenzin smiled and nodded and listened to toasts from the comfort of his family’s pocket of the impossibly long table. The night went on.

After dinner, Tenzin and his family retired back to the same sitting room as before, to engage in a far less dire, and much less formal debrief of the evening. Rants were bellowed, terrible jokes exchanged, and laughs shared before the conversation circled back to their newest member.

“Did anyone talk to Lin Li?” Suki asked, picking at the plate of fruit shared between them. “I know she has family from the islands…” Sokka raised one hand balancing his drink and snack in the other.

"We did,” he said from his cushion, “and Tez did great.”

"Oh it was nothing, really.” Tenzin started, sitting up from his spot beside the table, “I just knew she’d be on our side.”

“How?” Mai asked, curious. Tenzin’s face reddened. He wasn’t embarrassed, or insecure, no, but it all felt difficult to explain.

“Well, she’s the representative from Taku, so she’d probably want what was best for fishing communities,” he started, giving a half-truth, before hesitating. He wasn’t sure how to explain his skill. It was like was trying to describe the contents of his brain, how he operates, the ups and downs of his ambiguous existence that, while living vastly different lives, connects him to strangers through a perspective forged by a lack of understanding from the rest of the general public. In shorter words, they were the same. “Plus…”

“Plus…” Toph echoed. He had everyone’s attention.

“Plus she’s mixed. Like me.” Tenzin started, glancing around the room. “Which doesn’t mean we’d always agree, obviously,” he added quickly, “but she understands more than why it’s the important to keep all parts of the Republic safe.” The room was silent. Tenzin sat back and stared at the plate of fruit. He could hear every sound, every breath bouncing through the room as he waited. It was a frustrating thing, being a nervous air bender.

“Wow Tez!” Suki said at last, grabbing his hands, reassuringly. There was something more behind her smile, a glint of concern in her eyes, but Tenzin couldn’t look further before being tugged away. 

“Look at you, you little natural!” Toph added, shaking his shoulders. The room followed suit, rejoicing at his success. Privately, Tenzin knew they were overcompensating, making mountains out of squirrel mole hills for his benefit, but it was better than unpacking his identity over a plate of mango.

“See? What did I say?” Sokka said, beaming with pride. “Nothing to worry about, huh Tez?” Tenzin paused. If this plan was going to work, if was going to vote, and become the person the world needed him to be, he would need to get used to more than a little discomfort. He had to do this.

“Nope,” Tenzin lied, forcing any confidence he had into his voice, “nothing at all.”


Apparently, the day had passed. Katara knew this, vaguely, in that small corner of her mind that was still doing things like reminding her to rebraid her hair and make the bed and do all of the tasks that felt painfully frivolous now. But as she lay in bed, she was restless. She could feel the light of the moon, nearly full, seeping through the window and right into her bones. She turned again, trying to find a position that would miraculously alter the spiritual pull she’d had to Yue’s light all her life, but instead was met with the glowing, open eyes of her daughter.

“You should be sleeping.” Katara murmured, half into her pillow. Kya wrinkled her nose as her chastising.

“So should you.” She whispered back. Katara sighed. There was a time when it felt like her daughter was only a tiny mess of curls and those bright blue eyes. She still saw her baby, the one who bounced happily on her hip day in and day out, in the face that stared, worried, back at her now. But the sharp angles of her chin were not the only things that replaced that happy girl. 

“Yeah.” Katara resigned, gaining a flicker of an idea. “Want to bend?”

“Sure.” Kya accepted. Katara couldn’t contain her smile as she watched her daughter light up, ever so slightly, at the suggestion. Without much conversation, the two jumped out of bed, slipped on their easiest shoes, and were out the door. They never brought much out with them,  even when they weren’t traveling.

Once they arrived at the shore, Katara sent Kya to find them a good spot, as always, as apart of her training. On this beach, there were many places a water bender could choose to practice safely, and privately Katara was curious if this time her daughter pick the same one she thought was best. Kya never did. Katara had her eye on a spot down the beach since they arrived, protected by rocks and close to shore. Instead, Kya chose to venture deeper, finding a quiet spot- deeper- beyond the waves, where she knew they could practice more advances moves without getting hurt.

“It’s been a long time since one of our midnight sessions, huh?” Katara asked, tying up Kya’s hair, just as she always had, before they began.

“Yeah.” Kya agreed, tilting her head slightly so that Katara could reach. It was strange, at first, realizing that her children would grow to be her height and surpass it. “It feels good.”

“It does.” Katara murmured, taking a beginning stance. They warmed up in silence, but passing the water between them felt like its own form of communication. Each movement, each give, each take, was like a message, a feeling. And it was moments like these, when everything else was up in the air, that Katara valued this level of connection most. “I don’t know about you, but I really needed this tonight.” She added, glancing up at the sky.

“Yeah,” Kya sighed, staring thoughtfully into the water floating in her hands. “I don’t… I don’t think it’s just the moon, though.” Katara felt heavy.

“Me neither.” She said, leaning back, as though stretching would banish the weight from her chest. “We haven’t really had a moment to breathe, have we?”

“It’s understandable.” Kya said, just quickly enough that it made her mother’s heart ache. Katara thought for a moment, letting the water flow freely through her hands.

“Your brothers…” she started, weaving through practiced stances, “they’ve been surprising me a lot lately.” Kya’s faced shifted into a mixture of pride and fatigue. 

“Yeah.” She said, simply.

“But you… little bird, you’ve been trying hard to make sure we don’t worry about you.” Katara said, at last. Because of her complexion and the sharpness of her eyes, Kya was the child most compared to her mother. The bending that she inherited became icing on the fruit pie, or, rather, the prunes in the stew. But when it came to her life, Katara had promised herself a long time ago that no child, no daughter of hers would follow in her footsteps. Her sons would brothers to their siblings, not stand in fathers, and her daughters would be sisters, not mothers. Kya would get to be all that she was and all that she was not all at once. It seemed, as her daughter grew into the teenager standing before her, that she had taken these dreams and ran with them. And while she bore the skills of her mother and the name of another, was no one’s stand in. She was independent. A firecracker. A force.

“You don’t.” Kya said quickly. Her hand faltered, slightly, and the spray of sea water hit her tunic. Katara raised an eyebrow.

“Not just here, my love,” Katara started, softly. She hadn’t intended on having this conversation tonight, but that was typically how their midnight sessions worked. Hard conversations seemed to flow easier here, as they passed their connection back and forth.

“You talked to dad.” Kya sighed, bending the water out of her shirt.

“I did.” Katara confirmed, “Kya, you know we don’t expect…” she trailed off, contorting the water in her hands into different shapes before passing it back, “you don’t need to be doing it all, all the time.”

“I know.” Kya’s face grew serious, like it was lined with the faintest echoes of something ancient.

“You don’t need to hide things from me because I might worry or get upset,” Katara said, feeling the agitation flood back into her voice.

“It was just a few classes, mom.” Kya pleaded. Her voice was tired.

“You know it’s more than that, honey-” Katara cut herself off. Maybe it was hearing that level of fatigue in her baby’s voice, or the rhythm of the movements, or the fact that that was the same phrase she’d said over and over to someone else, but in that moment something clicked into place. “You know, I forget how much you’re like your father was when he was your age.” Kya’s eye’s widened, caught off guard.

“Like… dad?” She questioned. Katara sighed. She hadn’t thought about that boy, that stage of Aang, in a long time. He almost occupied a different part of her brain from her now husband, as though all they shared were the same height and the same pain. It ached. Aang, like all of them, had had rough patches, rough seasons, here and there, since the war. But something about that autumn was different. It had been three years since the war ended, and all of his repression, all of the guilt and grief Aang had depended on to stay locked inside, had busted out. He was so trying so hard to be what he thought he was supposed to. But the loss just kept pulling him back. He hadn’t dealt with it. With any of it. And it made him restless.

“He was bold, like you. And did things he wasn’t supposed to, like someone I know.” Katara said, wistfully, making knowing eyes at her daughter as she swirled the water in her hands. “But more than anything…” Katara paused.“More than anything he needed space.”

“Space from what?” Kya asked, letting the water rest in her hands. Katara thought for a moment. Aang’s story and her daughter’s were very different, thank Yue,  but under all of his anger and pain, their faces were wrought with the same feeling. Her daughter was restless.

“Space from all of it.” Katara answered, truthfully. “From all of the structure and expectation. He would say just over and over again that he needed air, needed to feel it…” her eyebrows crinkled together into the moonlight as she struggled to remember the phrase, the exhaustion and overwhelm finally besting her, “that he needed-”

"To breathe.” Kya finished. She was standing tall, waist deep in the ocean, and perfectly poised. She looked strong. And yet. Katara saw a glint in her eye that she hadn’t seen in a long time.

“That’s right.” She confirmed. They’d raised a powerful person, and whether or not she knew it now, her daughter was ready for something new. All her children were nomads, it was only a matter of time before each of them decided what that meant.

“Did you feel like that too?” Kya asked, boldly, breaking the silence. The stream of water was still being passed between them, the soft echo of glowing water had seamlessly blended into the background with the other sounds around them, as though there water bending, even in the middle of the Fire Nation, was always apart of its ebb and flow. It was nature.

“No… no I didn’t,” Katara said. She contemplated, momentarily, exposing the nature of her own personal journey which had coincided, by no coincidence, with Aang’s. She could talk about the outbursts which culminated from the near decade of acting older than her years, or the unfulfilling time she had spent at home with her father, or painful fights with Aang, or the fateful trips she’d taken with her brother on a fairly mutual quest for stability. That year could be summed together in one sentence, one desire: The simple need for structure. But those, the uglier, messy parts of putting the world back together, were not the stories she told lightly, especially to her daughter, and they wouldn’t be helpful tonight. Instead, she explained what she knew. “We all deal with things in different ways, sweetheart. And heal differently too.” Katara moved closer to her daughter, creating a ring of water between them with one hand, as she moved a hair out of Kya’s face with the other. She had one of the most perfect faces she’d ever seen, she almost couldn’t believe it. It was the kind had to protect, the kind she was terrified to loose. Katara started again, quietly, “the point of all of this, little bird, is that I don’t want you to feel like you’re on your own, or that we won’t understand. You’re in a confusing time, even without what’s happening with Bumi, and I want you to know that we can help you. If you want it.” Kya took her mother’s hand off of her face and slowly fell into her arms. The stream of water dropped, abruptly, sinking back into the ocean from where it came. It left no trace, and after a moment, it was as though it never existed.

“I know, Mama,” Kya whispered, into her mother’s braid. Katara sunk into the embrace, feeling every moment. “I just-I can’t now.” “Of course, Kya.” Katara said, quickly. Kya was her mother’s daughter, whether she liked it or not. A healer first. But for once this week, Katara felt like they had all the time in the world. “I’m here for you, always.”

Notes:

OKAY SO Lots to Unpack many feelings many vibes the siblings and the atla season one trio are all feeling Things

i hope you liked it :)

Chapter 16: coming from within

Summary:

CW: blood, light light gore just like talking about blood and bleeding in a way slightly more extreme that the usual

night chats, things shifting
bonding moments :)

Notes:

okayyyy so again things get more intense than they have before, idk guys that's how the cookie she crumbles

shes a little messy but if youve read this far you know that already

much love thank you all :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"What strange claws are these? Scratching at my skin,

I never knew my killer would be coming from within"

- Florence + the Machine

Fire Nation Palace, Present

The Fire Nation was supposed to be like this. Aang had announced that, once, on a particularly drunken night after whatever formal festivities had ended and the teenagers could, for just a moment, get to act their age. At the time, Zuko thought his friend was referring to the party, or the fireworks, or the whiskey, even, but in more recent years he realized he meant all that followed. The camaraderie, the fierce community, the love. The people of the Fire Nation were passionate, and Aang knew that together they could find that again, for each other. It was that kind of teaching, those kinds of ideals, that Zuko was most fond of, and clung to, in times like these. The best thing for his family was to be together, they brought a light to each other nothing else could.

In recent years, Zuko had been trying to lean more, to ‘lean as much as he let others lean,’ as Aang put it. And while big picture, he was still working, he was more than happy to let the people that loved him help him through the hard times. And what’s more, Sokka actually enjoyed the tedious tasks Zuko deplored. It didn’t take much convincing to get him to stay up and help stort through previous meeting notes and session paperwork after dinner, especially after Suki and Mai volunteered as well- although the latter’s aid was more due to a bribe and less out of the kindness of her heart. A family worked with balance.

“Do you have-”

“Yep.” A voice murmured back. Zuko was rounding the corner to their sitting room, steeped tea in hand, and already he could hear his friends working without him.

“Thanks.” Sokka replied, accepting a letter from Suki hand. The three were all huddled around a corner of the table, lounging on pillows. Everyone had retired their formal gear almost immediately after dinner, and now wore a variety of sleep wear- although sleep was far away. As Zuko took in the scene from the doorway, he couldn’t help but remember Aang’s words. The Fire Nation was supposed to be like this. Spirited. Comforting. Welcoming.

“Have you seen the-” Suki asked, flipping through a stack of papers in front of her.

“Here,” Mai said, passing a note without looking. Suki smiled sweetly. 

"Love you.” She responded.

“Sokka could you-” Mai started.

“I got it,” he started, waving another piece of paper in the air before filing it away in whatever system they’d concocted.

“Thanks,” the Fire Lady grinned. Zuko quirked an eyebrow. 

“Okay, what did I just walk into?” He teased, sauntering over to join them. Mai gave Zuko a welcoming kiss on the cheek as he sunk into the pillow beside her.

“Love.” Sokka answered, obviously.

“I’m marrying your wife.” Suki added, still filing.

“As long as she’s happy,” Zuko sighed. “Hand me a stack.” The four worked smoothly for some time, only interrupted by little questions here and there. Despite the hour and the day they’d all had, the work seemed to pass quickly.

“So…” Suki started, after a while, “Tenzin did great tonight.”

"I knew he would.” Sokka answered quickly. Neither had broken the flow, still trading letters and sorting as needed. The pacing of each paper, the rhythm of thumbs pressing and picking, was the background to the conversation.

“Tonight was dinner, tomorrow things get real,” Mai reminded them. She believed in Tenzin, and was rooting for him with every fiber of her being, but she was protective nonetheless. Zuko knew who she saw, sometimes, between the lines of that guarded, nervous boy.

“I still cannot believe they let him come at all,” Zuko murmured. After the eruption that was their eldest’s announcement to join the United Forces, he was more than surprised at the leap of faith and responsibility they’d given their youngest. He and their mother had had more than one late night talk about the fears of parenting children with little choice in their future.

“Oh, knowing Katara I’ll be paying for my part in that one way or another in time, I’m sure,” Sokka said, skimming a report. Zuko’s heart sank at her name. Though he tried not to think about it, he knew what sending Tenzin meant: his parent’s were knocked back into survival mode. He could barely picture it.

“Any more news?” He asked. Everyone around the table already knew the answer, but it was too painful not to ask.

“Not today,” Sokka sighed, licking his finger before picking up another page.

“Oh, what did Zooms say about tonight?” Suki asked, remembering. Zuko knew the connection she’d made, but he wasn’t sure how much he loved the connotation. For their entire lives, it had always been Izumi and Bumi. They were a pair. But now it was different. Of course, over the years, he’d suspected-they’d all suspected- and at first he was almost excited, relieved that his daughter would get a glimpse of average teenage-hood. But in all of his suspicions, he’d never imagined this. His daughter was fully, completely in love, and he’d missed it.

“I extended the invitation,” Zuko explained, grabbing another pile from the center of the table. “I want her to if she wants to. Just to get out of the library.” That fucking library. Years ago, he and Aang had taken everything out, every book, every paper, every propaganda drenched fake history filled crime against humanity had been dumped into the museum, and replaced with books from every nation, spanning every subject he could get his hands on. It had been one of his greatest personal prides to give his daughter such a plethora of knowledge, real knowledge, just a few doors down from her room. Now, it seemed, he’d doomed her.

“She has more than a right to be acting the way she is,” Suki countered, slamming a stack of papers down into a completed pile. “It’ll just take time.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Mai added. Zuko dropped the letter he’d been holding and wrapped his hand around his wife. Mai sank, momentarily, into the embrace. It had been a long few days.

“True.” Suki said, solemnly. “But I mean, you understand, it’s a… confusing place to be. We’ve all been there.” Zuko’s chest tighted.

“She’s not supposed to be there.” He started, defeated. The letter he’d been holding started to wrinkle at the edges. “She’s not supposed feel anything that we could understand. She’s supposed to have a more normal life.” It was unfair. It was against everything he was working for. Everything  they were building. Thinking too much about it sucked the air out of the room. It was unfair.

“She was never going to be normal, Zuko.” Mai said, softly, rubbing his shoulder. There was an acceptance in her voice Zuko hadn’t quite found yet. “Bumi doesn’t change that.”

"You’re right.” Zuko aggred, into his papers. “I know you’re right. It just…"

“We know.” Sokka added, solemnly. “It majorly sucks.”

“It really does,” Zuko sighed, sending his friend a small smile. They were all a bit stagnant right now. Stewing in their stress. The only thing that seemed to quell concern was the almost-daily delivery of letters from the hospital. “But things will be better for us all once Bumi arrives.”

“And we’re sure he can’t come sooner than two weeks?” Mai asked. Exhaustion seeped into her words. They all knew the answer, as it was repeated in every telegram they sent, but it still had to be asked.

“If they move him now his chest could open back up.” Sokka explained, his eyebrows pinching the way Katara’s would, before adding, decisively, “it’s a really deep burn. It needs more time.”

“I can’t believe he got hit like that by a fire bender,” Zuko said, more to himself than anyone else. “Those types of burns…” As someone who had been on both ends of the blast, he didn’t take any injury lightly. And as a grateful recipient of Katara’s care, he knew that if it was taking her a long time to fix, he was in dire condition.

“It’s really lucky they got him out when they did.” Suki murmured, still flipping through pages.

“Honestly,” Sokka started, sitting back onto his pillow, “I mean, I don’t have to tell you that that kind of hit with fire- Oh… Hi.” Zuko followed Sokka’s widening eyes to door. Oh. Izumi was there. It was unclear how long his daughter had been standing there, listening in her night robes, book in hand, but he’d hoped it hadn’t been for long. Zuko cursed himself for not noticing the warm spring breeze, brushing through the open door before. His eyes floated between Izumi and those around the table, and judging by the faces of his friends they were all equally uneased by the fact that they spoke so speak that freely about the damaging power of her element. Nurturing Izumi’s bending had been as painful as it had been rewarding for her parents. Conversations over how, and when, and how much, and what when, began the moment she shot her first spark, and proceeded to continue to this day. Since well before their children had been born, Zuko and his friends, his family, had an understanding of the importance of telling their children the whole, honest truth about their past, both historical and personal. However, when it came to wielding fire, when it came to fear, to his fear, it felt harder to explain-and even harder to grasp. Mai squeezed Zuko’s hand in hers.

“Hi.” Izumi said, taking a few steps in. Zuko’s heart ached. Her voice was empty.“I thought I could help.” The room was silent as she sat down beside her father.

“That’s… so nice you of you,” Sokka said, at last. Izumi gave him a small, tired smile. Zuko tried to ignore the gnawing panic in his throat that he’d somehow broken her, and remember that this was better, somehow. She was out of the library.

“Take some of mine,” Suki offered, plopping a stack of papers in front of Izumi, which she accepted. They worked in a struggled silence, filled only by worried glances and the smothered voice in Zuko’s head begging him to launch into what Sokka called ‘extreme dad mode.’

“Do you think….” Izumi said, finally, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you think he’ll look at me differently?” Zuko paused, studying his daughter. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen her this tired. It was something he hadn’t realized he’d prided himself on, yet here he was. His daughter had never as unsupported, never as hungry, and never as tired as he’d been by the time he was her age. Until now.

“Different how, sweetheart?” Mai asked. Izumi sighed.

“I’m not sure,” She started, fiddling methodically with the edge of a letter. “I just… I can do what they did to him. And he can’t.” Zuko’s heart sank.

“Oh Izumi, no-” He said quickly. His mind was racing. After all it took- all of the learning and unlearning, the fighting and surrendering, all of the work he’d had to do to love his element, his gift- he refused to watch his daughter even flirt with the idea of taking the same path.

“You are not them, Izumi,” Mai said, moving past Zuko to wrap her arms around her daughter. She spoke with a conviction earned, a determination practiced for this very moment.

“He won’t a connection like that. Trust me, I’ve been with him Zooms, all he does is he miss you.” Sokka added, leaning over a pile of papers. The work had been all but discarded.

“But you can’t know he won’t, not really.” Izumi said, pulling a knee to her chest. Her voice sounded hollow. Zuko almost wished for the sharp, strain of tears.

“Believe me sweetheart,” Suki assured, her voice full, "we can.” Her face was lined with something deeper than understanding. Zuko was more than familiar with the story those five words told, and it took him a long time to reconcile with the fact that her story, in all its pain, existed, and she was still his friend. When Bumi was born, Zuko even had a small fear that he would hate him. That it felt like an impossible to task to explain to a child why his father was alone and his mother’s people were peppered with scars and still convince him to like staying with Uncle Zuko. And yet Aang and Katara never worried, and that baby fell in love with his.Yes, in the past, he would have felt like the worst person in the world to unburden a fire bender. But it was why now it felt like he had all the tools to try to start.

“Izumi,” he started, placing a careful hand on her shoulder. “Bumi’s relationship to fire bending and the Fire Nation may change throughout his life, and that is his right. But all of this, what happened to him… you are not apart of that.” Izumi nodded, leaning into his side. She was grateful, but there was something more, her face still hanging with tension.

“I’m still more apart of it than he is, Dad.” She sighed, adjusting her glasses absentmindedly, “what if he gets scared-or can’t trust me the same way?” Zuko wanted to respond, but the question wasn’t for him. His own complicated history with his element was world’s different than someone who didn’t wake with the sun. He watched as Sokka and Suki shared a look.

“Speaking from experience,” Mai started, quietly. She grasped her daughter’s hand and studied it as she spoke.“The fire bending that hurt me in the past didn’t change how I saw your dad, or you. And Bumi has those contexts too. He has his dad, and yours, and you. This… incident, it’s not going to change any of that.” Mai sighed, and cupped the edge of Izumi’s face. “Of course I was scared, honey. But I had to grapple more with the fear of the experience, of the people who hurt me more than I ever did the element. And when it came to people who I trusted, who I loved… that never faltered.” Mai brought her daughter into a fierce hug. Zuko smiled softly. This was how they were supposed to be.

“Thank you,” Izumi said, clearing her throat as she pulled from the embrace. “I’m sorry, that was probably hard.”

“Don’t apologize.” Mai said, squeezing her hand.

“You can always talk with any of us,” Suki added, sincerely. Sokka murmured in agreement. 

“Always, Izumi,” Zuko echoed,. “Always.”


Red Sand Island

Aang liked to think being the Avatar made him a better dad. Of course, being a dad made him a better Avatar, he was sure of that. But he hoped that it helped being a dad too. That years of solving problems made him more than a better bed time negotiator. He had the knowledge of thousands of lifetimes. Thousands of parents and even more people who were someone’s child. Living within him, are Avatars who were the children of parents who loved them, the children of parents who tried, and children of parents who never got the chance to.

When his first child was born, Aang went to his predecessors and asked for advice. He listened to as many as he could. Some of them talked for a long time, some of them didn’t, but the thread interlocking every sentiment, every volunteer, every piece of the past, was not advice at all, but a prediction. He would disappoint them, but he would have to try his best anyways. An Avatar belonged to the world.

He just never expected it to be like this. Not when he was there. He was there. He was sitting right beside him. Inches from his broken body. They were talking. Things were normal. But he’d forgotten about his checks. And Aang didn’t think about it. He didn’t notice. They were talking. They were talking, and then they weren’t.

“Bumi?” Aang watched as his son’s eyes glossed over. He’d stopped, mid sentence, he’d just stopped. And Aang knew. He knew, somehow, before it happened. He could feel it. And yet he still watched in abject horror as his son started to sit up. “Bumi stop- you can’t-”

He sat up before Aang could stop him. He sat up further than he had since the accident, like it hadn’t happened at all. He sat up before Aang could stop him. It happened in slow motion. He was in a haze, confused. He looked right through him. He opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came out. And that’s when he fell into his fathers arms. And he stopped. All of him just stopped.

“No-no-no!” Aang gasped. Bumi stopped breathing. He stopped breathing and his eyes stopped opening and Aang wasn’t sure if he stopped hearing but he almost hoped he had- because no son should hear his father yell like that. Because the blood didn’t stop. “You’re okay. You’re okay Bumi. You’re okay. Spirits! What’s happening? What’s happening?” Aang cried out, cradling his son as they hung over the bed. In his daze, Bumi had torn through his mother’s work and opened not only the wound on his arm, but the gaping burn on his chest.

Someone else was sent to find Katara. Aang must have yelled for her, but he didn’t leave. He couldn’t move. Even as the doctors and nurses flooded the room, peeling Bumi off of his father and splaying him back onto the bed, he stayed on the edge of the bed. Instead, Aang tried his best to answer every question he could hear as articulately as possible -he would never repeat what happened when he arrived- but it was hard to think clearly between heaves and half sobs. It was hard to picture the stillness that had surrounded the space just moments ago. And now they had fallen backwards, down the staircase of survival mode, down to the very first step. The shock alone felt like enough to swallow Aang whole, and anchor him to his perch on the bed- until he heard her voice through the fray.

“What happened?”


Present

Bumi remembered swimming for the first time.

It was a nice day, a warm day. They weren’t anywhere special, just a stop on their way to Ba Sing Se, but it was important because it was the first time his parents decided to give him swimming lessons.

It was his father who took him, which now feels ironic but at the time seemed normal. His mother had been taught to paddle in hot springs here and there, enough to keep her from drowning, but not quite enough to teach, that and she’d been feeling sick lately, which they would all soon learn was not a stomach bug at all, but his little sister.

While those had been the reasons given, Bumi always wondered if it was because she was too nervous that she’d find out that  he was a water bender. He knew she’d always wanted one, but if they found out that day somehow that he was, then his father’s weird, spiritual sense was truly wrong and they did not have an air bending child. If he was a water bender, it would be proof, physical proof, of this failure. Of course, Bumi was almost sure that at the time, non-bending was not even on the table as an option. But Bumi didn’t know any of this when the idea was proposed, at least not really, no. All he knew was that today his father was teaching him to swim.

Aang was an incredible teacher. It didn’t matter what it was or how long he’d been doing it, he was incredible. He was encouraging, and kind, and acted like they had all the time in the world. Bumi remembered feeling safe, no matter how far out they went to practice, because his dad would get him, every time. He remembered the warmth of the summer sun on his back and otherworldly feeling of shaking your hair underwater.

That was the feeling he was trying to get back to. Or at least, that’s what he intended. He wasn’t sure what actually happened, what he did, or what would become of it. But in some way, he succeeded.

He was weightless.


Red Sand Island, Present

Katara knew that being a water bender made her a better mother. Change was in her blood, in her spirit, and that was what being a parent was. And even more than that, she was a healer. She could do more than comfort her children when they fell, she could make their pain go away. She was a healer. She could make their pain go away. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t take away her own.

“What happened?” She asked again, tears already beginning to stream down her face. Katara and her daughter found Aang covered in blood. He was bent over the side of the bed, surrounded by what felt like every single doctor and nurse in the hopsital, covered in their son’s blood. A nurse- Hiro- yelled something to the woman who’d brought her to the blood, who’d bolted down the beach and right into the ocean without hesitation to bring her here. She was still dripping with salt water when she left.

“I need towels and water now!”Aang told her that he stopped breathing. Her son wasn’t breathing. Katara wanted to wail. She wanted to scream until her lungs were half the size and her eyes were dry and her body was completely empty. She wanted to become a storm. But Bumi needed more. He didn’t need his mother. He needed his healer. He needed her to fix it.

“Keep applying pressure, Aang and I can start on his lungs from the inside.” Katara instructed. She kept her hands steady as she ran her arms along his chest. “Bumi, can you hear me? I’m here I’m right here.”

He was all she could see until morning.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Tenzin couldn’t sleep. He knew that he should, he knew that it was important, but he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to still his mind, but he couldn’t. Something was off, and he couldn’t shake it. Like something was missing, somehow.

His father had told him that his connection to the spirit world was already there, he just had to listen to it, to find it. But Tenzin could barely stand to hear to the wind.

With sleep out the window, he tried instead to focus on his strategy for tomorrow. If dinner was learning to control his sneezes, the meeting was the thirty-sixth tier. It was his official debut as a representative, his make or break.

He reached to run his fingers through his hair, only to be met with the smooth skin of his scalp. Ah, yes. Tenzin tried not to think about all of the Water Tribe hair beads he’d collected over the years that sat, neatly, on his shelf at home. He’d never worn them, always too nervous, and now he couldn’t. His mother would say she was proud, of course, no matter what. He only let himself dwell, now, in the moonlight, because come day break he would be putting on another orange robe, filled with ghosts.

Tenzin couldn’t falter, not tomorrow.  He needed to be brave, to show them he was ready, to show them he could do this. With every hurdle, as it all became more and more real, Tenzin started to believe that his plan was possible, not just possible, but something that could turn into a success. And yet, something still felt different, like it had shifted. Like it was wrong. It wasn’t just nervousness-no-there was something else, he just couldn’t pinpoint what.

Whatever the reason, Tenzin couldn’t sleep.


Red Sand Island, Present

“He’s gonna be okay right?” It was all Kya could say. Her mother told her to go back on the beach. And to wait outside at the hospital. And to get out, seconds after she screamed the stupid question across the room. She didn’t.

Kya knew about trauma. It was woven into her family, both those by birth and that her parent’s had chosen, knit closely into every memory, every pattern, every place. It was in her face, her bending, and her name. She was raised in a home of love built by hands that knew the pain of the earth. She had a mother with nightmares and a father who didn’t sleep in Autumn and aunts and uncles who took long walks and prayed and wore the trials they’d faced on their sleeves. She was raised in a home that was healing.

Kya knew about trauma. Her mother taught her how to weaponize her bending, and her aunt made sure she could defend herself without it. She had watched both of their skills first hand. She’d been told, more than once, that her dad might have died. She’d run from danger with a toddler on her back and her brother’s hand wrapped fiercely around her own. She’d hid for hours in secret rooms when she was under threat and waited up for longer for her parents to come home when they had been. Kya knew about trauma.

When a traumatic event occurs, most of the time those involved don’t usually realize how much it may affect them until long afterwards. Kya had found, in her personal experience, for this to ring true. But tonight was the exception to the rule. The moment Kya stepped through the doorframe, something came over her, and she knew. This was a traumatic event.

“Bumi will be okay, right?” She wasn’t even sure why she was asking. No one answered. And even if they had, Kya wouldn’t have heard it. All of the sounds around her had dampened, like her ears were clogged with water, something that had never actually happened before. Her father was yelling something, but it was hard to hear him over all that her eyes were taking in. His robe was drenched in blood. Not a light splatter, but the kind that was thick, the kind that had so throughly soaked the fabric that it hung heavier over his frame and made a noise as it swayed. That was the only noise that came through. The thwap of her father’s blood soaked robe against his shaking body. Her mother joined him almost instantly. She had never really stopped moving. From the moment they left the water, Katara had just kept going. She started speaking too, not calmly or less loudly, but she was even, somehow. Kya recognized her tone from the hospital, and from those late nights when her father came home days late. She was a healer now.

“He has to be okay!” Kya spoke, into the room. She didn’t dare enter.  It was like she was watching a play, where her parents and the doctors were the actors, and her brother their prop. He was lifeless, like a toy or a statue they’d brought in because making any human fill his role would be unfair. It would be too hard to move someone like that, to pretend to rip off what was left of their clothes and root around their pretend insides and flood their pretend bed with that much red.

He was lifeless. There was life in him, she could tell - she was supposed to be a healer - but there was less. Life-less. If she looked too long at her brother, Kya began to feel less life too. But she couldn’t look away. He was her anchor, even now.

Kya was barefoot. She didn’t notice it at first, but it made sense. She hadn’t had time to put on her shoes as they ran, or to change. She was standing in the doorframe in only her wrappings and her loose pants which clung to her legs, heavy like her father’s robes, but for an entirely different reason. Her mother was wearing the same thing, meaning that she didn’t have robes to collect her son’s pain, and instead was forced to wear it on her skin. As Kya gazed upon the angry red smears across her mother’s arms, she realized was holding their shirts. That happened, during traumatic events. Kya was clutching their clothes they were the only thing keeping her upright. She hadn’t grabbed their shoes, or bent the water from her pants, but she took their shirts. Kya could bring them the shirts. Even if they didn’t want it, she could offer the shirt. She wanted to. But in this moment, the few steps it would take felt like walking the Great Divide. Watching was agony, but walking into it felt like something more. Like accepting it was real. But watching was agony. She took the first step. In an instant, a storm brewed in the pit her stomach, reminding her that her body existed. Her knuckles, hardened around her mother’s shirt, aching alongside her bare feet and her locked jaw and her tense shoulders. Her ears stung with noise. In that single, small step, the spectator was now an actor. All of her senses seemed to flood in all at once. It was too much. Too much for her body. Kya forced all of her concentration into the task at hand, forced her legs to move another step. They would not. The storm in her belly erupted, and instead of returning the shirt, Kya found herself throwing up all over it. And herself. And the floor.

Kya stood, one step in, covered in her own sick, for an undetermined amount of time. Ultimately, a nurse  rushing in with a pile of fresh towels realized Kya’s condition after having to side step her mess, and kindly handed one to her. She took the momentum of the action, the handoff, to begin the absent minded process of rubbing the towel on her face as she gazed forward. Kya couldn’t bring herself to leave, nor could she keep going. So she kept standing, one step in the door, forcing doctors and nurses to move around her as they rushed in and out to her mother’s command like a statue. Looking on. Life less.

Kya knew trauma. This was a traumatic event.

“Please don’t die.”

Notes:

SO

sorry about that. yikes yeesh anyways. we thought the intensity was over in the first like what four chapters? nope ! here we GO again.

ya hoo

also - there was NOT enough Mai in here so she got to get in !

Chapter 17: a natural

Summary:

Tenzin's first meeting :)

Notes:

wanted to add this in as a sort of 16 1/2 bc it's quick but not really in synch with the last chapter, so consider it a lil treat!!

also y'all deserve two chapters in two-ish days after the waiting you've endured

 

much love !

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"I'm still a believer but I don't know why
I've never been a natural
All I do is try, try, try"

- TS

Fire Nation Palace, The Next Morning

Tenzin swirled two marbles around with his fingers, and watched them. Over and over again they looped, around and around. He concentrating on the soft whirring sound as they went, honing in and ignoring all else around him. Most days Tenzin enjoyed the openness of the Fire Nation hallways, not taking for granted the ability to feel a warm breeze as you walked from your room to breakfast, and have gardens line your path. But not today. Today they were just more sounds. Tenzin had found the marbles in a pocket of the robe he was wearing today, which his father must have forgotten in them when he was around thirteen. It was ironic, in a painful sort of way, that Aang had probably played with these marbles, in this robe, while he was waiting for the exact same thing Tenzin was right now. Although his father was probably never this nervous- and even if he was, he had more than earned it, there was far more at stake. Tenzin would have watched the marbles spin, effortless and purposeless in their pursuit, until it was time to go in, but something stopped them in their path. It didn’t take much for Aang and Katara's boy to deduce who froze his metal marbles, mid air.

“Hey, Lin.” Tenzin grinned as his friend strolled over. She waved, creating a small dust cloud with the motion. Lin was coming from an intensive with her mother, and thus, caked in dirt. 

“Hey.” She echoed, keeping her distance by leaning against a pillar on the opposite side of the hall. Tenzin pocketed the marbles. “What are you up to?” Lin asked, glancing around the empty walkway.

“Waiting,” Tenzin said, scratching the back of his neck. “We go in in five minutes.”

“Oh. Oh wow.” Lin’s eyes widened, which, was not ideal for Tenzin’s nerves. But this was a big deal, and she understood that better than anyone. “Where’s Sokka?”

“He’s coming.” Tenzin confirmed. He wanted to add more but his mind was bouncing through the open-air halls, and he was afraid that if he pushed it would go flying through the skylight.

“Okay,” Lin said slowly. She stepped lightly across the walkway and tried to peek through the small window in the door. Tenzin’s pulse rocketed as she did, too nervous to take a good look himself. “Are some of them in there?”

“Yeah, I’ve watched a few go in,” He explained, moving his hands almost exasperatedly as he talked, “apparently you don’t have to wait to be seated but-”

“But what?” Lin asked, crossing her arms. They were standing side by side now, with only the door between them, and yet it felt like she was in another world. “You don’t have to prove anything to those stuffed shirts.” She said it like it was above an opinion, as though it was declaration, and she had made it so. 

“Okay,” Tenzin sighed. He was pretty sure she was right, but he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Instead of arguing, he fiddled, absentmindedly, with his sleeve. The robe for today was the next best fit after the war ending ensemble he’d worn last night, but his father was and had been, quite literally, a bigger man than he was.

“You look nice.” Lin said, suddenly.

“What?” Tenzin was startled. It had been so quiet before, without counting the soft hum of the scorpion bees in the garden, that her words surprised him in more ways than one. If she didn’t repeat it, he could almost convince himself he was imagining it.

“You.” Lin confirmed, gesturing rigidly to his robes. “You look nice.”

“Oh…” Tenzin said, at last, “thank you.” His face was turning pink in the streams of morning light, but to his surprise, so was hers. But she still looked cool, even in the dirt and blush, she looked amazing. “You do too.” Lin cracked a grin.

“Thanks Tez,” she laughed, dusting off her hands before placing them firmly on his shoulders. “I know you’ve got this. But to prove that you need to go in.” Her eyes were filled with determination. Tenzin closed his eyes. He dug deep, tapping into that part of himself that stood up to his parents, who cut off his hair, who spoke out last night. He tapped into the part of him that was Lin.

“Yeah, I do.” He nodded, took a breath, and opened the door.

The room was great, it was grand, just as everything else in the Fire Nation. Even the tables, lined in a great horseshoe around the room, were bigger and finer than those in the Republic City meeting room, stained a pristine red and lined with golden accents. Tenzin didn’t waste anytime admiring the scene, however, and made a beeline to his empty chair at one end of the horseshoe. Each nation or speciality was organized into tables pushed close together, meaning the Water Tribe reps sat together on one end, and the United Alliance leaders and techinical specialists sat together at the front, and Tenzin sat alone. Even with Sokka, forcibly moving the Republic City table closer, it was hard to ignore that sinking feeling in the vastness of it all. His table felt like that last buoy, the third buoy, off of Yue Bay that he always noticed on his way to school. It was close enough to see from shore, but too far out to be visited by swimmers, like one and two. It was the same shape and color, floated in the same ocean, and yet it was always alone. Doomed from the start. But it still did it’s job, as best a buoy could.

As the final council members shuffled in, Zuko, host of today’s session, stood up. Tenzin could feel his heart pump in sync with the pounding of the gavel. The mallet was so loud it echoed though the hall, bouncing off the walls as he made the announcement. It was time.

Aang had said, before Tenzin left, that meetings were hours of talking and minutes of communicating. It took Tenzin all of thirty seconds in the fray to understand what his father meant. It seemed that as soon as the gavel hit its board, representatives opened their mouths, and seemingly refused to close them until the gavel struck again. It was as though they were all ostrich horses who’s riders has a debt to pay.

Tenzin had his own promises to keep, and he couldn’t do so from the sidelines. With little instinct on his side, he resolved to start off by watching his family. Zuko and Toph, to his surprise, had taken a similarly reserved approach, only speaking when directed a question. While using different means, Tenzin knew that they were after the same goal: to figure out who to trust today, and who was lying. Sokka and Suki, on the other hand, were far more vocal in their pursuits. It was reasonable, Tenzin gathered, given that his aunt and uncle did not have to work for the respect of a crown or focus on the vibrations of an entire room, and thus had more ability to speak freely. He wondered, briefly, as he tried to tune out the faint echo bouncing around the ceiling -which was nearly impossible for other ears to hear- where his parents fell on this scale. He supposed he could give a good guess. 

The discussion was… rowdy. Tenzin chewed the inside of his lip as his eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. After about an hour, the lines in the sand had been drawn, and it appeared that many council members had decided that the attacks were at the fault of the United Republic, considering the attackers were from its regions, and by extension the United Republic representatives were to blame. Many of those from the Fire Nation, the Earth Nation, and trading specialists, were against putting in the sort of protections proposed, explaining that it would only negatively impact those trying to work with and trade with the Republic. They saw the attack-problem as a UR issue, and one that should be solved without damaging other nations. The United Republic, the Water Tribes, and social specialists felt that the law was necessary for everyone, considering they all passed through the sea. It was hard to hear those who had never spent more than a day in his beloved republic speak of his home with such disregard and generalization, but Tenzin knew that was part of the job. Today was about listening, today was about learning, today was about gaining respect.

“Members of the United Alliance,” A Councilman had started, about halfway into the meeting. He motioned proudly for those arguing around him, including Suki, to quiet down, as though whatever would come out of his mouth was somehow more important than anyone else’s.“Given that the attack was enforced by benders of both fire and earth, I think that it would be best to instead of moving forward with the protections law we are endlessly debating, that we instead move to instate the plan I proposed months ago,” Tenzin blinked, he recognized him now, from the party. Councilman Bao, from Shuhon Island. He was one of the richest people in the Fire Nation, and less importantly, had made a joke about Tenzin’s lack of tattoos last night.

“Councilman, you were outvoted-” Toph spoke up, her arms crossed. Tenzin’s eyes narrowed as the councilman continued, foolishly, ignoring her.

“-which would both help keep order and protect our traditions by limiting transportation and trade coming from some of the Republic’s more… populated ports.” Tenzin  felt a shiver rush down his spine as he watched the room, although far from equally, divided itself. A handful of other representatives seemed to already know what Bao would say, but thankfully most of the other members seemed as shocked as he was.

“Councilman-” Suki started, slamming her hands on the table, the metal from her Kyoshi Warrior ensemble clanging with her. Many representatives from the United Republic followed suit, but Bao carried on.

“The Republic is an experiment, council.” He bellowed, waving a pandering hand as he spoke. “It’s modern, it’s nontraditional, and it clearly needs more time. We have plenty of trading and travel companies in the nations who can easily continue to stimulate the global economy. Just until the discourse between this kind of mixing of lineages becomes less hostile and-” Tenzin knew about people like Bao. He was the kind of man who he was raised to rise above, raised to ignore. He was the kind of man his mother ate for breakfast. Tenzin tried to listen, to learn, to earn respect. But at the end of the day he was his mother’s son.

“Hey.”  Tenzin started. His voice thundering across the room. Bao went silent, his face, lined with shock at the buoy before him. Tenzin took a breath, trying to center himself before he shook the windows. “Forgive me, Councilman, but your argument does not seem to keep the interests of the people at heart.” Bao sighed, and smiled condescendingly, as though he was humoring a toddler.

"I want to protect-”

“You want to protect what? “Your company? Traditionalism?” Tenzin asked. He felt heat rise to his cheeks, but he didn’t care. “I mean no disrespect, Councilman, but the traditionalism you speak of died with the end of the Hundred Years War.” If he looked just past the councilman, he could see Toph grinning from her seat. Bao was less than enthused.

“I don’t believe we’ve weighed the cost of what we could loose-”

“Do not lecture me about loss, Councilman.” Tenzin boomed. He spoke with the respect that was his birthright. He spoke with what he had promised. The windows shook, ever so slightly.

“You are a child!” Councilman Bao sneered. Tenzin took a breath, placing his hands squarely on the table in front of him.

“Today I am a representative.” Tenzin corrected, camly. “I will be voting in line with the ways of my people, and my people did not see barriers between nations the way you might. You cannot stop trade nor can you stop transport from Republic City just because the people that live there are mixed.” “That is not why I’m-” Bao fussed, flustered.

“They are not the problem. I am not the problem.” Tenzin continued. His voice was steady, his mind was still. “We need to protect people before we protect your so-called values.” He cleared his throat, and took a seat. Tenzin wasn’t even sure when he’d stood up, but he had. He had barely thought about what to say, but he spoke. He was all alone, yet felt closer to his people than ever. “Thank you, council, and forgive me, you may proceed.”

He was weightless.

Notes:

hope you liked it ! OUR BOY !

Chapter 18: all is well that ends

Summary:

Bumi sat up in a haze, ripping through his bandages, on Sunday night. This is what follows in the week after.

aka, The Letters Chapter

Notes:

switching it up a bit!! the letters chapter!! letters!!!

i hope you enjoy this change of pace:)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Hang your head and cry if you like, but all is well that ends"

- RKS

Delivered: Monday

Auntie Katara,

Thank you so much for your letter updating us on Bumi’s progress. I’m glad to hear that his leg is healing nicely. I know you’ve probably already received my father’s letter, as well as the letter from Uncle Sokka, but I just wanted to write again, just to make certain I’m getting all of the information.

How is Bumi today? I hope he knows I miss him dearly, we all do. I cannot wait to see him in just under two weeks, we’ve already started preparing his room so that he can be as comfortable as possible in his recovery. If there is anything specific you think he might need, please let me know and we can have it waiting for him.

In other news, I’ve been told that Tenzin was flourishing in his first meeting earlier today. He is really warming up to the whole affair, and is starting to help sway key members! I hope that you and Aang know that the new generation is in very good hands.

Sending love always,

Izumi


Delivered: Tuesday

Dear Katara and Aang,

It’s Toph (and Suki writing) just checking in. I’m sure you know by now but I’m here with your kiddo, and I brought my kiddos so he’s all okay, I promise. We’ve got him. He’s incredible in sessions so far too, reminds me of a young Twinkle toes but with his mama’s edge.

Now that you’ve been updated, I’m not gonna sugar coat it: you guys need to tell us what’s happening. The quick ‘he’s fine’ letters are kind of freaking us out. We know you guys, and it doesn’t take my feet to tell when you’re lying. And Izumi, Tenzin, they can all sense it. If you’re worried about any of the kids reading it for some reason I promise they won’t get to the mail before one of us, but please, let us in. He’s your baby, but he’s all of ours too.

Say the word and I’ll come down there.

We love you,

Toph


Delivered: Wednesday

Hello family,

We hope it’s all going well. Bumi will be okay, recovery takes time. He hasn’t responded to treatment as quickly as we hoped, but we aren’t worried- it’s all apart of the process.

Give our love to Tenzin. We are so, so proud.

Thank you,

Katara and Aang


Delivered: Thursday

Hey

It’s me. Something happened a few nights ago and we don’t know why. Katara thinks it all started because of his concussion but we aren’t sure how to stop it

Reassure the others please, nobody should worry if they don’t have to.

I’m lost, Zuko. I don’t know what to do or how to help.

 Tell Tenzin we love him and are so proud.

-Aang


Delivered: Friday

Kya,

I thought I’d write you a letter, since your the reason I got to come to Caldera. I think I’ve been making our nation proud, or trying to at least. You won’t believe some of the changes I’ve made, I think you’ll like them (and no, it’s not an earring). Councilman Xi is just as annoying as Toph and Sokka have told us, and I can attest that their impressions are shockingly accurate. The parties are really long and you have to laugh at jokes that aren’t funny, which I’m good at, being your brother, but they’re nice, overall. I could get used to it. I think you’d hate them.

Mom and dad just keep sending that they love me and am proud and all of that, but I figured you know what’s happening, and be more honest. I know everyone wants to protect me, but at this point…

I know something’s wrong. If you get the chance, please tell me what.

Tell Bumi I say good morning or goodnight, depending.

- Tez


Delivered: Friday

Hey Tara,

Been a while since I’ve used that one, huh? There’s been a lot of blasts from the past around here, and it got me thinking of old times. Your son is amazing. Astounding. I’ve been keeping an eye on him, and checking in as promised, but trust me, he has got this handled. I’m so proud of him, and I know you would be too.

I have to ask:

How is Bumi? Your last few letters have made us nervous, I won’t lie. There’s only so many times I can read the phrase ‘he’ll be okay’ without knowing anything other than the fact that he’s not taking to treatment. I know he’ll pull through, but recovery can be hard. Say the word, and I’ll come back down.

Is Kya doing okay? She can come up if she needs to, the girls are here too so she’d have a lot of company to get her mind off things.

And, importantly, how are you? Stupid question, I know, but I can’t help it. We are all here for you and Aang, always. Please remember to eat, and sleep when you can.

Have you written to dad? I realized I never asked. I sent him something when we first got there, but I was curious. Anything you do is okay.

I love you,

Your brother


Delivered: Saturday

Tenzin,

Bumi is worse, somehow. He just sort of went backwards. He has these awful fits and his fever is back and he keeps opening his wounds and mom is doing all that she can but it’s hard.

They say he will be okay, though. I'm sure this is just apart of the journey. A long journey.

I don’t know what the plan is. Mom and dad keep going back and forth.

I’m so proud of you, keep doing your best.

Kya


Bumi, I know something’s wrong and no one knows what or maybe no one’s telling me but it’s really, really scaring me. I should’ve pushed I should’ve come. Please please don’t die. Yours forever, Izumi


Delivered: Saturday

Dad,

I’m sorry I haven’t written I ’ve been with my son Thank you for your letter.

Bumi has been healing in the Fire Islands, but he may need to be moved sooner than we had planned. I don’t know if I can fix what’s wrong

We will be going to Caldera soon, where Bumi can meet with Fire healers who can help prevent any long term mental effects. We will have plenty of support there, so please don’t come I don’t want you to come You are not the support you think you are so for now I think a trip down isn’t necessary. We miss you, though, and I know a trip South will be coming soon, with Bumi’s recovery.

Give my love to Gran Gran and Bato,

Katara


URGENT: Delivered: Sunday Night

Uncle Sokka

You need to come back right now

Kya

Notes:

sooooo ominous - sorry !

i hope you liked it !

ALso : with the mild hakoda slander, i like him and i think he has a good relationship with his kids, but i think it's complicated, especially where katara's children are concerned

anywho, much love

aza

Chapter 19: unraveled

Summary:

what happens, directly after the last letter

Notes:

things are HEATING UP YALL woooooooo

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Think I unraveled my mind"

rks

Kyoshi Island, 11 years ago

“I don’t wanna do it.”

Bumi tossed his boomerang onto the ground and plopped down in the grass beside it, arms crossed. Sokka frowned, groaning as he pushed himself off the back porch. The sticky summer air on Kyoshi never quite agreed with his knee.  “Buddy, c’mon, we talked about this.”

“I can’t,” The eight year-old pouted, glaring up as he sat in his uncle’s shadow. Sokka sighed. It had been a perfect plan. Katara and Aang had started practicing with Kya that winter, making family trips to the North and South so that his niece could train with other children in the birthplaces of her element, having everything her mother did not. Tenzin would start ‘toddler breath control’ in the fall for safety reasons, and start flying in tandem in a year’s time. It seemed only right that Bumi’s training started this year.

“You can.” Sokka insisted, extending a hand. His nephew turned away, dragging his dirt-caked legs up to his chest.

“I’m not even training for anything,” he huffed, picking at a scab on his knee.

“That’s not true.” Sokka said, softly, taking a careful seat next to Bumi in the green.

“Then for what.” Sokka thought for a moment. He thought of the young boy he had been, who could have never imagined living somewhere with this much grass, who learned to fight because it was all he knew. Who trained to prove something to his father and protect his sister and avenge his mother, and how none of those things ended up being what he fought for in the end. He thought of the spar he had shared with his old master at the last White Lotus meeting earlier that summer, and the almost-giddy relief of going through such practiced motions for pleasure alone. He thought of the ridges on the handle of his father’s old hunting knife, and the echo of his mother’s voice telling him to hold the sharp side down, which played in his head, even now, every time picked it up and he felt the grooves on his fingers.

“You’re training for yourself.” He said, at last. It was simple, but it was honest. Bumi turned, finally, to face him, his big blue eyes narrowing in confusion.

Uncle,” he muttered, in their family’s first language, “that doesn’t make any sense.” Sokka leaned over, and picked up his nephew’s boomerang. Since he was a baby, Bumi had adored them, always playing with his uncle’s and drawing out the designs of how his could look once he was old enough. When he was five, Katara had even caught him trying to carve a hunk of driftwood into one with a stolen kitchen knife. Boomerangs were in his blood. They had always been the plan, always been step one. Until his siblings started bending. 

“It might make more sense if you try,” Sokka offered, nudging his arm with the smooth side of his boomerang. Bumi shook it off.

“I can’t.” He huffed, again. His hands were digging into the earth, dirt filing under his finger nails. 

Sokka was undeterred.

"You can, Boom, you just don’t want to.” He countered. Sokka knew Bumi. Even more than that, he understood him, far more than most. His parents worried he was on the road to being lost, his teachers decided he was unfocused, and the world wrote him off as a failure. Bumi was tough, and incredibly bright, but had a few too many tiles stacked against him for that to be enough.

“Kya and Tenzin get to train at home.” Bumi complained, picking blades of grass out the earth and scattering them across his shoes, absentmindedly. Sokka raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want to train at home? Cause we can, we can go right now.” He offered. The complaint was hollow. It wasn’t what he wanted. Both of them knew that. Bumi’s little body tensed, and the grip on the blades in his hand tightened.

“No.” He said quickly,  staring forward, towards the house. He sighed. Bumi was tired, too worn for eight. Sometimes, when Sokka looked at his sister’s children, it felt like they had inherited all one hundred years from their father. In a sense, they had. “I… I don’t want that.” Bumi continued, quietly. His eyebrows had drawn up into his forehead. “I don’t… I don’t want them to see. To know that I can’t do anything.” Sokka frowned. There it was. Even though this was the answer he was looking for, it wasn’t incredible to find. He paused, thinking of what to say. Of how to explain.One of his biggest rules with his niblings was that he would treat them with the respect he gave adults, and that meant he wouldn’t lie. 

“Look.” Sokka said, clicking his tongue. He leaned forward onto his things so that Bumi could see his face. “I’ll level with you. Some of this… it sucks. Your siblings can do things you can’t, and your parents can teach them things they can’t teach you, and that can feel like a bummer sometimes I’m sure… but these are your tiles Bumi. This is what’s on the board.” Sokka shook the boomerang as he spoke. “You have to shift your focus here, bud. You gotta adapt. Let me teach you how.”

The two of them sat for a moment in silence, the boomerang now sitting between them in the gentle summer breeze. Sokka listened to the distant squawk of seabirds as he waited for his nephew’s response. At last, Bumi turned back, with a determined look the untrained eye might have attributed to one of his parents. But Sokka knew Bumi. There was something more behind his stare, something scrappy.

“Fine.” Bumi said, swiping the boomerang as stood up. Already, Sokka could tell that it felt natural in his hands, grinning as he watched him slip it back and forth between his right and left. By summer’s end, it would be like an extension of his body.

“I’ll take it,” Sokka nodded, pulling his own boomerang out of it’s holster as he joined him. “See,” he started, taking his stance. In an instant, his trusted weapon was sailing through the air, squarely hitting an old practice target above them on the hill before it came back, folding carefully into his outstretched hand and back into the holster. Bumi looked on in awe. “I can’t move water, but neither of your parents can do that.”


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Sokka used to count to pass the time. It was how his mother taught him his numbers, quizzing him as they went about their day. Their village was small, they could not afford to leave anyone at home with the children, so instead, Sokka became her shadow, and the world became his school. She used to ask how many houses away from home they were, how many fish his father caught that week, how many words his baby sister could say. When he got older, he started counting other things. How many days they had before they would run out of food, how many times this week Katara woke up with nightmares, how many minutes it might take for a ship to get from the horizon line to the village. Even as they traveled, he never dropped habit. He knew how many seconds it took for his sister’s bending to relieve pain, how many minutes Aang could be in the Avatar state without needing a break afterwards, how many hours from Caldera to Ba Sing Se.

It was thirty steps from the mail room room to his. After a knock, it was a sleep-deprived seven for Suki to get to the door. It took Sokka three once he saw the silhouette of his wife stiffen from his bed.

Reading the telegram took three seconds.

Re-reading it was four. Five. Six. Waking Zuko and Mai and Toph took two minutes. They sprung into action in seconds. He had traced his team’s response time down to the moment, but he couldn’t quite remember how far away Red Sand Island was. He had been distracted, off his game, and sky bison travel was not a regular unit of measurement. Zuko mentioned Aang saying something about an hour as he ran to get coordinates (twenty quick steps), Mai followed after him (twenty-three), insisting it was two.

“Honey-” Suki coaxed, watching him pace around their bedroom. She had been the one to collect everyone, and in the moments apart, the moments alone, Sokka had sunk deeper into himself. He could barely hear her.

“Where are my clothes?” Sokka muttered, swinging open every door in the room. “Where did I put them?” Packing should have taken three minutes. It was something Sokka prided himself on. He was a fast packer. He had an emergency pack memorized, timed, ready. No matter where he was, he could find his two shirts, a pair of pants, a hair tie, and a toothbrush. It was down to a science. It should have taken three minutes. But he he couldn’t find them. He hadn’t planned to leave. He’d let his guard down-

“They’re here, they’re here.” Suki showed, steadily. His pack was laid open neatly on their bed, already fastened with what he needed. Still, Sokka checked it once over.

“They need blankets!” He realized, eyes wide. “He needs blankets and pillows and gauze. Where is he staying?” Sokka ran a hand through his hair. His head was so loud. “Zuko!” He yelled out their bedroom door. Sokka didn’t care who he woke up. He couldn’t care about anything else. “We need gauze!” Gauze would take two minutes. Seven if the palace nurse was on their day off. He should have been faster. He should have already planned. He should have counted-

“You don’t need gauze, Sokka.” Toph argued from the doorframe. He cringed, internally, at what she was walking into. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, feet planted evenly in the doorway. "We’ll prepare his room. It’ll be ready.” 

“Hey.” Suki said, catching his wrists in her hands. “I need you to take a breath for me.” Her face was calm. Strong.

"I shouldn’t have left.” Sokka uttered, honestly. “I shouldn’t have left. I know how she gets and how he gets and I just-” His hands began to shake in Suki’s.

“They are adults.” She said evenly. They’d had this conversation before. “Aang and Katara are adults.” She said again, rubbing her hand on his shoulders. Her tone was soft, reassuring.“And Bumi has so many doctors and people taking care of him. They can take care of this, they just need extra help.” Sokka could hear her now. A part of him even believed she was right. But a larger part could not. It was the part that used to count the days since his father left until he couldn’t bear to tell her the number. The part that still saw him as the boy they pulled from the ice. The part who’d been told his job in life was to protect her. The part that held him during storms and told her stories when she couldn’t sleep. It was the part that was the still the boy who he agreed to walk away from all that he knew because she believed, who refused to leave her or be left again. The boy who, after two days, felt the same way about him.

“I left them.” Sokka whispered. He let himself deflate into Suki’s arms. “I don’t leave her. I can’t-”

“Sokka-” Suki started, muffled by their embrace.

Kya wrote the note.” He countered, as though it said it all. It took him an extra handful of seconds to register what that meant. He almost couldn’t believe the signature. They weren’t supposed to grow up like this.

"It’s okay.” Suki said, again. She was tracing little circles into his back with her fingertips. “They will be okay. We’re packing right now and then we’ll leave.” Sokka opened his mouth to speak, to remind her how little she could promise, how little was certain, but instead she pulled back, squeezing his shoulders and looking fiercely into his eyes. “I can’t promise you anything, but you have to remember are doing everything you can. We all are.” He could almost believe her.

“I’ve got the coordinates.” Zuko said, rushing through the door with a piece of paper pressed firmly in his hand and Mai not far behind. The two froze, momentarily, in the center of the room, glancing between each other and Sokka.

"Are we waking Tenzin?” Mai asked, warily. Sokka’s face fell further.

“I can’t bring him into this, right?” He started, pacing, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. “But I can’t just leave him and-” Toph caught his arm, mid pace. Her calloused grip was firm, unwavering.

"I’ll stay back.” Toph offered. Her hand stayed, wrapped as far around his forearm as it could go. It had always felt easier to be honest with her. To let her see the uglier, frightened parts of him. It felt shockingly less complicated. “We have him, Sokka. Just bring them home in one piece. Tenzin can’t help, and I’m not about to let him go back when we don’t know anything-”

“Don’t know what?” A voice called, from the doorframe. Sokka watched as every fiber of Mai being tense at once. If Zuko had been a worse fire bender, smoke would have sprung from his fingertips. Suki curse in her native tongue under her breath. The princess was awake. It took four seconds for anyone to answer.

“Izumi-” Mai started, carefully stepping towards her daughter. Izumi stood her ground, her eyes darting between every figure in the room.

“Don’t know what?” She demanded. The crimson wrinkles of her robe seemed to hang heavier on her frame with every passing moment. Her hair, pulled loosely into a braid down her back, felt as though it was falling undone before them. Pools already started to form, distorted in the reflection of her glasses. She asked again, but she already knew.

“Kya…” Zuko began, slowly. He looked between his wife and child in mild terror. Sokka had not asked how they broke the news the first time around, but he could have guessed how it went. “Kya has asked for Sokka. They need him to go back.”

“Go back?” Izumi echoed. No one moved or breathed. Sokka looked at the ground and his pack and his wife, anywhere but the face of the child who’s world was breaking before him. “Why? Why would he need to go back!” She was almost yelling now, shaking in her parents arms, asking for answers no one could give. “We don’t- he was fine! He’s supposed to be fine! He was-”

“Izumi!” Sokka cried out, over her. She stopped, watching him in quelled breath. Her poor face was flushed with emotion. Sokka sighed, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Izumi we don’t know. We don’t know, okay? None of us know.” He wondered, briefly, if he had been too harsh, too loud, to honest.

“I’m going.” She declared, determined. Sokka’s eyes widened. At another time, he would have anticipated this. But he had been off his game.

“Zooms-” Suki started, from behind him. Sokka tried to think of what might have followed, what answer could possibly be given to make their force of a niece stay.

"I can’t wait anymore!” Izumi protested, breaking from her parent’s arms. Her outcry was far from the whine of a child, closer to the declaration of a leader. It used to take her an hour to perfect katas others learned in a week. “Not when we don’t-” her voice hitched, “I have to see him. No matter what. Please.” Zuko and Mai turned to each other, then to Sokka, then to Izumi, who waited, in baited breath. Four seconds.

“We trust you.” Mai said, at last. Sokka wasn’t sure what he would have done if Izumi had been his, but he understood her longing, her desperation, like he understood the tides.

“Okay,” Suki spoke in her leading tone, bringing everyone back to the task at hand. “We are leaving in seven minutes no matter what, Zooms, pack fast.” In an instant they were back in emergency mode, speaking fast and packing faster, leaving no stone unturned, no box unchecked. Just as Sokka started to pull the last string on his pack, Lin shot through their door like one of her mother’s wires.

“I wanted to help-” Lin gasped between words, as if her body wasn’t sure if she was still running. “So I went down to check the stables- but there was this gust of wind and when I got there it just started-” She heaved. Beifongs didn’t heave, they barely ran out of air. “The gate it just-” Toph bent down and tried to calm her daughter, moving her hand up and down with each breath.

“What, honey, what is it?” She asked. Lin paused for three seconds, her face in knots.

“Appa left.”


Red Sand Island, Present

It was time to go. It’s what they all agreed. After seven days of little change and less sleep, it was clear Bumi needed more. More than her.

It was hard to think clearly at this point, the days and nights blurring together into one abyss. With the faint hum of the electric lights, it was easy to loose time completely. They’d tried to rest, and had even forced Kya back to the inn one night, after a particularly long episode, but she didn’t sleep. No one could. If Katara was leading a different life, she may not have thought it was possible to go this long without stopping. But she would have worked as long as he needed. She could have worked forever.

Katara prided herself on understanding the human body. Sometimes she felt so in tune with her patients, that she could anticipate their needs and picture their recovery like a winding road laid out ahead of them. But Bumi’s problem wasn’t physical. Dr. Niko had explained what his parents already suspected, that their son was infected with a severe case of the warrior’s tremor. Katara could feel it. She could feel his pain, his roadblock, but she couldn’t fix it. Not alone.

Katara could handle many things. She fix brusies, blood, and broken bones. Even heaving and shallow breaths, all caused the damaged connection between his lungs and brain, even when it forced him to stop breathing all together, as terrifying as it was, she could handle it. She could bring him back. But it wouldn’t stick.

For seven days, Katara worked in a cycle. Bumi’s chest was healed, Bumi woke up, Bumi became delirious through fever and stress, Bumi broke his stitching, Bumi calmed down, Bumi’s chest was healed. The rest of the world seemed to drift away, until it became just the two of them working in an awful tandem like the push and pull of a violent storm. If she closed her eyes for too long she could almost hear the clatter of footsteps slamming, unpracticed, against on Fire Nation metal above her, and when she opened them, Katara half expected the boy before her to have a broken blue line across his body. She hadn’t given up then, with far less than she had now, which made it even harder to accept that he needed more.

Katara had made the decision. She pulled Aang into the hallway for the hundredth time in seven days, and in pained breath, resigned.

“He needs more. I can’t- I’m not-” Katara whispered, pacing. She felt pinpricks gather at the corner of her eyes. This wasn’t enough. That was how it felt. Bumi had trusted her, and she had failed him. Her husband didn’t say anything at first, only taking in her words with a small frown she knew was masking a deep panic. Aang knew his wife. He knew that she would never stop trying. She would keep going for as long as their son needed, keep fixing, keep instructing, keep being. She would have reached into the depths of the universe and pulled him back to her if it came to it. But it wasn’t what he needed this time. Bumi needed something different. Instead of piling concern, he pulled her close and clasped his impossibly strong arms around her. Katara closed her eyes and sunk into his skin, letting Aang stand for them both, for just a moment.

“You have done everything right,” he murmured, leaning his chin on the top of her head. “You saved our son. I trust whatever you think is best.” 

They would leave in two days. Dr. Niko gave them the name of the best Fire Healer in Caldera, who Zuko had already booked-but for their original timetable- and together they began making arrangements for his departure. Aang did most of the packing, racing back and forth between the hospital and the inn with their daughter. After their third trip that same afternoon, Kya decided to send for her uncle. Katara tried not to wince at her daughter’s announcement, cursing herself for not thinking of it sooner, for not asking herself. A sharpness had set in around her daughters eyes that brought pain in its likeness. It felt like with each passing day, Kya was looking more like her mother.

As nauseating the idea of moving Bumi nearly a week before they had planned was, before his bones had set and his fever had left and while the wrappings on his chest threatening to turn crimson with every passing second, there had been a peaceful, quiet few hours on the day of the decision where Katara felt an odd sense of clarity. Though it stung beyond words that she could not solve the world for Bumi, not protect him from all that was bad all that hurt, as a mother she could swallow the feeling if it meant giving her son the very best chance, giving him all that he deserved. He could hold on for two more days, the bags would be packed, Sokka would come, and together they would fix this.

The only piece, the only tile on the board they hadn’t accounted for, was Bumi.

“Mom…” Bumi called out, groggily. The sun had already set. Katara discarded the washcloth she’d been rinsing in the basin beside his bed, a new fixture of the room, and moved closer. She hated the way his lips cracked as he spoke. Her son had gone pale over the past few days, drifting in and out of lucidity. Katara hoped that between the exhaustion and the herbs, that he wouldn’t remember most of this.

“Yes, honey?” Katara asked. It was just the two of them in the room now, rare and brief. Bumi’s stress had  been manageable enough today that his nurses could be called out, and Aang and Kya had gone to get the last of their things from the inn.

“We need… we need to go now.” Bumi murmured. His mouth was barely open, his eyes nearly closed, but he was coherent, clear. There was a decisiveness in his voice she hadn’t heard in a while, a passion she’d missed. He moved his uninjured hand loosely into hers. “Caldera… Mama, please,” he asked, in her first language. “Don’t wait. I can do it. I promise.” Katara froze. Through it all, Bumi had not asked to go to Caldera earlier, not once. When they had announced they had moved up the timeline today, he had welcomed it with an ambivalent confusion she had associated with his condition. She had not expected this. Her first instinct, rooted in fear, was to dismiss the plea, to insist that she knew best, and that two days was soon enough. But Katara knew the human body, and she knew the importance of listening to your own. Bumi had been born to a healer and a spiritual bridge. He inherited a connection to life some spend their entire lives searching for. And even more, he was an adult. Her baby was grown.

“Okay,” Katara said slowly, rubbing small circles into her son’s hand. He trusted her, she had to trust him. Bumi nodded, thankful, and closed his eyes once again. The medicine they’d given him in a semi-futile attempt to sleep began working. At best, they had just a handful of hours before something went wrong. “Okay.” She said again, quietly, to herself.

Katara was still sitting beside her son when her husband returned, moments later, coming up with a plan for the second time today. As door slid open, and Aang’s gaze met hers, he tensed. Their children often said their parents had their own form of language, which rested between their brows. Katara used to sigh and shake her head, chalking it up to silly things like time and happenstance, but in moments like these, it felt deeper. Katara gave him a look, and Aang nodded back. He understood, almost instantly.

“Kya’s at the inn. She’ll be back in a few minutes. Tell me what we need to do.” Aang said, evenly, setting a final bag by the door. Katara ran a hand over her braid, glancing between her son and his father.

“We need a way to get there. Now.” Katara thought aloud, pausing. “Can he hear your from here?” She was never one to question connection, but Bumi came first.

“He will.” Aang affirmed, confidently. “He has to.”

With little else, Aang was out the door in search of higher ground. The rest of the night would go quickly, moving faster than anyone would like, but first, they needed him.

Appa was miles away, across the sea. He was sleeping, probably, given the hour, tucked safely in the stables they’d designed just for him. But they weren’t his home, just as Aang’s room in the palace wasn’t his. Aang was Appa’s home. It’s why she knew he would always come back.

Katara could hear it, when Aang took his breath. He filled his lungs with all the air he could, she could almost picture the faint flicker of his tattoos on the hill outside of town, feel the shake of hands. He put the bison whistle to his lips, and exhaled. Aang shook the trees on the island, sending ripples of sound out into the ocean, making waves that would hit distant shores and rock boats and lull those fishing into a far less fitful slumber. He sent a breeze that played with the earliest birds and the latest bats and rang the wind chimes on the back porches of all the homes in the valley of Hir’a. His song touched the smooth backs of armadillo bears in the forest, and ruffled the feathers of komodo chickens in the Royal Plaza. It sent the petals of fire lilies into the air and turned towers of smoke and tossed branches until it reached the heart of the volcano and called into the ears his best friend. Katara knew the call.

I need you.

“Appa’s coming,” Aang called, rushing through the open window, carried by a brush of wind. While no longer a surprise to his wife, it was always special to witness, despite wear and time and loss, the weightlessness with which he moved through the world. However, in all the commotion, the soft sound of the door sliding open was lost on the wind.

“Wait-Appa?” A voice called out from the doorway. Katara winced. Kya. “I sent the letter to Sokka today- he’ll be here by morning, we can-” The pale blue of her tunic rippled with panic as she moved, creating a soft ocean of waves in the creases of the shirt. Katara placed a firm hand on her shoulder, calming the sea that was her daughter before she spoke.

“Kya, sweetheart, we had to change the plan.” She explained, tracing the folds of Kya’s braid as she spoke. “Bumi will be okay, but we need to get him to Caldera tonight.” Katara’s voice was even-as even as it could be- but Kya was unconvinced.

Mama, no.” Her daughter said. There was a tinge of whine in her voice that pulled at Katara’s heartstrings. She could feel the exhaustion seeping from Kya’s skin."We-we had a plan. It was gonna work! We can’t just- he can’t do his!” Kya’s hand shook as broke from her mother’s grasp and threw her arm towards Bumi’s bed as proof. From behind her, Katara heard Aang’s tongue click in disappointment, a mannerism he’d picked up from her, as he tried to quell their daughter.

“He can, honey. He will.” Aang started, delicately. He bounced down onto his toes to meet Kya’s eyes, like he used to when she was little. She could almost see it now, her feisty four year old, fussing and determined to go off  and save the world with her father. “Your mom has it all figured out.”

“You can’t calm him down and heal at the same time.” She countered, arms crossed. There was something behind her eyes that made Katara want to throw away the entire plan. Kya was lost. It felt wrong, wretched, to gamble with one child’s wellbeing for the safety of your other. To place only hope on one’s side while you ensure the protection of another. It was something that Katara, long ago, before becoming a parent, briefly resented about her mother. She chose to save her daughter’s life, without hesitation, and in doing so had robbed her son. In the years after, when Sokka got quiet, or couldn’t open up, or grew harsh, Katara couldn’t shake the feeling that he might not be the same way if his Kya had lived. After decades of talking, and feeling, and being, she learned to accept that her fear was misplaced grief, festering in the ugliest parts of her brain. And after having children, after the first time she held her son, she knew that her mother had no choice. She would pick saving her child, every single time. Kya had hope. Bumi needed more.

“You’re right, I can’t…” Katara paused, steadying herself on the side of the bed. It was almost too consuming. She could almost hear alarm bells firing inside her brain, begging her to tuck Kya away, far from here, far from pain, from responsibility, forever. “Which is why, Little Bird, we need your help.” Katara wanted to close her eyes, to ignore the fear setting in above her daughter’s brows. She had not grown up like this.

“What?” Kya asked, surprised.

"I need your help.” Katara said, slowly. The words were like knives being pulled from her throat one by one. Aang took her hand and squeezed it. “I need you to bend here, on his chest, and keep pressure to make sure the wound doesn’t open back up when we’re moving him.” She hovered above her son’s broken body, slipping into stronger sentences as the talk became clinical.

"No, no I can’t!” Kya’s voice rose with every syllable, shaking her head as she spoke. “I’ve never-”

“You can do it, honey.” Katara said, calmly. There was little more to say. Even before they moved the timeline, before any of this, she there would be a time where Kya was tested. When her healing was needed. “I trust you,” she added.

“We trust you.” Aang echoed from beside her. He knew better than to overstep. His support was all he could give. Kya was overwhelmed. Her chest rose and fell quickly, heaving like her brother’s.

“No!” She yelled, exasperated. Nervous energy erupted from her fingertips, shaking the water in the basin beside them and changing the course of the beads of sweat now trickling down her forehead in the heat. “I can’t!” Kya yelled, again. It was awful, watching the weight of the past week all but consume their daughter, but what was worse was needing it to stop on their timetable.

“Shhh,” Katara cooed, collecting her daughter in her arms. Aang stood beside them, rubbing her daughters back. "It’s okay. It’s okay.” Katara’s eyes began to gloss over with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“Mom I can’t.” Kya whispered, fiddling chronically with a bracelet on her wrist. She was softer now, almost defeated. "Mom I can’t do this, I just can’t- I can’t.” She spoke more into her hands than to anything else. Katara paused, chewing the inside of her cheek. The water bender looked passed her daughter and gave her husband another look. He frowned an empty, sinking frown, but nodded nonetheless. Kya had hope.

“Kya… look at your brother, honey.” She spoke firmly, chocking back her panic, each word harder the last. Bumi needed more. “He’s dying like this.”

Katara was born into grief. She was born into pain and heartbreak and scars. She was born to warriors and healers and survivors. Her grandmother used to say that she was proof of both their relentless spirt and their suffering. As though her very existence was proof enough to persist. Mourning was not a pond she’d dip her toes in every now and again, a river that forever carried her, ebbing and flowing. She had grief in her bones, both her own and her peoples, lodged between the joints in her fingers and the curve of her spine. It’s what made her strong. It’s what made her refuse to accept more, refuse to accept this. As his mother, admitting what was happening to her son felt like a betrayal, like the balance in her system, the scales between harm and healing, past and present, loss and love, would tip and the pain would overflow, drowning her in her birthright. It was poison. “He’s not… he’s not going to make it through and be okay if we don’t start treating his stress.” Katara swallowed the lump in her throat, and clung to Aang’s hand on her shoulder like a life raft.“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t have another option, baby, I promise. I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry,” she added quickly, letting tears stream with her words down her chin. Kya pasued.

“I know.” She whispered, finally. Her voice was full, her eyes on Bumi, tired, but steady. Kya rolled her shoulders back, shaking off her parent’s grasp. “I’ll do it. I can do it.”

The next few moments happened fast. As soon as Kya agreed, Katara called in her son’s nurses and switched into her work mode as best she could, pushing down her panic and failure and woe as best she could.

“Everyone get into position.” She instructed, her voice strong.“You do not move until I say you move, you do not stop until I say stop.” Including her family, there were eight people involved in carrying her son out of the hospital and onto Appa. One was in charge of his leg, four would be lifting Bumi’s stretcher, and she and Kya would make sure he made it out. “On my count. One, two, three. Up!”

They moved slowly. Every step threatened to undo every bit of healing Bumi’s worn body had worked so hard for. They walked in unison, making the stretcher as still as possible, even when turning through the narrow halls of the hospital. Doctors whispered as they passed, and administrators stepped back when they crossed paths. Everyone knew what she was trying to do. As they turned one of the final corners, Katara heard Aang whispering under his breath in his native language. Despite decades of learning, it seemed there were always phrases, always prayers, that she didn’t know. Privately, she wondered if that was on purpose, if he was keeping some things for his world.

By the time they left the hospital doors, Katara had lived a lifetime. Her bending, the calming whir which connected her to her son, felt like the only thing keeping her intact. As they started to approach Appa in the town square, she let herself glance up for the first time since lifting Bumi off of the bed. Kya’s face was stoic with concentration, her lips pursed together with so much force they threatened to split open. But her body remained focused, her hands in motion. She was an artist, a healer, a master. In different circumstances, Katara would be full of only pride.

In one swift motion, without letting go of their son’s stretcher, Aang carefully bended the party up to saddle level. Moving Bumi from the earth platform to Appa took nearly as much time as getting him there, but they had made it this far, and the determination in the air carried them through. Katara wanted to bring the three nurses who helped them, who save their world, into a strong embrace and never let go. Instead, they parted with hasty thank yous and the promise of employment at any hospital they wanted as long as her word was valued, before taking off into the night sky.

Now all they had to do was hang on.

 

Notes:

yikes ! they did it ! great success !

i dont have much more to say only that the next few bits will be less Like This and kind of hellish i promise

Chapter 20: I'm a can on a string, you're on the end

Summary:

Kya. Bumi. Izumi.

sibling moments of all kinds.

sometimes it's more, sometimes it's this.

Notes:

it's been a minute, but here we are:)

plz enjoy this Long Chapter !!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The South Pole, 2 Years Ago 

The South Pole was a magical place for Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin. It was their haven, their Ember Island. It carried the cultural connection they couldn’t always find in the city, without the weight and emptiness of the temples. Their parents relaxed in the South, letting their children stray further than they could at home with every song sang. The South was dynamic. There was always a meal to be made and an old friend visited and a community center refurbished and clothes donated and children taught and a dance to practice, and no matter what, each day ended the same way. There was always a party. Kanna was notorious for her festivities, known and revered in her community as one of the strongest ropes that tied them together through the war. Katara and Aang’s children knew, just as every child born on Southern ice, that if the culture survives, if it is taught, if it is celebrated, the South survives.

Bumi was born with gathering in his bones. Community was what fueled his spirit, as it had his ancestors’. Where he found complicated rejection in his father’s culture, he found a home in his mother’s. Even at seventeen, he would count down the days until their next visit. He relished every song, every circle, every meal. Especially the meals. No matter how hard he tried, he could never find a seal jerky recipe in the city as good as his great-grandmother’s. His mother’s was lovely, his was passable, and the woman selling it on the corner of the cultural center could tie him over, but it wasn’t Gran Gran’s.

Thus was born his system of hoarding. At every party, in every auntie’s house and cousin’s kitchen and elder’s traditional igloo, Bumi would take two helpings of seal jerky. With this system, he’d end each visit with enough jerky to last him until the next. The only hitch in his plan, had been where to store it. There were far too many children flocking each event, any of whom would shamelessly dip into his stash if they found it. The place he landed on, after trips of trial and error, was his uncle’s first watchtower. Sokka’s watchtower, while no longer operational, was reconstructed and maintained as a monument. The tower was open to the public during the day, but the public didn’t know about the secret cubby in the overlook. Sokka had designed the space to store back up clubs, but it never quite worked. It was, however, the perfect size for a sack of jerky.

What Bumi hadn’t been expecting however, as he slipped out of his grandfather’s house on their fourth night of the trip, was another person taking refuge in his hideout.

“Kya?” Bumi questioned, nearly tripping over the final uneven stair in surprise. His sister sitting on the window sill, letting her boots hang in the frigid summer air.

She turned to him. Her face was illuminated by the dim streams of sunlight behind her,, first signs of eternal summer. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Bumi pasued at the entrace, the space between them feeling much further than a handful of feet. He could have sworn she was still at the party when he left, talking to one of their not-related cousins or picking a stupid fight with Tenzin. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was up here.”

Kya made a face.“Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”

Bumi blinked. Wow. There was an guardedness in her voice he’d been hearing more and more lately. Like Kya had built walls around herself. He wracked his brain, combing through everything that happened in the last four days that could have led to her fleeing the party. Kya loved the South with a reverence that felt deeper than he could ever tap into. “Okay. Well this is the only place in the entire world you can find this stuff,” he said, shaking the bag of jerky. “I’m just here to stash it, then you can go back to whatever you’re hiding from.”

“I’m not hiding,” Kya scoffed, drawing her knees up to her chest from her perch on the windowsill.

Bumi snorted as he added his treasures to the pile. “Sure.”

“You can go.” Kya insisted, picking at the loose strands on her parka.

Bumi looked at his sister. Something had changed this summer. Something he’d missed.

“Yeah… I’m not gonna though. Sorry.” He wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he wasn’t leaving. Not yet.

“Fine.” Kya huffed, moving to make space in the window. Bumi shimmied up, rather ungracefully, to sit beside her, rather uncomfortably close, with both of their feet hanging off the edge. They used to play in the watchtower all the time as kids, and all three of them could sit easily on the ledge, never being able to decide who would play lookout in their merry band. Their mother hated the way their little legs hung off the side, but they did it anyways. Things were different in the South.

But they hadn’t played here in a long time. And two of them could barely fit, even without their little brother.

Bumi cleared his throat.“This isn’t about what happened before the party, is it?” He gazed out into the sea, watching the waves lit up by the night sky. Kya prickled beside him. “Cause that’s not about us, you know that. It’s an old fight.” Every trip South had its wrinkle, it’s dark spot in the snow. The Water Tribe was their mother’s greatest pride, the root of her strength, a center of support. But it was also her home. It was the place she was left, the place she was changed, the place that forced her to be enough. Her childhood, in all its complexities, was woven into every song, every meal, every flake of fallen snow. Bumi could feel it.

It was always the same fight. Always with her father. Hakoda and Katara loved each other. She was half of his world. But from what Bumi could gather, his grandfather had always had a hard time grappling with the fact that his children had grown up without him, and couldn’t quite fit into his different role. It was as if he’d lost his footing once, over twenty years ago, and never could find it again. And while his coming along brought them together, he pulled a lot up with him. It was always the same fight. The same thing hashed and rehashed with every visit, as though Hakoda believed that somehow, that his daughter who, historically, refused to be knocked down, would bend. Just this time.

It was always the same fight. Always beginning the same way nearly everything in Bumi’s life would, with a comment about bending. 

I’m just saying, we haven’t had a water bending chief in some time.

We live in Republic City, dad.

I know, I know you do. But Kya is an incredibly talented bender, just like you, honey. And since-

No. We’re not doing this.

Just something to think about. Carrying on the gift is something that should be honored-

Bumi could also be phenomenal! Or Tenzin! Tui and La, Dad, how many times have I asked you not talk about bending when it comes to my kids! This isn’t something we’re discussing.

Katara-

I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back tonight.

“I know Bumi,” Kya murmured, jaded. She wasn’t making eye contact, instead, picking at a loose thread on her parka.

"Grandpa’s just proud of us and mom’s protective and-” Bumi paused, deciding what to say. He understood his grandfather. He did. Hakoda watched his people, his family, be brought to the brink - and clawed their way back from the end. He was a son of genocide, as was his mother before him, and his children. Bumi’s mother was a symbol of hope, and Kya shared far more than the color of her eyes. So Bumi understood. It didn’t dim his light more than anything else. Hakoda took him on special hunting trips and taught him how to fish and let him lead on the drums during dances. He liked it when his grandfather called him a warrior, a protector, a tribesman. There was kinship they had his siblings didn’t. He knew that. But his mother was right. She often was. It stung all of them in its own way. Bumi took a breath, “what I’m trying to say, is that nobody expects that from you. You don’t have to be chief or ‘carry on the gift’ or whatever other hoopla he or any of the elders said.”

Kya turned, facing him for the first time since they sat with wide, pensive eyes. “Bumi.” Kya stared on. “It’s not that. Or it kind of is. I don’t know.”

“Okay?” Bumi forced out, confused. Strangers rarely commented on likeness between his siblings, but all Bumi could see in Kya’s face was tonight, was Tenzin. Like she was only giving him half of what she wanted to say, and tiptoeing around the rest in her head.

“Do you remember…” she started again, nearly ripping the thread from her coat, “do you remember that thing that Tom Tom said, when he was getting ready for his wedding? About his family. And visiting us.”

Bumi blinked. That, he had not expected. “Um… Kind of?” It had been two years since Tom Tom got married. “I remember him talking about that summer he spent with Suki and Sokka in Republic City, right before he moved in with Mai and Zuko.”

"He said it brought clarity.” Kya spoke out onto the sea with a reverence she normally reserved for nomad folktales or her healing forms. “That it was like the rock that had been sitting on his chest had lifted for the first time.”

“Oh… wow.” That particular part of the week was fuzzy for Bumi, almost rough on the edges. But it seemed that Kya recalled it as though it was yesterday. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Kya smiled softly, resting her chin on her knee. “Well… I do.”

When it was clear she wouldn’t be adding any more on her own, Bumi tried thinking of anything that could connect Tom Tom’s wedding to their grandfather’s expectations. “Y’know I still can’t believe his mom just let him go at sixteen,” he murmured. Tom Tom’s departure from his mother’s home had been a defining event of Bumi’s childhood, especially since he spent much of the time immediately afterwards in Republic City before finding a “forever” home with his sister. Tom Tom picked him up from the island that summer and take him to training, and he’d always bring something sweet for the boat ride. Back then, he seemed so grown up, so put together. It almost hurt to picture now, knowing he was one year younger than Bumi was today, and had just lost everything he’d known.

Kya sighed. “She wasn’t pleased. But he didn’t have a choice.” Her voice grew louder, bolder, if only for a moment. The ice above them shook, slightly. Kya closed her eyes. “He didn’t have a choice. He said that if he hadn’t left when he did, the rock would have crushed him before he had the chance to live.”

“I’m glad he did. And that he moved into the palace after.”” Bumi agreed, reverently. It felt like they were right on the edge of what brought up her walls. Like their feet were dangling over the answer. He waited for her to say more, but nothing came. “Kya?”

“Yeah.” She answered, blankly. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon line.

Bumi chewed on his lip.“What…” He wanted to wait, to hesitate for fear that she’d clam up, but it was time. She needed him to ask. He could feel it. “What does Tom Tom have to do with this? With you?”

Kya’s eyes flitted between the sea and her brother, never daring to remain under his gaze for too long. “This…” she gestured outwards, "all of this expectation and assumptions and keeping things private… it’s not as bad as the Fire Nation but-” Kya closed her eyes and took a breath, like she was preparing, gathering strength. Even still, she spoke in a smaller voice, “it’s is my rock, Boom. I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh, Kya,” Bumi felt a flurry of relief and love wash over. him, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Can I give you a hug?” His sister nodded a little yes and let herself be clobbered into a tight hug. He wound so tight they nearly both fell out of the window sill, but Bumi didn’t care. “I love you so much. Thank you for telling me.

“You’re the first person in our family I’ve told.” Kya murmured from within his embrace. Bumi let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

"Really? I’m honored, little bird.” Bumi smiled.

Kya grimaced, giving him a playful shove as he let her go. “Nobody calls me that anymore.”

“The moment calls for it, baby sister,” Bumi teased, ruffling her hair.

Kya groaned. “That’s worse.”

“No fun, no fun with you.” Bumi clicked his tongue. For a brief moment, it felt like everything was right. Everything was okay. His sister trusted him, and he loved her, and that was all they needed. But Kya’s light seemed to dim as quickly as it shined, settling into a tired anxiousness that settled across her face. “So… you were up here because of their comments, then?

"Kind of?” Kya sighed. She traced the patterns on her dress, weaving her fingers around ever stitch and bead. “I’m just… I’m not what they’re expecting.”

“Who? Mom and dad?”

“Yes? No? Just everyone, I guess.” Bumi waited. Kya looked older now, too, like she’d passed him somehow. “Sometimes the pressure it just… please tell me you get it.”

“I do.” Bumi murmured. He did. It was different, yes, and he knew he’d never fully be in her shoes, but if there was one thing all three of the Avatar’s children shared, it was an understanding of expectations, and the constantly failing to meet them no matter what you did. But Bumi was older, no matter how it felt, and he would rather swim with serpents than let the world tried to teach his little sister she was wrong. “Look… mom dad, and everyone in our family, everyone important, loves you. They love you so much. And nothing could change that.” Their father spoke often of the acceptance and fluidity of Air Nomad relations, but the Water Tribes were a different story. While much better than in the North, even, the South preferred things to be kept “private.” Bumi found it ridiculous. His sister knew all of this, of course, but he couldn’t not say it. “And if you want to be chief, be chief, and if you don’t, you don’t have to, that’s up to you… but you’re still who they’d want.”

Bumi took a breath, worried he’d said the wrong, thing, too much or too little. He tried to read his sister’s face, but kept getting tripped up between the ridges of her pensive brows. She’d grown so much right beside him. They were sitting eye to eye now. Kya sighed, a long, weighted sigh, and causally rested her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Boom.”

Bumi nodded, cautiously. “Of course. And if you ever feel like you need back up for anything, I’m there,” he said, softly.

“I know.” Kya smiled. Her eyes were closed. It was late, even with the midnight sun.

“Good.” Bumi confirmed. He could feel his sister drifting off, her weight sinking further against his. “Always. I mean it.”

In an hour, someone would come looking for them, and Kya would be woken from her precarious slumber, and they would return to the party full of the only people in all the nations who see them as complete disappointments and Kya would smile at the elder’s pawning off their grandsons and Bumi would laugh at the jokes about his bending before sneaking off again with two cups of Gran Gran’s special punch and their mother would probably be angry with them both, but for now it was just the two of them, sitting atop a broken tower, gazing out at the sea. And it felt like Bumi could hold them both forever. He could hold them both.


Red Sand Island, An Hour Ago

It was cold outside. Maybe it wasn’t-actually, it probably was hot, now that he thought about it. The kind of stifling heat that made his mother move their trip South up by two weeks, just so she could stomach it. But when you haven’t been outside in a while, it’s hard not to shiver at the sheer openness of the world beyond those four walls.

Bumi would have enjoyed it more if he’d been able to walk out himself, but then again he’d never have such a great view of the night sky. Even with blurred vision, he could picture the stars above him. Bumi could draw a map of the sky above with a blindfold on and one hand behind his back - a feat he’d done many times: twice for a dare, once for his uncle, and about a hundred times for himself, over and over, just to prove he was worth something. He could almost hear his grandfather’s voice in his ear, telling the stories of the constellations with a reverence akin to something sacred. His sister like to remind him that everyone in the poles knew the constellations, that in another life they would have known them better than their letters. But to to Bumi, it was magic.

His mother was there, too, along with the stars. Her fierceness was welcomed, warranted, but he knew she was scared. He could feel it in the trembling of her finger tips each time she swept a hand down to check his pulse - something she could already feel while healing. She was still smiling though, each time he opened his eyes and met hers. It was quick, and stressed, but enough. For now.

His father was praying. Well, Bumi wasn’t certain, but he was mumbling just under his breath in his native tongue in a way that felt deeper than normal. He had never heard his father pray outside of morning meditation. It didn’t help that he could only make out every fifth word. Bumi could pretend, could attribute this to the chaos of his current state, or the supposed heat, but he knew it was because he’d never heard the words before. Most of the Air Nomad language was lost, and the remaining pieces were trapped in the folds of his father’s memory, only creeping out when they wanted. Aang had written down and taught all he could, but at the end of the day, no one person could recover it all- especially not the child left behind. But the mind was a funny thing. Bumi caught young one, ask, please, thank you, need, and grateful, But that was all he could get. And save. Over and over again. Save. Save. Save. Save.

And Kya was there. It was comforting to see her, in an aching, sort of crushing way. She certainly brought more comfort than the creased foreheads of the nurses around him, or the fact that his father had been pushed to using his connection to the other side in some sort of final bargain for his life. Kya was steady, secure. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Every step, every shuffle through the winding halls of the hospital and into the square, was greeted with supportive words and encouraging glances and grunts of affirmation from everyone on his team, except his sister. She was so enamored by her task, it was as though that was all she was. She was so present, Kya wasn’t there. It scared him, but not nearly as much as when she finally met his gaze. She looked straight through him.


Red Sand Island, Present

Izumi’s name was almost Lu Ten, she was sure of it. If they had picked any name before she was born, it was his. Her mother was a realist with a hard pregnancy, she wouldn’t have dwelled on names, terrified to make any decisions about her baby until she heard that first scream. But her father lived on hope. It ran through his veins and cemented itself in his bones. Under all the spite and will that got him through his teenage years, it was hope, no matter how deep down it lived, that forced him to survive. Nobody had to tell Izumi that she would have been Lu Ten, not when her best friends grew on the echoes of fallen family. Their children were named for the people who raised them, who knew them before the fall. She would have been Lu Ten.

Izumi used to believe it was just apart of how people who fought, lived. That the only reason she didn’t come when someone else’s name, someone’s legacy was called, was the complex relationships between her parents and theirs. Izumi knew, from the stilted tone that shrouded her grandmother’s names, that no daughter of Zuko and Mai would ever be Ursa or Michi, even if they were invited to her birthday parties. Still, she saw herself as an exception. As though names were apart of some rite, some step in the grieving process. And yet, the Beifong girls had names of their own. Lin and Suyin carried themselves, and nothing more, just as hers did. And just as she was closest in age to Bumi, Lin and Su were wrapped around Tenzin.

The princess rarely yearned for a sibling, feeling content with the circle her family provided, but at times she wished for a brother, just to test if she was right. Izumi wondered, sometimes, how much would change if Iroh had lost a daughter instead of a son. Would there be more weight, or less on her crow? Would her name ignite passion to do better or be another flame to keep burning? A burden or an honor? Once, she’d asked Bumi how it felt to shoulder the name of someone gone, but her query was met with a shrug and little else. It was too hard, too complicated, she had guessed. But it wasn’t until his accident that she realized why.

“Katara! Aang!” Sokka waved vigorously at the landing bison, sprinting into the courtyard as they followed behind. She saw it first in Tenzin, when he arrived. In the way he held his shoulders and folded knees on that first day he sat down and handed her the shaving scissors.

Izumi’s heart leapt to her throat at the sight of Appa. She tried and failed to collect her thoughts, tugging at the robes of those around her like a child lost in a festival.“What happened? What happened? What-” It felt like yelling into a void, but she couldn’t stop. Around her, they began to mobilize, her family falling back into practiced habits. Izumi found it again in Kya’s face, leaning off the saddle as they landed. They saw her before anyone else, her hair flapping in the wind. It was tucked in the sharpness of her jaw, in the ridge of her brow. And then she saw it in him.

Toph bent a platform up to the saddle. Izumi watched from the ground as Suki, Sokka, and her parents lifted a splotchy stretcher into the air. She could see Katara and Aang now, both glued to their son, along with their daughter. Later, Izumi would realize Kya was bending along with her mother, but now she only had eyes on her brother. “We have supplies set up in his room,” Zuko said, evenly, as they were lowered carefully back down. “Hina is waiting there and Sura is on her way.” In the darkness, all she could see was a stretcher with a crumpled silhouette of a person. gingerly tilting as it shifted, but it was still him. She saw it in the way the stretcher sagged and heaved, it looked, tired, almost, but perseverant. And for whatever reason, that’s when it clicked. Bumi’s parents carried loss in the palms of their hands. They spoke of the fallen like their names rested in their cheeks and ran across their teeth until they were chewed and chunked and spit into every fiber of their lives. And so did their children. He had shrugged before, because it didn’t matter. He would have been Bumi with or without the name.

Izumi watched the platform sink down in slow motion. With every inch, she found herself growing inpatient, desperate, worried that she could blink and he would slip away, back to that island or even back to his ship. She wanted to hold him, to protect him, to make him real. “Bumi! I’m right here! I’m right here!” Izumi cried out from the sidelines. He was here.

As soon as they took that first step, they were running. It was seamless, as though it had been planned for days, or at least hours, not silently communicated, not solely assumed. It was easy to forget, sometimes, between all the lighthearted jokes and foolish pranks and heated games, that they all had met in war. It had been so fast that Izumi found herself jogging to keep up. Not five steps in, her father caught on. “Zooms, sweetheart,” he started, his eyes glancing nervously between the stretcher and his daughter, racing behind. “I’m sorry, but you need to wait.” Izumi ignored him. She knew why, of course she knew why, but it was the same reason why she had to stay.

On her fifth step Izumi found herself caught by one calloused hand and yanked back by the other. “Izumi. You need to wait.” Toph’s voice was firm, nearly as unwavering as her grip. Izumi’s eyes widened. There was a tone with her aunt, just as there was with her parent’s, and Bumi’s, that meant under no circumstances could you argue or whine. Bumi called it the ‘tombs-tone,’ because if you didn’t follow the instruction, someone could die. His father hated it. Izumi had never questioned it, and never would, but for a single moment, she found her eyes darting between the arms holding her close, and the stretcher turning a corner.

After a few breaths, Toph’s grip loosened and she unwound Izumi, but a hand stayed firm on her shoulder. When her aunt decided they were ready, they walked together, side by side, to Bumi’s door. Toph didn’t say anything, and neither did Izumi, but the hand remained, a pillar, a force, a guiding support. Chief Beifong was known for her strength, for her fierceness, for her stubborn, steadfast ways. Strangers feared her, saw her as harsh, unfeeling. All Izumi knew, is that wasn’t crying when she got to his room. She wasn’t in hysterics, or tripping over her breaths anymore, as she had been, before she walked with Toph.

Izumi nearly tripped over Lin when they got to the door. She had made herself small, scrunched up against the floor with all her fingers and feet pressed firmly against the cool tile. The younger girl didn’t say anything to Izumi either, only passing a small, reassuring nod as she stepped out of the way for her mother. Lin was obedient to a fault, like duty had been wired within her. She was the opposite of Bumi. It was why she was his favorite.

There was no pause before they went inside. No breath. No beat. No moment to prepare. Toph didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop moving as she swung open the door and became apart of what was inside. Later, Izumi would realize that that was why she forced them to wait earlier, forced her to collect herself. Because this was real life. What was happening inside didn’t care if she was sad or scared or needed time. And in those critical moments, neither did they. Toph gave her what she hadn’t had, all those years ago. She gave her a breath.

Everyone but Katara and Kya looked up as they entered. “He’s awake, barely,” she heard Aang mutter. The Avatar clung to Sokka’s arm like it was all that was holding him up. Izumi couldn’t meet their eyes. She was drawn to him like her own flame. Like he was Agni himself. In an instant, they were connected once more. By each other’s sides, as they always had been. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.” Izumi whispered. Her tears spilled onto his face. She wanted to trace every ridge, map every freckle like she would in those quiet summers.

Bumi’s eyes opened in a squint. They were dull and clouded, bloodshot from it all, but his irises were still that simplistically shocking mix of blue and grey. They were still hers. “Zooms…” Bumi smiled. It was closer to a heave or a sigh than that perfect way he’d say her name, but it was his cadence all the same. Izumi nodded, moving closer to his line of sight. She felt her heart swell and a new set of tears rush in. It was as if they were in a dream, like they were the only two people in this plane. “I’m okay Zooms… I promise,” Bumi murmured.

Izumi gently collected his hand in hers. “I know. You’re going to be okay, Boom.” Her breath hitched as she spoke, her hands shaking as she held them close. He once told her that he loved his family so much it scared him. She wasn’t sure, at the time, how their love could ever be that consuming, that frightening. She did now.

Bumi frowned, and clicked his tongue. “Don’t cry,” he insisted, lazily, shifting the hand, still wrapped in hers, up to brush a tear from her eyes. “I’m… I’m right here,” he insisted. For a moment, Izumi wanted to scream at the spirits for even toying with the idea of taking him away. Instead, she shook her head.

“I know, Boom. I’m okay.” Izumi sighed, settling his hand back down, and cupping his cheek. He’d paled since she’d last seen him. The lack of contrast between her hand and his face pulled at her heartstrings more than it should have. He hated losing his color. “Just rest. You’re okay.”

Bumi smiled again, cracking his lips as he did. Izumi was grateful for the shock he was in, for anything that took the pain away. “Okay.” He muttered, closing his eyes again and drifting back into the haze.

Izumi sighed. All at once, the rest of the room came back into view. The princess, suddenly aware her auntie was waiting, shifted, rolling at back onto her knees and let her chin rest on his bedside. Instantly, Katara occupied the space closest to Bumi. Aang was on the other side of the bed, parallel to her, with Sokka’s hands placed on either shoulder. Suki was sitting beside them, with one of her hands wrapped around the Avatar’s. Toph and her daughter sat at the bottom of the bed, keeping feet and hands respectively to the floor. Her father was standing close, with both eyes on Katara, and her mother was suddenly beside her, ready to offer any embrace. There was also a nurse, Hina, moving in the periphery, but Katara had sent her for more water. Izumi wanted to heave. This wasn’t happening. It was as if her body hadn’t caught up with her mind, like she was still between two stacks in the library, praying for the reunion she was living.

They were quiet for a long time. The only sound occupying the space was the faint murmur of Katara’s health as they did another assessment. Only when her auntie sat back against the wall that met Bumi’s headboard, in some sort of silent signal that they were in the clear, did Sokka speak up. “So…” Her uncle cleared his throat, “what happened?” Izumi blinked. There was a staleness in the air, and exhaustion mixed with frustration that had yet to be addressed.

Katara sighed, exchanging a look with Aang before she started. “Last week… Bumi had a panic attack. A bad one,” she began. Zuko, who was now sitting beside his friend, moved closer so that his arm met hers. “Because of his wounds, his body couldn’t take the stress, and he started to regress and treatment stopped working. Thankfully, nothing was damaged during travel.”

“But until his stress gets under control,” Aang continued, staring at his son. He griped Suki’s hand closer, “we don’t know what recovery will look like.” His eyes were tired, guilt-ridden. “I’m… I’m sorry we weren’t completely honest in our letters.” Izumi listened on, almost dazed, as the pieces started to come together. She didn’t care, or even think she had the right to care, about any lies or half truths. All that mattered was that her body was touching the same fabric as his.

“Me too. I didn’t see this coming.” Katara whispered, ending their explanation. Her head was laying on Zuko’s shoulder in a way that Izumi was sure reminded the others in the room of a different time. A time when the only people they worried about were each other, and the only issue was the fate of the world. She wondered, briefly, if despite it all, they ever thought back on their youth as simpler times.

“It’s not your fault, Katara.” Izumi’s father said, frowning slightly. His head now rested on hers.

“Don’t blame yourself. You’re his mom. You’ve done everything you could and more.” Toph added, leaning against the bedframe. Later, there would be conversations of the Fire Healer coming in the morning, and Bumi’s treatment plan, and when the last time any of them had ate, but for now there was only holding. Only comfort. Only this.

Without warning, Sokka wound his way around the bed. He was moving with a purpose that felt bigger than her, as though something inside him would burst if he didn’t make it to the other side. Izumi shifted out of the way as he collected his sister in his arms. Katara accepted, firmly wrapping her arms around her brother. Izumi watched as he held her, and she let herself be held.

She didn’t often wish for siblings, but sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a brother.

Izumi couldn’t hear most of what he said, with his hushed tone and the language difference, but she caught the end, ”I’m so sorry I wasn’t faster.

“It’s not your fault.” A voice called out, clear and  rough, from the front of the room. Kya. Izumi had barely noticed her from her perch in the doorway. The younger teenager was frowning, looking at the scene in front of her in shock-riddled mild ambivalence. “Where’s Tenzin?”

“He’s asleep.” Toph offered, when no one else would. She had taken the space Sokka had left, and had one hand gently resting on Bumi’s leg. “I can-”

“We should let him rest,” Katara reasoned, hastily gathering her loose hair into a fresh braid. “There’s no reason to-”

“He’d want to know.” Her daughter responded, cutting her off. There was a fire in Kya that Izumi had not seen before. Something had twisted. Izumi could see it in her stance, almost spar-like, abrasive. She was on the offensive. “He has the right to know. I’ll go.”

“Sweetheart-” Aang cut in.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” Kya sighed. She slipped into her father’s native dialect, putting walls around the conversation Izumi couldn’t break through. Kya was persistent. Every syllable was harsh, emphasized by the hoarseness of the teenager wielding them. Aang, while he wasn’t matching her intensity, was speaking faster in his tongue than she’d ever heard before. Izumi taken aback, forced to take her eyes off of Bumi as she listened. She wasn’t used to hearing the Air Nomad language in such a tense tone. Granted, Bumi rarely spoke it off the island, or at least rarely in front of her, and neither he nor his siblings ever seemed eager to teach it, making her frame of reference limited. Even still, when she did hear it, it always felt like a gift, like something special. To Izumi, it was reserved for lullabies on the island and the way Bumi would round his vowels in the early morning and for the times when she was invited to meditation, when felt closer to the spirits than she ever had before. Each word was like magic. It was gentle and intentional and sacred. Like Aang.

Izumi’s eyes darted around the room as the fight went on. Everyone had remained silent, but she could almost hear the conversation her father and Sokka were having with their facial expressions. Zuko’s knitted brows and almost undetectable narrowing of the eyes were being met with Sokka’s hardened frown and far more obvious glances in a quiet battle Izumi didn’t have the context for, but could fill in some blanks with Toph’s clenched jaw. From her own studies, she could at least pick up the words go, please, and baby from Kya, and no, from Aang, but she knew those around her were far more familiar with the almost-lost tongue. Thankfully, she didn’t have to guess much longer.

Aang sighed, motioning with a hand that it was over. “Okay.” He said, switching back to the language they all shared. They were both standing now. His face was lined with exhaustion as he looked to his wife for final confirmation. “Okay. You can get him.” Izumi’s eyes widened. Whatever had been discussed was heated, and Kya had beaten a literal keeper of peace.

“But change first, sweetheart.” Katara added, catching her daughter with her words as she started out the door. It was in that instant that Izumi, and presumably, the rest of the room, realized that Kya’s clothing had not started the day in red. As she looked closer at the girl, she saw the crimson smears across her arms, and it became increasingly clear how involved she’d been in the journey to the palace.

“Izumi, why don’t you take her to get changed, love.” Mai offered, rubbing her daughter’s shoulder with her sleeved hand. Izumi was almost startled at the sound of her own name, shocked by the focus shifting back onto her. What was even more shocking, was her mother’s proposal.

“Mama, I can’t. I… I have to be here.” Izumi reasoned. She wasn’t entirely proud of the whine that lingered in her voice, but the night had left her delicate, raw.

Her mother brushed a hair from her face, and shifted her eyes from Kya, to her parents, back to Izumi. “Just for a moment.” Mai was not an overly explicit person, and her daughter had been trained in the usefulness of silent conversation. Between each word and within each stare, the message became clear. Her parents need us. And Kya can’t go alone.

Izumi sighed, gave Bumi’s hand a not-parting kiss, and stood to walk her friend. Before they made it to the door, Katara caught her daughter once more, this time in a semi-forced embrace. Izumi felt a little better now, and she could piece together more of her auntie’s native language. “You did so well, little bird. So well.”

Kya stiffly received her mother’s hug, and sighed out a reply. “I’ll be back soon, mama.”

They didn’t talk on the way to her room. Izumi felt as though she had left her heart behind, and with it half of her mind. There was little she thought would be helpful, and even less that she could piece together. Kya didn’t seem like she wanted to talk either, with both hands tightly gripping each other and her eyes facing forward, far away. She was still on the journey.

They got straight to work. The water bender didn’t need to ask about the bathroom or where they kept fresh clothes, she’d grown up here nearly as much as Izumi. As Kya took off her blood-splattered robe and let Izumi take down her hair, something clicked in Izumi. Running a hand through with a week’s worth of knots, it was like a switch went off, like her vision was de-tunneled and her mind cleared. Kya had had no auntie on her journey. No Toph, no moment to still her mind, no time. No one to give her a breath. Izumi could. She had been so focused on Bumi, she’d nearly forgotten his sister. But this was that kind of love, too. That desperate, terrifying love. The kind that made you content without siblings.

Izumi turned a nozzle (there would be no more asking for bending tonight) and the water basin started to fill. While they waited, they sat on the bed they once shared as girls, collapsing together in a heap after a pillow fight or dozing off after sneaking chapters of a favorite book, trading pages until they couldn’t bare to keep their eyes open. When it was time, Kya sat on the rim of the tub, and let the princess sit beside her. As Izumi wiped the blood off of her cheek, she tried not to think about all the times they’d taken turns scraping one of her mother’s mud masks off their faces in this very basin. They had stained the towels then. They would now, too.

“Sorry about the mess.” Kya said, scanning the pile of dirty, scarlet laundry in the corner as she changed into fresh clothes. “There was… there was a lot of blood before we got to Appa.”

Izumi looked at Kya with wide eyes. It was the first real thing they had said since leaving their parents. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

Kya paused, mid tie, and let out a sound that was somewhere between a raspy heave and a laugh. “None of this is okay.”

Izumi frowned. She was resting her shoulders on her dresser, the same one with two forehead-shaped knicks in the rim from when they’d steamed up the room with their bending so badly they couldn’t tell left from right. She racked her brain for anything she could say to fix it, to take away the pain. It hurt, almost more than she could bare, when she came up empty. “I wish…” She started, speaking honestly. “I wish I had been there with you all.”

Kya’s eyes narrowed. Her body tensed and her face twisted into something new and knowing. “Trust me.” She said slowly. “You don’t.”

Izumi did not argue with the hollow, aged stare that now haunted her friend. Instead, she upheld her promise, and guided the teenager to her younger brother’s room, the second walk now just as silent as the first. Kya shifted, almost uncomfortably in front of his door, hesitating the entrance she’d fought so hard for. Izumi squeezed her shoulder, stilling the hand that fiddled with her sleeve. Kya never loved red. All at once, the princess found herself in a desperate embrace, still-wet hair tickling her nose. “Thank you.” Kya murmured. Izumi knew it was all she had. It was all she needed.

“Of course.” Izumi held tighter.

While it was grief that wound around their parents, it was something else that collected them now. Kya was Kya, and Izumi could have been Lu Ten, but they would also have always been this to each other, just like she and Bumi would. It was a love so deep it scared you. A love so strong it ached.

Notes:

okay !!!

so this is a long chapter, kinda klunky, but I hope you like !!

i wanted to kind of do a chapter focusing on Bumi and Kya's relationship in the past, and kind of how their mutual feelings of being the outcast manifest. ALSO!! I am not anti- Hakoda, I think he loves his children, I just think/like the idea of it being more complicated. I think that for Katara, watching her brother spend a long time feeling very insecure because he wasn't a bender, he wasn't special, etc, being told he needed to protect HER and HER gift would make any feelings her father expressed feel especially triggering, especially since Bumi is already getting that from the world. But more on their dynamic later :)

 

ALSO I like the idea of kind of Izumi realizing the differences in expectations from say her vs. Kya and Bumi. they all feel pressures and have been raised in the same post-loss world, but what is expected and what is endured comes to fruition in different ways, ESPECIALLY given that Tenzin, Kya, and Bumi are all children of genocide, and she is not

ANyways, I hope you enjoyed, more to come

mwah

Aza

Chapter 21: when he gets older, he might be the one

Summary:

a tenzin interlude. getting back into the groove.

Notes:

she lives !

so we hiatused. this has taken me ages, generations, but we're back and i want to thank you for your patience and sticking with me. im a college student and wow is college Colleging rn.

this is a mini guy, a little tenzin moment to get us back in the flow

anyways, i love you all.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Georgia, Georgia, I love your son
When he gets older, he might be the one
He might be the one
Georgia, Georgia, he has beautiful bones

- Phoebe Bridgers

Tenzin woke up all at once. It wasn’t one of the kind of sleep that drifts you in and out of consciousness before peacefully lifting you out to greet the day. No, it was the kind that happened all at the same time. The kind that left no question between dream and reality. It would have been nice to think that last night was a dream, even for a moment.

The first thing he saw when he awoke, was his sister. Kya was curled over on one side of his bed, still sleeping like she was propped up against a hospital chair. Tenzin sighed, and made the bed he’d slept in, the one that was traditionally hers, as quietly as possible before slipping out. After last night’s affairs, Kya had passed out, cocooned in his blankets, and Tenzin elected to give her space, moving into the one right beside his for the rest of the night.

Tenzin closed the bedroom door as quickly as possible, trying his best not to let the early morning light in. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up this early without being woken up. The morning dew met his sandals as he crept across the garden. The palace seemed to be conducting business as usual, there were still nearly two dozen international officials staying in the other wing to attend to, and if he didn’t know it, he wouldn’t noticed that anything had changed. But even now, as he weaved through the palace halls, exchanging polite nods with the night staff finishing their shifts, their midnight reunion rang in his ears.

Tenzin. Tenzin, buddy wake up.

What-Kya? Why-

We had to come early.

Oh… He got worse.

He got so much worse. And mom couldn’t fix it-and he stopped breathing and he just kept screaming and bleeding and-

Shhh… It’s okay. It’s okay.

I had to hold-I had to bend and I was so scared- I still don’t know if I made it worse-

You didn’t. I’m know you didn’t. You are an amazing bender. You probably saved him.

I-I’m sorry-

Hey. You have me, too, right? You have me too.

He didn’t get answers last night, besides the confirmation that his brother was, in fact, alive. It had been enough, then. It had to be. Kya was in pieces, pulled apart further than he’d ever seen her. In the past, he’d never been able to figure out what to do in these moments, but last night, he didn’t hesitate to pull her into a hug. It was what she needed, and for the first time he felt like he could help. There was no fixing this. No way out but through. But he could hug her, and she could cry. And he had been enough. It had to be enough.

Without thinking, or realizing, or planning, Tenzin was outside of his brother’s room. He wasn’t sure, exactly, what he was going to do, or if he was even allowed in, but sometime between leaving his room and intending to go to breakfast his feet had a change of heart. A force beyond his control was pulling him to his brother, like a magnet to metal. He had to be there. He had to know.

Bumi’s room was dark. The door was firmly shut, so tight Tenzin had to lean in to open it. The windows were covered, creating the illusion of nightfall. He could make out two figures on the ground on one side of the bed, and another on the other, all asleep. Tenzin took a breath, and let his feet flutter, as they so desperately desired and so rarely were able, as he weaved across the room. Toph said it was like dancing. His father likened it to walking across the sky. It was supposed to be subconscious, a tactic his ancestors used to evade conflict and walk across the temple without disturbing others. Tenzin didn’t use it as regularly as they did, or even as often as his father, if he could help it. He knew it was probably a myth, probably impossible, but it always felt like he started, he may never be able to stop. He’d always had issues with control, and he couldn’t revive a culture from the clouds. No, his feet needed to be firmly on the ground.

As Tenzin landed beside the bed, his eyes had adjusted, and could make out the rise and fall of his brother’s chest. It was muffled, rattled even, but it was there. The visual confirmation would have been enough for the young air bender, but as he turned to leave, a tired voice rang out. 

“Tez?” A small voice called through chapped lips.

Tenzin shuffled closer to the bed, gently stepping over Izumi as he went. Standing over his brother, in the dim morning light creeping through the slit in the door, he felt like every day apart had been a decade. He was thirteen and thirty-nine and one hundred all at once. He felt seven feet tall. “Hey, Bumi.”

“Hey.” Bumi replied, simply. His brother had wilted. Fought, and just barely won. While someone last night had found him new clothes, there was still streaks of blood caked in his hair like the final burn mark from an Agni Kai, but of course that was only the least permanent battle scar. The edges of his wrappings were a bright red, raw and angry from being tied and retied. His eyes were sunken and bags blue, a sharp contrast to the pale aura that had crept across his face. Tenzin swallowed back any tired tears and cleared his throat.

“It’s really good to see you.” Tenzin answered honestly. He tucked his fidgeting hands deep into his father’s war ending robe. The pockets that once held peace-keeping speeches now helped to spin Tenzin’s lie. The lie that he was calm. That this was okay. That he had everything under control. “We were uh, we were nervous for a while… I’m glad you’re here.”

Bumi grimaced, as much as his body could, at the word nervous. Tenzin’s hands tightened around the fabric in his pockets. “Me too,” he mumbled. Bumi blinked over and over, trying to make out his brother in the darkness. When his eyes seemed to finally adjust, his eyebrows furrowed. Tenzin took a breath. He’d almost forgotten. “You look…”

“Different?” Tenzin had been trying to find the right word all week. But when he thought of how he felt handing Izumi the razor, of Lin and their spar, when he thought of how he felt in that first meeting, it was the only thing that encompassed it all. He wasn’t brave, or calculated, or particularly strong. He was different. Tenzin gave a small smile. He was different.

“Yeah.” Bumi was hesitating. Tenzin could tell that his brother wasn’t all there, be it exhaustion or exacerbation, he was still foggy. But even an off Bumi knew the gravity of his brother’s decision. He waited.

Tenzin sighed. “Yeah.” He still felt too big. There was more to say. More to tell. But not now. “How are you feeling?”

Bumi took a long time to answer. “I’m… okay.”

“Okay.” Tenzin nodded. He knew it was a silly question, considering, but he was wearing a priceless, historic robe and if the pockets were to see another day picked-hole-free, he had to ask. Bumi looked uncomfortable. Instead of pressuring, Tenzin glanced down at the floor, where the princess was still sleeping, just a few inches from his feet. “You and Izumi have reunited.”

“We have.” Bumi sighed, cryptically. 

“She must be happy.” Tenzin said, softly. They had spent several late nights together in the library this past week, Tenzin reading anything about mar-time politics he could get his hands on, and Izumi, combing archives on his brother’s condition. “She was really, really worried.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Bumi frowned. His eyes went far away, swimming in a kind of guilt they all knew personally. Tenzin’s shoulders crept up to his years. “I’m… uh… supposed to start fire healing today.”

“Oh.” Tenzin began, grateful he’d changed the subject. “That’s good. They’re really good.”

Bumi sighed. “Yeah. Uh… Dad says everything kinda spins when it happens.”

“It’s not so bad.” Tenzin murmured, almost absentmindedly. “The spinning, I mean.”

Bumi’s eyes widened slightly. Tenzin stiffened. “You’ve…”

Tenzin sighed. In all the commotion, he’d nearly forgotten it was a secret. “Last year. I had a block with my bending. I couldn’t focus and the air just felt… different.” It had started up just a month after Bumi left. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t complete his next form. It was like the wind had changed, like it was speaking a language different than the one he’d spent his whole life learning. After a month and a half, Katara took him to the palace, and he met with a healer.“Anyways, it’s not so bad.”

Bumi’s eyes dimmed. “I… I didn’t know that,” he said quietly, fiddling with the gauze on his leg.

“It’s, uh, not really something I wanted to tell people. It’s not supposed to happen. Or it didn’t to dad, at least.” There was a bitterness in Tenzin’s voice he’d hoped he’d shaven off with his hair. They had fixed the block in about a day. She called it a small kink. Tenzin had been so angry then, so all-consumingly embarrassed. But things were different now. All of the shame or frustration didn’t seem to matter. It didn’t bother him like he used to. At least not with Bumi. Not when he could be needed. “But the spinning isn’t so bad. It only feels like it of a second.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bumi sounded disappointed. Tenzin cringed. It was weird to stand over his brother and tell him about something he didn’t know. He felt too tall, like any of the robes in his father’s old closet could fit him now. It felt overwhelming. Wrong. In the months and years to come, Tenzin would be more forgiving of his sister and her missteps as the eldest at home because of this conversation. But today, it was only unsettling. Only aimless.

Tenzin cleared his throat. “I should get going, let you rest a little more before your session.” Bumi’s nodded, his eyes already drooping. Before turning, Tenzin glanced back down to the sleeping figures around him, none of which had stirred. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” Bumi insisted, blinking his eyes open. It had been a long night. “Of course. Thanks.”

Even with his confirmation, Tenzin waited a few more minutes, until he could hear his brother’s ragged breaths fall in line with his dozing family’s. For a moment, he wanted to join them. To slip seamlessly into the space between his mother and father and drift off together, just as he used to. He yearned for it. But even more than that, he craved the ease of the choice. There was a spot open, and it was a spot for him. There was simplicity in their arms. He had a people there.

The thought was fleeting. It wasn’t the time. Besides, he was too tall, now.

As he carefully opened the door, Tenzin took one last look at his sleeping brother. He looked worn and tired and hurt, but there was a peacefulness to his frame he hadn’t seen since before the accident. Tenzin brushed a few pinpricks from his eyes as he whispered a, spirits bless them, non-finite farewell. “I really missed you, friend.”  The Air Nomad language had a word for brother, but like father, it didn’t carry the same weight as it might in another language. Aang refered to his children as each other’s friends in his first language, almost unconsciously, as that was what his brothers and sisters called each other at the temples, all those years ago. Tenzin and his siblings did the same for each other.

Bumi’s bedroom gave the false impression of a world on pause. Inside, there was one goal, one focus, one prayer. But outside, the world was still playing on, and Tenzin had promised to keep their corner of it running. It had been foolish to hope he would walk the rest of the way to breakfast alone. 

Before he finished closing the door, a voice called his name. “Tenzin?” The young air bender quietly cursed the metaphorical arrow he’d placed on himself the second he cut his hair. In ambiguous clothes and the thick head of waves he’d inherited from his mother, Tenzin could swiftly blend into the background. He could become invisible, even for a moment. He reveled in it. But, he supposed, the Fire Lord would always be able to pick him out of the crowd, bald head and oranges set aside.

Tenzin sheepishly to face Zuko. He wasn’t sure if he would be in trouble, and for maybe the first time in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to care either way. “Oh. Hey. I just wanted to see him. Check in and all that.” 

Zuko nodded his head with a mild hesitation. His eyes darted between the door and the boy before him. “How is he?”

“Fine.” Tenzin answered quickly. If he was going to get through the rest of today, that was all he had the capacity to say. The steam on Zuko’s cup of tea darted in different directions. Tenzin took a careful breath. “Bumi was awake for a while. Izumi’s still in there too, but they’re all asleep now. ”

Zuko’s face relaxed at the mention of his daughter. Izumi was not only the princess of her nation, but their family as well. She was her parent’s shimmering star. If Bumi was the so-called cursed son of their group, their fallen star, stumbling into manhood with the desperate wish to prove, she was the blessed daughter, shooting across the sky with a light that felt spirit-sent. It went without saying, that she didn’t sleep, neither could they. “Good. That’s good.” Tenzin stuffed his hands back in their pockets. Zuko took a step closer, his face twisted in a way Tenzin couldn’t quite decipher. “You know, you don’t have to go today. Nobody would-“

“It’s okay.” Tenzin cut him off, haistly.  “I can go. Meetings like this will always happen because of a crisis, right?” The young air bender forced half a laugh. Zuko frowned.

“Tez-”

Tenzin stared at Zuko’s  cup of tea. He couldn’t bear to look up and see the look in his eye. The cocktail of pity and fear and flashbacks all swirled together in a way that was unique to the adults in his life. It was the presence of overwhelming love and an absence of understanding. How could they? It made him uneasy. Flighty. Even without looking, he could’ve draw Zuko’s face “So Sura’s coming today?” He changed the subject.

Zuko paused. In the silence, Tenzin could almost hear the gears in his head chruning, calculating. “She is. And Bumi’s having his first meeting with Fire Healers.”

“He told me.” Tenzin nodded. They both paused to bow guard walked by. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that they were in the hallway. Tenzin could feel each of his words bounce across the beams and back into the air. It felt like music. He often wondered how a real song would have sounded in one of the Temples. If quiet murmurs in an open air hall were like a tune, he could barely picture the melody of a hundred voices. A hundred voices who felt it the same way. His uncle, may they bless his work and his spirit, would never have the same thought. Especially not all at once, not in the middle of a busy morning with meetings and injuries and lives at stake. But Tenzin would. It was his presence and absence all at once. How could they understand. “That’s good.”

“It is.” Zuko said slowly. He clicked his teeth nervously before continuing. Tenzin chewed the inside of his lip. “But really, if you want to take a break-”

“There are only two of us, uncle.” Tenzin met his eyes. He spoke so quickly that he barely realized he’d said it out loud until he saw the shock in Zuko’s face. Tenzin took a breath and let his shoulders fall. He started again, quieter, “My brother is hurt, and I am upset, but I promise you, this,” he said, gesturing to the war ending robes, “and these meetings, they aren’t what’s made me…” Flighty. Nervous. Damaged. Age. Ruined. Lost. Different. Tenzin could fill in a dozen words that filled his mother’s head every time she caught him training after dark or passed out over a book of ancient texts. He knew what people saw. He knew what they feared. But the songs and stories that were born in their bones would soar in the air on the voices of hundreds where his would stay hollow. There was an element on his back, yes, but what weighed him down was a people. Tenzin sighed with the strength of all inside him. He was too tired to hold back anymore. “I can go.”

Tenzin braced himself for more of a fight, like the kind he might get from his mother when he rose his voice. Instead, he found himself pulled into Zuko’s arms, the cup of tea gingerly balancing on the cusp of his shoulder. It wouldn’t be until weeks later, but eventually Tenzin would come to the realization that that was the first time he and the Fire Lord had talked about his people like that. The first real time he had outside of the safety of grief he shared with his siblings. “Okay.” Zuko said, softly. Tenzin leaned in, soaking in the softness of his silks and the faint smell of amber. “I trust you.” Zuko pulled away, but kept both hands on the air bender’s arms. 

“Thank you.” Tenzin said, simply. He was in bit of a mild shock. He’d been more upset than he realized. He was still thirteen, sometimes. But even, still, the teenager could tell there was something more Zuko needed to say. His face was lined with something new, an inkling of an almost desperate recognition.

“You… you aren’t just pieces, Tenzin.” Zuko spoke with understanding. “You’re whole.”

His words felt like a dance, gliding through the hall. For a single transient moment, Tenzin could hear a hundred voices calling back.

Notes:

here we are ! generational traumaing it up ! s/o to the boys- the next chapter will pass the bechdel test

Chapter 22: wake up

Summary:

the sibs are Roughing it

Notes:

boy oh boy has it Been. as you know, this is not a consistently updated story, but I am still deeply comitted and thank you for being here:)

(quick cw - there is very slight blink and you miss it reference to TTC, but noting intense, just "someone had a hard time with TTC" in the first section - to skip, skip lines "Times three cuteness..." to "Estatic" )

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"help me get my old self back"

Republic City, 3 years earlier

Bumi tries not to punch first. He really does. It’s one of Toph’s only rules. If you don’t listen before you leap, they know you. You’re showing them how you move, how you act, and even if you think you have a plan, the first striker’s plan is only as good as the other guy’s ability to duck. Don’t let them know you. It is better to be underestimated. Bumi could almost hear her voice in his ears as he sat outside of his headmaster’s office with half of his face in an ice pack. Punching first had always, in a way, been his problem. Bumi had trouble finding the importance of listening over doing, of looking over leaping, it all felt like time wasted. He hated being underestimated, too. He needed them to know him, he had to be known.

The fight he had today was not different than the many he’d gotten into in the past, but this was maybe the first time Bumi truly felt like he should have listened to his aunt’s advice. Instead of anger or vindication or righteousness flooding his body as the adrenaline wore off, he was consumed instead by an overwhelming exhaustion. He was tired of this. It felt like he was on a ferris wheel that kept going around and around, and he just realized he wanted to get off. The ache was bone deep, seeping into every reason, every excuse he had for letting it get to him. Something had to change. But for now, he was trapped in this part of the cycle, and would have to let it wind down before picking a different ride.

By sixteen, Bumi was fairly familiar with the disciplinary processes of the Republic City public school system. Like every time before this, he and the other kid had been dragged to the headmaster’s office, Headmaster Lei gave her best deeply disappointed lecture, and then they had been placed on opposite sides of the hallway to await their parents. Kai, today’s opponent, had gotten picked up almost immediately by his fairly mortified father, who seemed to be filled with a mixture of pride and regret as he frowned apologetically at Bumi from across the hall. He knew the look well. He was the Avatar’s son- this was confusing for people. Bumi had expected his father to be late. In fact, he almost welcomed the three extra minutes it took for him to land Appa outside of the school. At this point, Aang’s part in all of this ran like clockwork, too. He would pick Bumi up, they would have a silent, somewhat sad ride home as they stewed in Bumi’s frustrating indifference, he would attempt to reach out, too clouded by guilt to reprimand his son and too wrapped to the situation to fix it all, and Bumi would go to his room, too shut down and strung out to tell anyone what he needed. After dinner, he would be grounded by both of his parents, but everyone in the house knew that he would be back to sneaking out of his bedroom window by sundown. Clockwork.

Bumi was practically on autopilot by the time he hear the stairwell door swing open, prepared to ride the course Aang charted for as long as he decided it would take. But instead of the crestfallen frown of his father, his mother turned the corner. Fuck. Bumi cursed inwardly. This was about to be a very different afternoon.

Katara wasted no time marching up to the bench Bumi was slouching on, her mouth forming a very thin, very frustrated line. “Come here.” His mother spoke shortly, skipping any pleasantries as she grabbed his chin to get a better look at his bruises.

Bumi reach up to move her hand, but was swatted away. “Can we do this later,” he groaned, watching as his mother stared down the right side of his face.

“May.” Katara said, curtly. She dropped his chin, seemingly content with her assessment, and little else. Bumi cringed. His mother’s grammatical corrections were not a good sign.

“I thought dad was picking me up.” Bumi stated, pushing past the may/can sensitivities. It was bold, they both knew that, but he didn’t care.

Katara’s face broke into a smile that bordered on dangerous. “You wished your dad was picking you up.” With that, his mother disappeared into the headmaster’s office, leaving Bumi alone in the hallway. While his parents were ever the united front, it was no secret that between the two of them, his mother was more prone to intensity. Katara wore her heart of her sleeve. She felt big, no matter the emotion. Bumi had never had a sad birthday or an empty seat at a school performance. His mother was his biggest fan and his fiercest protector. He was loved, radically. But wearing your heart on your sleeve meant that it was easier to break. Where his father might wait, might let them walk away to cool off, or stop pressing after the first request, his mother would not. At the end of the day, his mother was raised on a block of ice with few to talk to and fewer places to go. She would hash it out until there was nothing left to discuss. It meant, frustratingly for him, that more often than not, he ended up in more trouble than he’d been in in the first place because of his mouth.

After many minutes of apologies and understandings and new plans, the door swung open. Bumi silently followed her down the hall, trailing timidly behind her like a second, abrasive shadow. “You didn’t have to come get me.” He pipped up, as they made it to the street. Bumi always hated this part. It made him feel like a child in all of the worst ways. A part of him always wondered if they’d stop coming. If one day his antics would exhaust every ounce of love and patience they had. But that never happened. They always came. But it wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. “I know you’re at the clinic today I could’ve just waited and-“

Katara let out a short, frustrated laugh. “Oh your principal seemed very eager for me to get you.” “Start walking.” She commanded, in her native language.

“No Appa?” Bumi asked, already hustling to catch up with his mother. Katara had wasted no time starting down the sidewalk.

“No, Appa was home,” Katara said evenly, her eyes facing forward. “We’re walking though.”

Bumi stopped, his face pinched with annoyance. “Are you enjoying this?” He scoffed. It was almost immediately clear that the wrong thing to say. A chill ran down Bumi’s spine as he watched his mother slowly turn around. His fucking mouth.

“Do I look like I enjoy this, Bumi?” Katara snarled through her teeth. Her eyes were tired, but her frame was tense with much more. “How could I possibly like this? Do you? Do you enjoy this?” She waited for an answer, but he couldn’t give one. His mother’s face softened, slightly, as he gave a small shake no. Katara sighed, and turned away once more.

“Okay.” Bumi conceded, starting after her. “Yeesh. Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

They walked in silence for few blocks, with Bumi, trying desperately to think of an answer to his mother’s question, and Katara, stewing silently beside him. Around them, the heart of Republic City was filled with energy, with each block street filled with bustling, eclectic crowds. There were council members, business owners, street vendors, sanitation workers, and droves of students celebrating the end of the week all moving beside them. It was loud, crowded, and borderline overwhelming for some, but Bumi drank it all up like water. He was a Republic City kid. It was the only place he could get fire flakes and Water Tribe beads on the same block. It was different. New, many would say. It was built by people like him, for people like him. He was Republic City. But today, he could not reap the rewards sewn for him.

Katara still hadn’t said anything, but he had assumed that they were going home. Bumi was still mentally preparing for the fight he’d loose as soon as their front door shut, when his mother turned right instead of left at the water. “The dock is that way.” Bumi didn’t try to hide the irritation in his voice.

“I watched your aunt make that dock Bumi, I know where it is.” Katara sighed. Bumi frowned. A part of him cursed his tone his tone. She had built Republic City, after all. And she built it for him. He knew that. But another part, another, larger part, was still playing defense. Still angry. Still tired. Was he enjoying this? “We’re not going home yet,” she explained, vaguely.

Bumi huffed.“Well then may I go home then, if-” Katara shot a warning glance. Bumi rolled his eyes and put up his hands in mock-defense. “Okay. Fine, fine.”

By the time they got to wherever his mother had planned, they had traipsed about a quarter of the bay. While he didn’t ask, Bumi was sure there could have been a faster way to get there that cut through the city. He wasn’t sure if the long way was for him, as some sort of punishment, or for her, just to be by the water. Either way, the salty air had calmed both of them down slightly so that they were walking in an even tandem by the time they got to a small green door.

Katara reached a hand up to knock, almost reading it before she hesitated. “Hang on.” Before Bumi could blink, he felt the cool whirring of his mother’s water on his cheek.

“Mom,” Bumi fussed, caught off guard. “We can do this part at home-”

“I have incredible patients in there, I’m not walking in with half my sons face black and blue.” Katara muttered, moving her hands across his face. “You’ll scare the babies.” Ah ha. Bumi thought. They were making a house call.

“I won’t scare-”

“Shh.” Katara delicately traced his eyebrow, taking care not to get any water in his eye. Bumi’s face relaxed with relief. Quietly, she asked,“what did the other guy look like?”

Bumi blinked. “Worse.” He tried not to smile at the hint of satisfaction lining her face. “I broke his nose.”

“Good. He sounds like an asshole. ” Katara squeezed his shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.”

The woman who answered the door looked like she had just stepped out of a tornado. Her hair was tucked haphazardly into a braid, and half of the buttons of her blouse were incorrect. As soon as she registered who was at the door, her face broke into a smile so grateful it was contagious. “Oh, honey! It’s Master Katara!” She called back into the house.

“Hina! Oh sweetheart, how are we?” Katara was pulled into a tight hug by the woman, and listened intently as spoke of bottles and sleep schedules. As soon as another woman - her wife, Bumi deduced- came to the door, she was met with the same energy, and a slightly more delicate hug. “Niko! How are you feeling, honey?” Bumi stood just behind his mother, waiting for his queue as more pleasantries were exchanged. Maybe someone else would have felt awkward, especially after all that had happened today, but this was as normal as they got. His mother held each of her patients like they were sent from the stars above. After a moment, he stepped forward as his mother gestured back. “This is my oldest son, Bumi.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you both,” Bumi smiled. He knew better than to mouth off here or interfere with her work. He was impulsive, not stupid.

As they stepped inside, it was clear that the state of Hina’s blouse was merely apart of a much larger, messier, puzzle. Tiny blankets and tinier clothes were strewn across their living room, mixed in with haphazard piles of towels and pillows. But all of their eyes went straight to the place. Propped up on the couch, in different colored onesies, sat three adorable babies. They were the smallest babies Bumi had ever seen. “Thank you so much for coming over.” Niko sighed, making room for Katara to sit beside her. “We’re still… adjusting.”

Katara nodded her head in nonjudgemental sympathy. “Oh, of course. I’ve always found that everyone has a better time when the first check up is at home. Let’s do you first, Niko, and then these bundles of joy.” After more discussions, suggestions, and measurements, Bumi watched as his mother gently scooped up one of the babies, grinning from ear to hear as she brought her to her chest. There was something inherently special about watching his mother work. Especially when it was with babies. She loved babies. “Hello little Junie. Have you been growing for your mamas?” Slowly, she rested June in Niko’s arms, and let the water out of her pouch.“This will only take a few minutes each,” she explained, beginning June’s assessment. 

Not even a minute in, one of the other babies started crying. Bumi watched from his perch in the corner of the room as Hina lifted her up, and started bouncing. “Uh oh, Layla’s jealous! Hi baby.” Despite her efforts, it was too late. Bumi cringed as he watched the final baby on the couch start other to fuss, like the world’s loudest, cutest dominoes. “Oh honey, it’s okay,” Hina cooed.

Without looking up from her work, Katara called out softly to her son. “Bumi, honey, would you pick up Shan? If that’s alright. He’s washed his hands.”

After confirmation from his moms, Bumi made his way over to the squirming baby. “Sure,” he murmured, scooping him up with practiced hands. “Hi Shan,” he whispered, gazing into the two brown eyes that stared up at him. Shan had a full head of black hair, like Bumi knew he did as a baby, and had a small birthmark on his chin that he shared with one of his sisters. They swayed together for some time, falling into a careful rhythm as they waited for his turn. Bumi was comfortable around babies, much for comfortable than many of his peers. When he was younger, and his parents still traveled more than they stayed in one place, Bumi would accompany Katara house calls across the world. He was raised around tiny babies and tired parents, playing with his toys on the floors of other peoples houses as his mother worked. Bumi was also the oldest of three, or, five, really. His house always seemed to have a toddler attached, following him across the island. While rationally he knew she was in second grade now, it felt like only yesterday he was helping Su eat her first solid food.

After the babies were checked, and he and his mother were thanked, profusely, and more hugs were exchanged, Bumi said goodbye to Shan and, finally, started the walk to the dock. The air between he and his mother was far less tense, now, as they retraced their steps by the water.

“They are so cute, aren’t they?” Katara said, her hair, blowing slightly in the wind. All of the tension in her shoulders had dissipated. Gone, was the heated walk of their early afternoon, they were practically strolling now.

Bumi nodded, letting a hand trail lazily along the railing that stood between them and the bay. “Really cute. Times three cuteness.”

Katara smiled. “It took Niko so long to get pregnant, and then, boom. Three all at once.”

“They seem happy, though.” Bumi said. They really did. Even in their exhaustion, he could not picture two people more thrilled to have three crying babies.

“Absolutely ecstatic.” Katara agreed. Her grin was true, but Bumi could see that there was something more behind her eyes. She was looking past him now, looking to their island, which was just coming into view. It would be dark in just a few hours, Aang and his siblings would be home when they got there. His two siblings. Bumi studied her face, trying to shake the brewing thought that creeping in, every so often on days like this. But the image of his mother cradling June was too fresh in his mind, and he was never one to look or listen first. He had to be known.

“Hey mom.” Bumi started, slowly.

“Yeah?” She asked, relaxed. There was a mellowness in the air Bumi could not have pictured hours before, and yet he was about to break it. His fucking mouth.

“If…” He started, trying to find the words. “I- was there a world where you and dad had another baby? Or babies?” Bumi stared at his thumbs, unable to look his mother in the eyes to see her reaction to such a question. His face was red with regret almost instantly. “You just- I don’t know I- forget-”

“Yes.” Katara said simply, cutting him off. She was looking out onto the water, her face unreadable. “There was a world where you had as many siblings as humanly possible.”

“Right.” Bumi muttered, surprised by her bluntness. It was something he always, intrinsically, knew. There were several meetings, both pre and post Tenzin, that Bumi wasn’t supposed to know took place about concerns surrounding how to save his father’s nation. He knew that one ex-official had suggested his father have as many children as possible with only non-bending women, he knew that another created a timeline for his mother to have twelve children - all in autumn, and also he knew that his lack of abilities really, really didn’t help all of this. He could understand why his parents didn’t do either of their terrible plans, but what Bumi didn’t quite get, or rather, what he never asked, was why they did what they did. “So… why not?” Why not felt like the wrong question, a stupid question, but he didn’t think he could ask what he wanted, and she wouldn’t have answered. Why us? How are we enough? How am I?

Katara thought for a moment, leaning deeper on the railing as she gazed out into the bay. He hadn’t realized they’d stopped walking. “Because you felt right. You and your sister and your brother. Something clicked.” Bumi’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Even though Tez is…” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. He watched as his mother visibly flinched at his brother’s name. Bumi sighed. “Alone.” There was no other way to put it. He had tried, Tui, he had tried. There was no other way to say it. No other way. His brother was fucking alone.

Katara placed a firm, protective hand over his shoulders, holding him close as they stood at the railing. “Bumi, there is nothing any of us alive today can do to make it right. We can’t fix it. We can’t help your father in the ways he needs.” There was an ache in her voice that made his heart his sink. This was it, wasn’t it. Tenzin’s loneliness both its own and a visceral extension of Aang’s. And his place in it did not save him from the dull pain that rested in the eves of all of their bones. “No matter how hard we feel like we can try, we can’t help him in the way that we want to. If you had ten air bending siblings, he would still miss them. Miss all of it.” Her words felt like a script, like they had been rehearsed, almost. Bumi knew that realistically, they had been, only not said aloud. Katara looked at her son, her face a curious mixture of determination and melancholy. “And it wouldn’t be fair to any of you to only be born for that. Children are not a replacement for a culture.”

Bumi sat in her words for a moment, letting the salty air carry them through his hair and consume his thoughts. He believed her, on some level. “My kids could be air benders,” he said simply, after a while. Her acceptance would always have to be different than hers. They were his ancestors, too. His family, lost.

“They could be.” Katara said slowly, pressing away from the railing. “But even if they aren’t, it’s nobody’s fault.” She hesitated, the corners of her eyes narrowing into something dangerous. “Well it’s somebody’s fault for making us feel like this, but I’ve already danced on his grave.”

Bumi let out a cackle filled with equal parts grief and shock. “Seriously?” He asked, eyes wide.

Her mouth quirked. Katara collected his hands in hers. “If you don’t get in a fight for three months, I’ll take you we can dance together,” she replied. The sea air had curled the loose strands from her braid, making her hair look just a little bit more like his.

“Three months is a lot to ask,” Bumi said, raising an eyebrow. He was teasing, mostly, but her hands still tensed in his.

“Don’t say that.” His mother groaned, rubbing her temples. “That scares me.”

“I don’t start them.” Bumi pleaded, defensively. His mother gave him a look.“Usually…What, do you want me to just sit and take it?”

“No.” Katara said, firmly. “I want you to stick up for yourself, Boom. And I want you to stick up for other people, too. And I’m not going to tell you not to defend yourself, because you should. If someone hits you, hit back.” The biggest, and quite possibly one of the only real differences between his parents, was what they considered to be necessary in conflict. Bumi’s father would never want him to get hurt, but he wouldn’t encourage the fight either. His mother was a different story. She couldn’t quite rationalize not telling them that all of it was wrong, considering how she’d won the world they now lived in. What’s more, she had been a daughter without a mother, and daughter left behind, she was a survivor, and her children would be the same. Katara clasped a hand on his shoulder. “But we both know this isn’t all this is. I need you to find another route, because right now you are going in a fucking circle.”

Bumi chewed on the inside of his cheek. She saw it. Of course she did. They all did. “How… how do I do that?” Bumi asked, his voice barely above a whisper. This was his problem. It always had been. He didn’t know how to do it differently, how to feel differently, how to sit in the underestimation. Do I enjoy this? “How do I find a new route?”

Katara thought for a moment, tucking her arms into the folds of her jacket. “You have to find a goal. Big or small. If you having something driving you that’s positive, not just insecurity, one day… all of this, it won’t be worth it, anymore. Because you have something else fueling you.”

“What’s yours?” Bumi asked. He had an inkling.

“What it always has been.” Katara smiled. “Hope.”

“Is it…” Bumi stared at the horizon line, only disrupted by their home, their little corner of the world. “Is it enough?”

“It’s enough to make me know that you’ll be okay.” Katara said, earnestly. Her eyes were misty, but no tears would fall. “And that you’ll find it, Boom.”

Thank you, mama.” Bumi’s eyes were the same. Nothing was solved, and next week he would be back at school with the same kids, and Niko and Hina would probably some day have similar fights with June and Layla and Shan, and he and his mother would too, but for now he could exhale. He would be okay, someday. Katara pulled out a familiar white whistle, and let the silent sound get carried across the breeze. “You’re calling Appa?” 

“Yeah.” Katara affirmed, tucking the whistle back into her pocket.“You learned your lesson and it’s been a long day.”

Together, they waited, side by side, for their gentle giant of a ride. The next morning, Bumi went to the Republic City library and checked out every book on the United Forces. 


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Izumi couldn’t remember the last time she slept through the night. Even with people coming in and out, conversations far from soft, and a pillow being the only thing separating her from the guest room floor, it was the deepest slumber she’d seen in weeks. When she finally awoke, it wasn’t to the troubled beating of her own panicked heart, but to Katara’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

Before Izumi could put on her glasses, there was a cup of tea in her hands and whispers of lunch waiting for her in the main hall. There was a hint of shock in Katara’s soft voice when she said they’d slept through breakfast. Bumi was still asleep next to them, but everyone else who’d camped out on the floor had left, off to tend to the many obligations- the only sign the earth was still turning, that it hadn’t paused when his heart threatened to stop. Katara was wearing a different dress than yesterday, Izumi recognized the it as one of her mother’s coziest robes. As her auntie spoke in a hushed tone of schedules and healers, Izumi traced the patterns woven into Katara’s crimson sleeves. Apparently, the fire healer, her nation’s finest shaman, had arrived about an hour ago, and after extensive discussion with his parents, was ready to perform her healing acts on Bumi. All that was left to do, was wake him up.

Katara didn’t ask, and Izumi wouldn’t have offered, but it was unspoken between them that it would be the princess. It wasn’t lost on Izumi, that of all her friends, the one she fell in love with had the most open, lenient parents when it came to things like this. All of her girls at school would lament night and day about the rules that consumed their young lives, and each time Izumi thanked the spirits for her family and his. Even though until now, they hadn’t given them a chance to prove it. It was odd, knowing that they knew. After a year of secrecy, it was all out in the open. It should have felt more freeing, or daunting at least, but between her mother’s steadfast understanding last week, and Katara’s forgiving smile now, it was becoming clear to Izumi that their charade had been far from convincing.

Once her auntie left the room, it was just the two of them. Him and her, for the first time in far too long. Izumi sat on the side of his bed, watching his chest rise and fall. He looked so peaceful in the stillness, his umber curls lit by a small stream of light coming through a crack in the blinds. Izumi longed to crawl into bed beside him, to sleep the day away so close they became entangled in each other’s dreams. The solace of his proved existence, of being content with his touch alone, had waned sooner than she’d hoped. But in a breath, she pushed her wishes aside. There was work to be done.

“Boom,” Izumi whispered, leaning her face close to his. She ran a hand gently over his shoulder, carefully minding the map of bandages across his body. “You have wake up, love.”

Bumi stirred, slowly, his eyes lighting up as she came into focus.“Hey, Zooms.” He whispered back, this voice thick with a practiced bliss. Bumi reached a hand to her cheek and Izumi let her face sink into his touch.

“Hey.” She smiled back, gathering his other hand in hers. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend they were somewhere else, waking up beside each other after one of their whirlwind weekends between deployments. But every room in the palace had the same blankets, and the familiar fabric he was wrapped in brought her back.

“You know…” Bumi clumsily stroked her fingers clasped around his. “I was thinking about you while I was away. The whole time.” His voice was hazy, far away almost. Izumi had read about this happening to people who had accidents like his, but it wasn’t as frightening as she had feared. He was still him. 

“I know, I missed you too, Boom. It’s been a long few months, huh?” Izumi squeezed his hand harder, reminding herself that this was real.

“It has.” Bumi echoed. He squeezed back, but there was something more behind his words.

“So you have your first fire healing session in a few minutes,” Izumi started, trying to remember all that Katara had said just moments before, “and it’s supposed to be just you and the shaman, so have to go for that, okay? But I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”

Katara had warned her of issues with being left alone, and to explain it gently- but her boyfriend remained calm. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,” Bumi smiled, reassuringly.

Izumi could almost laugh at how many times he’d comforted her since their reunion, as though she’d been the one missing in action. Instead, she looked deep into his eyes, and tried her best to return the favor. “I know, Bumi. I do.”

Bumi sighed, his eyes dimming into something far off, somewhere she couldn’t follow. “I can’t leave you just yet,” he started, precariously brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I get two more lives with you, then they can just try and pry me away.”

Now Izumi chuckled, lightly. “You know that’s not how it works, Boom.” she said, wrinkling her nose. She wasn’t quite sure where this was coming from, the medication, the injury, or his own tinge of ridiculousness.

“If we get to know who my dad is next time, I get to know you too.” He said, firmly. Izumi’s eyes widened. Each of Aang’s children were historically more comfortable with discussing the realities of reincarnation than anyone else she knew, but even they had a limit to their knowledge. “It’s true, I asked the universe when I stopped breathing and we agreed. The kids of the Avatar get to know one person, it’s a rule. Only fair.”

“That’s not funny.” Izumi uttered. It was all she could muster. The consequences of his words, true or not, were almost too much to bear. If he was right, it meant he’d stood at the steps of the end and faced it with enough poise to ask a question, a thought too awful to comprehend. But if he had, if he had asked and they had answered, if it was true- it was simultaneously too intense to entertain. There would be no sweeter grace than knowing with certainty the end could not keep them apart. To knowing that all he’d asked after, was her.

“I know,” Bumi murmured, delicately. The clouds in his eyes had parted, and in the dim light of the room, they shone more grey than blue. “But it’s this life and the next, Izumi. This life and the next.”


Fire Nation Palace, Present

The rest of Tenzin’s morning was delightfully mundane. He’d slipped into a quiet rythym this past week, even finding himself brewing tea for the same cup each morning with breakfast. It was an easy routine to follow, meal, meetings, meal, meetings, spar, and meal. The only saving grace from its monotony was Lin, dragging him to the courtyard after they broke for the day. At first he was irritated, complaining that he couldn’t afford to waste any time, but after a few days he found himself almost inpatient through concluding remarks, eager to burn off some steam with his best friend. It didn’t matter that she won most of the time. He could never bring himself to care about that.

Yes, the regularity of his days was one of the reasons why it was so easy to slip back into his role as representative. The other, more frustrating reason, was that he really, really didn’t want to think about everything. He couldn’t do anything for his brother, or his sister, or his parents, but he could argue with delusional councilmen and raise his hand when it was voting time and for now that had to be enough. His active, very conscious, avoidance tactics were also why he didn’t think to check in with his family before heading to lunch. Some part of Tenzin knew that Bumi had already started his healing, and that nobody else could be in the room for it, but that part of him, and the part of him opening the dining room door were separated by the fact that Tenzin decided to dedicate all of his thoughts to his next meeting. And the incredibly caffeinated tea in his hands Iroh had brewed that morning. Also, and he wasn’t fucking thinking about it.

If he was thinking about it, he would have changed. Or asked one of his uncles to brace them. Or make Izumi announce his entrance like some sort of boy king. Or force Lin to metal bend something so incredible it took all of the attention. But his mind was busy. Really, really fucking busy. So, with that in mind, it wasn’t his fault what happened next.

Tenzin sees them as soon as he enters the dining room. For a single, solitary second, they don’t see him and he can take in all that they are. For this moment, he can see them as people, not as his parents, with there ever-lasting, almost frustratingly relentless brave faces. His mother is slumped slightly in her chair, swirling her tea with a flick of her wrist absentmindedly. His father is sitting beside her, with one of his legs tucked casually against his chest. He’s staring into his cup, watching the steam waft up into the sky. And they’re holding hands. It’s the most normal part of the whole affair. Tenzin can’t remember a time when his parents didn’t try to touch. They were almost constantly reaching out for each other, as if one was drowning and the other was air, although it was never clear who was which.

They were so lost in their own, private thoughts, they may not have noticed Tenzin at all. He could have slipped back out, disappeared into the palace and face them another time. Of course Tenzin wanted to see his parents, he craved their embrace every moment he’d been away. He wanted to tell them everything that had happened, everything he’d done and how it made him feel more alive than he thought something as foolish as bureaucracy ever could. But that was just it. He was different, now. He felt it, and they would too. And that would make it real, somehow. And that scared him.

Suffice to say, he would have avoided their reunion as long as possible. And he almost got away with it. Almost. But he was too wrapped in thought, too busy not thinking about it, that they surpirsed him. Shocked him, he should say. And Iroh’s tea was loaded with caffine. So instead of fluttering back through the door, into the precarious ambiguity he had created, he dropped his cup. And the cup shattered into a million pieces.

“What- Oh!” Katara looked up. Tenzin would remember the look on his mothers face forever. It was in that moment, in the stunned whites of her eyes, that he realized that not only had he shaved off his hair, but he’d decided to wear the war ending robes again today. His father’s closet only had so many ensembles that fit him. How lucky.

“Mom! Hi!” Tenzin yelped, awkwardly trying to step over the shards of glass. He focused intently on the ground, not quite sure what he was going to do once he got to the other side. His mother had stood up when he broke the cup, but she hadn’t moved from her place. It was like she was frozen there, stuck in time. A different time, that is. “Dad! Hi!” Tenzin said at last, bringing up the courage to look at his father. Aang hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything since he’d laid eyes on him. The only sign of life was in his fingers, wrapping tighter around Katara’s. Tenzin had thought, many times, over the last few days, about what his father might say to his new changes. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, what he needed from him, but the silence was deafening.

Tenzin’s face must have given him away, because in a split-second, Katara was barrelling towards to her son, nearly crashing into him with forced enthusiasm. “Oh! Okay! It’s okay! Oh honey!” She wrapped him in such a tight hug he had to take a few steps back to catch her.

In their embrace, Tenzin could feel her heart beating a mile a minute. He’d sent his parents back in time. “I- I’m sorry!” He stammered, as they pulled away. Aang still hadn’t moved, but he could see him watching them out of the corner of his eye.

“No!” Katara said, quickly. Her hand was shaking as she smoothed out a fold on his robe, absentmindedly. It was the same one that always seemed to get caught. But of course, she’d known that. She must have done it a thousand times. Katara took a breath. “Don’t be sorry sweetheart. It’s-”

“Oh!” A voice called out from the door Tenzin had just walked through. He watched his mother’s face go from forgiving to anything but. Sokka cleared his throat. He was a dead man. “Yeah… I was going to tell you. He’s bald! Yay…” His uncle attempted to cheer, stepping into the room with the Fire Lord close behind, trying to shrink into himself. “And he found your clothes,  because he didn’t have any formal clothes so he took some of your clothes and-”

“Sokka.” Zuko cut him off, frowning at the broken glass.

“Right, right, they get it.” Sokka waved him off. “Blast from the past, right?” He forced a laugh, nervously. Tenzin knew that his uncle wasn’t actually worried he was in trouble, or that they’d be mad, he and Katara were angry at each other every other week. No, his bumbling was because of all that this meant. All that he meant. Tenzin seemed to have that effect a lot. It seemed like his entire existence was a loaded question. A long story. He was complicated. They hadn’t wanted him to be a representative because they’d been forced into it. Because they’d had no choice. Because they didn’t want him to be his father. And now, without warning, his mother’s fingers were wrapped around the very fabric he wore when he saved the world. He was complicated.

Sokka had started off again, rambling about how well Tenzin was doing in the meetings, and how proud he was, just to fill the silence. Zuko was nodding beside him, but his eyes were darting between Tenzin’s parents like dragonflies across a pond. Tenzin was barely paying attention. Katara’s hand was pressed hard into his un-clothed arm, like it was all that tethered her here. It was the only thing that tethered him, too. It took him longer than it should have, but the air room had gone cold. He heard every isolated sound, down to the faint nervous tapping of Sokka’s leg.

And then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “You look so much like them,” Aang smiled. He spoke barely above a whisper, but it silenced the room. Tenzin’s breath caught in his throat, something he wasn’t entirely sure was possible. All at once, he was gathered in his father’s embrace. Together they were a bright blend of oranges and yellows. “I can’ tell you what this means to me. What I’ve missed.” Aang spoke in his native language, so soft no one else could hear. “I am so proud of you, young one.”

Tenzin hugged tighter. He couldn’t think of a time he’d wished more to have his tattoos. He wanted to be all they needed. All he wanted. “Thank you. Dad.” He chocked out. The room let out a collective sigh.

“It suits you, honey.” Katara said again, catching his chin with her hand. “All of it.” Her smile was genuine, Tenzin knew that, but it hit him like a pound of bricks. His heart sunk. For a moment he wanted to apologize. He wanted to promise her that he would still go ice dodging. That he still loved sea prunes. That he knew every single song of the South and would die with them in his bones. He felt a desperate need to remind her that he was still hers too, even if he was theirs. Even if he needed to be more. Tenzin, just as each of his siblings had accepted, new couldn’t be all that everyone wanted, but he detested it, all the same.

Instead, Tenzin let her trace a hand over his newly bald head, muttering something about a nick on the side. He had to lean down, slightly for her to reach the top. Tenzin didn’t usually notice how close they were getting in height, but it felt unavoidable now. When she got to the base of his neck, he pressed his forehead to hers. It was something they used to every night before he went to bed, but he couldn’t remember the last time they’d done it. He couldn’t quite explain it, but it was the thing that made him feel the most calm. He caught her massaging the faint scar on his wrist, but didn’t comment. “Thanks, mama.” Tenzin smiled. “I’m trying.”


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Kya woke up alone. She didn’t care It was actually the first time she had, since before it all. It was probably for the best, too, since she found Tenzin’s pillow, the one she’d used, soaked with salty tears and snot. She didn’t care about that, either. The palace had a million pillows, he could get a new one. Her head was foggy as soon as she sat up, like the thing that was sitting on her chest last night had crept up her neck and shoulders. That was fine though. She was a healer. Healers heal.

The rational, logical thing would have been to find her parents, check on Bumi, and reunite with the rest of her family. A part of her wanted to, wanted to see them, to crawl into their arms and never leave. But a bigger part, the heavy, foggy part, recoiled at the very idea. When she pictured her brother, the goofy, frustratingly tall, dork who kept her secrets and shared her nose, had been replaced by a pile of screaming red rags and broken bones.


Kya swings her feet off the bed and onto the cool tile floor. The tiles here are much smoother than those in the hospital, but if she closed her eyes, she can almost feel his chest rise and fall under her hands. Tenzin had left a glass of water between their two beds for her, she remembers, vaguely, that he had offered to get her some last night and she had begged him not to go, not to leave her. Well, she cursed to herself, that’s fucking embarrassing. He must have waited until she fell asleep. Kya lifted the glass to her mouth with both hands, quickly realizing her fingers were too sore to keep it steady with one. Other volunteers at the hospital used to complain about it in the break room, the numbness and tingling that could come from overuse. Her mother had said it only happens if your grip is too strong. Kya had kept her brothers chest wound together for three hours. That was how long it had taken to get from his room to Appa’s back, and from Appa’s back into the palace. In that time, Kya didn’t think about anything but that angry red gash, and all it threatened to take from her. For over 90,000 seconds, it didn’t matter where her hand ended and it began, only that they were pressed together, enveloped in a glistening chasm of water. She had never held anything that long in her life. Never water bended for that long. Never held her hands that still, never. She had never done anything that important before in her life either, and she prayed she never would have to again. So, yes, she may have held on too tight. Kya held the glass to her lips as long as her throbbing fingers would allow, feeling like a child for every moment. She cursed again as the cup slipped from her lips, bouncing onto her blankets without a sound. She wished it had shattered.

Kya had no intention of leaving their room that day. It seemed pointless to face a new day when she could still feel the metallic taste of blood in her mouth from biting her tongue in concentration last night. She hadn’t even noticed until Izumi had taken her to clean up, and was met with the horrifying thought that it could have been Bumi’s, without realizing it was her own, thank Tui. No, she was still there. Still locked in those precarious hours. In her mind, her mother was still yelling, her father was still praying, and Bumi’s heart was still just inches from her hands, taunting her between each beat.

The rational part of her brain knew that eventually someone would come and find her, coax her back into the world and parade her around for all to see. She had done it. She helped save him. That’s what someone had said, before she left last night. But Kya’s life had made her wiser than her years. She knew nothing good could come for heroes, big or small. She was a daughter of the Avatar, after all.

Her hands ached and her head pounded and her shoulders felt like they’d forever be locked in that same position, always pressing, always trying. But she had just taken that last sip of water, and getting any more meant leaving the confines of these four walls. Later, she would see a quiet irony, trading one lonely room for another, but not today. Instead, she gingerly laid back down in her little brother’s bed, and let the fog roll over her body. Any attempt at sleep was imperfect, was still light creeping through the window shade, and Tenzin’s bed was firmer than hers, and her pillow was salty and wet. But she didn’t care that much, really. No, she didn’t care.

 

Notes:

yeOUCH

yeah. yeesh man.

ty ty ty

xoxo

Chapter 23: salt in the wound

Summary:

the fight

Notes:

okay. shit is about to get real. just remember they are ok now :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You put salt in the wound
And a kiss on my cheek

- boygenius

Fire Nation Palace, Present

Bumi didn’t remember much about his journey to the palace, only bits and pieces, half memories of shouting and praying and staring. He knew it was probably for the best, but it was still alarming, to know that he was missing chunks of his life. He didn’t want to make a habit of it.

Everything became clearer when he saw Izumi again. It was like he’d been living in a polar winter, and she was the sun, coming back to him, bringing light again. He had promised a spirit he wouldn’t tell her what he’d learned, but he did it anyways, almost immediately. How could he not? It was probably a dream anyways, some sort of concussed delusion. But even if it was real, he would face the consequences gladly. He had been so caught up in just being near her, really, truly with her, that he’d almost forgotten why she’d woken him up. Actually, truthfully, he had forgotten, until he heard a knock at the door.

“Hi Bumi.” A young woman stepped in, smiling. She was wearing traditional Fire Sage garb, from pre-Sozin times, and had a few things under her arm he couldn’t quite make out.

“Oh. Hi.” Bumi uttered back. Embarrassingly, it was only when she began to draw back the curtains, that he truly registered they were in his room. Of course, on some level, he knew that, but this was the first time he truly took it in. There were still a few of his things on the dresser, and a coat or two in the closet, like nothing had changed. Except it all had changed.

“I’m Sulan.” The woman said, taking a seat by his bed. “As I’m sure you know, I’m here to help sort some things out.”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Bumi added, awkwardly. He fiddled, almost nervously, with his bedsheet.

“Of course. How are you today?” She asked, setting down a few of her tools on his bedside table.

“Oh.” That was the question, wasn’t it? How was he. How. Bumi closed his eyes.“I’m fine.”

“You took quite the tumble, my friend.” Sulan continued, jumping past his strained response. “You’re a lucky boy.”

“I hope so.” Bumi countered. At another time, he would wrack his brain for any other time anyone had ever, in earnest, called him lucky. He would fail. But that didn’t matter now.

“Alright.” Sulan said, seeming settled. “So, I like to start by having you explain what happened. I want to make sure we have a baseline of how you’re feeling, so I have an idea of our starting point. Does that sound okay?”

Bumi’s pulse spiked. “Of course.”

Sulan nodded, taking a deep breath and raising her hands. “So just start from the beginning for me.”

“The beginning.” Bumi sighed. “Okay.”


Air Temple Island, Nearly 2 Years Ago

For the first time, Bumi felt like he could sit still. His hands still fidgeted through dinner, gliding across his plate and bumping into his sister’s in a way that used to make her scream so loudly he was sure they’d been wrong and she was the air bender. But his knees didn’t bounce under the table and he could make easy eye contact with their guests, a teacher and her wife from Toph’s new school, and his breath was even. It was like he’d never quite been in the right place, done the right thing, until now. Ever since he opened his acceptance letter, a stillness had swept over him. It was the final security, final push, to know that this was the right choice.

Bumi picked the day to tell them a week ago. As his uncle insisted, timing was everything. It had been a relatively slow week, work-wise, and both of his parents had been home for dinner each day, meaning they were as calm as they could be. He selected an evening where they’d have guests during the meal, so his siblings, spirits bless them, would be on better behavior and not threaten any of his carefully crafted peace. And, most importantly, it was a night when his uncle could be there.

Now all he had to do was wait for the right moment. He waited through pleasantries in the sitting room and his uncle’s favorite stories and his father’s insistence on taking their guests up on his tandem glider. He waited through the meal, through his brother’s awkward description of his latest form and his sister’s practiced tales of working at the hospital and Lin’s reserved dismissal of praise. He waited as their guests had gone home and his siblings had turned in, until just after his father had finished washing last dish and his mother was brewing a final cup of tea.

Truthfully, Bumi could have waited another hour or two, to rest in their peace for a moment longer, but his mother was growing impatient with her brother’s hovering and that was sign enough to begin.

Bumi cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter in his chair. Here we go. “Mom, Dad, I want to tell you guys something. Something big.” Sokka took a deep breath beside him.

He was sure that even Lin upstairs could feel Katara’s pulse spike. She grabbed his hand from across the table anxiously. “What happened?”

Bumi carried on, picturing the script he’d scrawled out a week before in his mind. He’d rehearsed this moment a dozen times, trying to be ready for every possible outcome. “It might not be what you thought, or what you hoped, but I want you to know that I’m happy about it.”

“You can tell us anything, Boom.” Aang’s voice was gentle, but his hands were fidgeting with a washcloth as he leaned against their sink. He was just as nervous as Katara.

Bumi looked between his parents, meeting each of their eyes with conviction. He wanted to do this. He needed to do this. This was something good. They would have to understand. “I applied to the United Forces. And I got in. And I start basic training at the end of the summer.”

A silence fell across the room so stiff it threatened suffocation. A voice in Bumi’s head begged him to say more. But he didn’t. He’d planned for this. He waited.

Aang’s face was unreadable. It was something he knew from years of experience, and yet still frustrated him. His father was the most high energy person he’d ever met, reaching levels of liveliness that felt only achievable for a person with access to a thousand lifetimes, yet if he wanted, he could become a brick wall. “Oh.”

Katara, on the other hand, was not one to hide her feelings. This mother’s face was lined with confusion. Like she couldn’t hear him. “You’re working for the council this summer.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Bumi took a breath. He had planned for this.

“I’m not doing that anymore. I was never going to love that, mom.” Bumi said evenly. He took his mother’s hand in his own and met her eyes. The only way now, was through. “I’ve joined the United Forces.” He would say it as many times as they needed to accept it.

“The end of the summer.” Aang  pipped up. There was something akin bewilderment flooding each syllable. The towel, still in his hands, began to fray at the edges where he picked it. “That’s- that’s so soon, Boom.” This was a statement too, but it’s intentions guarded. He was taking it in, word by word.

“No.” Katara spoke, snapping Bumi’s focus. Her hands grew cold in his.

Bumi let their words wash over him and persisted. He’d prepared for this. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner, but I knew how’d you react, and-”

Katara shook from his grip and stood up, the chair scrapping angrily against the floor. “You made a plan. We made a plan. You’re doing that plan.”

“Katara-” Sokka tried to beckon her back from his seat. It was the first time he’d spoken since their conversation began. He’d told Bumi he would be there for support, but made it clear he wouldn’t do it for him. If he wanted this, he had to do it himself. Bumi knew this. He’d prepared for this. But he had hoped his uncle wouldn’t have to intervene so early into the evening.   

“Honey, I think we should hear what he has to say-” Aang met them at the table, abandoning his mangled dishtowel at the sink. When Bumi first approached Sokka, he lamented that his father’s practices would it impossible for him understand. His uncle didn’t say much at the time, only that no one had surprised him more in life than Aang.

“No.” Katara insisted. “We can’t hear him out with this.” Aang cradled his wife’s hands in his as they stood, their palms engaged in their own playful conversation far less upsetting than their own. Bumi grew up hearing stories of a time when the only person who could touch his father in the Avatar state was his mother. They were each other’s anchor. What they never seemed to mention was that it never stopped.

“I’ve wanted this since I was a little kid.” Bumi started again. He was still sitting down, in a quiet attempt to keep any semblance of peace. “You had to have known that this was coming.”

“You can’t go. You aren’t going.” Katara met his eyes with a definitiveness different than their fights of his childhood. This wasn’t the frustration that met him after a fight at school or breaking curfew, the kind that almost dared rebuttal. No, this was different. But he expected this. He had planned for this.

“Mom-”

“No!” Katara’s voice rang out across the room. A less practiced bender would have shot the water right out of their teapot. In his periphery, Bumi saw Sokka stiffen. His mother closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “That choice,” she started, softer, “it consumes you, honey. You don’t… you don’t want that.”

“I do.” Bumi pleaded. Even the thought of his future started to bring a smile to his face. He reached across the table and grasped his mother’s hand, hoping somehow his excitement would flow through her at his touch. If only she could feel it like he could, she would understand. “I want to be in it, to have experiences, to put my skills to good use and keep people safe.”

Aang sighed, putting a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “You can make memories anywhere, Bumi. And use your skills in so many ways that don’t include putting yourself in that much danger.”

“It’s… it’s my calling.” Bumi uttered, at last, in his father’s language. Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? At the end of the day. His own little corner of the world, where he could be all that he was told he could never be. But as soon as he opened his mouth, something snapped in his mother. It wasn’t pride, or even anger that consumed her, no, her face was lined with fear.

“War is your calling?” Katara boomed. There was no malice behind her words, not yet. But her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the chair.

Bumi’s pulse quickened. This was not how it was supposed to go. “Not war but-”

“Cause that’s what it is Bumi, it’s war. And war kills people.” Katara was barely talking to him at this point, pacing across their kitchen floor as she stewed. “Do you know what your grandfather used to say? And his mother? I need to protect our people. Fuck it’s the same thing! Keep them safe. It’s the same thing.”

“Tui, mom there is no more war!” Bumi pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, yelling louder than he wanted to. “I just want to keep people safe,” he pleaded.

“I think what we’re trying to say,” Aang said, coaxing Katara back to the table. “is that this isn’t the only way to do that.”

Bumi waited as they both took a seat. He took another breath, and repeated what he would a dozen more times. “Mom, dad, it’s what I want. I need you to accept that.”

“This isn’t a choice you should make lightly,” His father said, his face unreadable. He was using what Sokka had coined his ‘Avatar voice.’

“I’m not dad, I promise.”

“Do you know how many people died because they had to do what you’re choosing?” Katara pipped up again. She was slouching back in her chair, arms crossed, like she was on the offense. “How many people in your family died because there was no other choice?”

“Of course I do, mom.” Bumi responded, tired. There it was. They weren’t talking about Aang, nobody would touch them, not even here. His family, her family had lived and died in grief for three generations. His mother and uncle existed because of the will and strife of dozens before them. As did he. He had prepared for this. “Of course. But this is different. I get a choice now. And I’m choosing this.” He spoke with the weight of his ancestors on his shoulders. “It’s my life.”

That was, apparently, the wrong answer. “Okay fine, let’s talk about your life then.” Katara slapped her hands on the table, hard, as she got back up. “Let’s talk about all of the risks-”

“You risk your life all the time, mom, what’s different about it?” Bumi winced as soon as he said it. His fucking mouth.

“Do not compare that!” Katara yelled. Bumi cursed inwardly. Every fiber of his mother’s being was tense with energy, like it was radiating off of her. Like after one of her nightmares. There were pinpricks at the corner of her eyes, threatening to fall. “Do not ever compare that! I have never wanted this for you. Ever. The thought of you experiencing even a fraction of what I have, of doing the things I’ve done…” Sokka and Aang both started to stand, but she motioned for them to stay back. Katara had wrapped her arms around herself, hugging inward. She was not a fragile woman, but this had cracked deeper than her son of had realized. “This life, it kills me Bumi. How can that be what you want?”

“What… what do you want me to say to that, mom?” Bumi stated, standing. He could handle anger, he could handle fear, but for whatever reason, this struck a nerve. Bumi was born just seven years after the war. Seven years. He was born into the messiness of healing a broken world, and grew up alongside the new one. He was born to the survivors of genocide and the keepers of peace. He had been startled awake because of their nightmares and lulled to sleep on stories of homes he’d never get to visit and people long dead. Bumi had watched his parents fight, tooth and nail. He’d seen it up close, closer than anyone would like to admit. He had said his goodbyes more than once, with the knowledge that they might not return, with only the prayer for their safe return to keep him company as he held his siblings close. His mom and dad were practically his age when he was born, he knew that. His age. He knew he was a wrench in the plan, a terrifying, delicate wrench. He liked to think that, in a way, that meant they all grew up alongside each other. Bumi, his parents, and the world. How could she possibly think, after the life they all had lived, that he wouldn’t understand? He was a tough man, but this had scratched deeper than his mother had realized. Fuck the plan. He was mad now. “Obviously… I don’t want that for me. And every part of me has wished and prayed that it didn’t happen to you. Believe me, I understand the sacrifice better than most. I mourn daily, mom.” His eyes flitted, momentarily to his father, who was hovering somewhat helplessly between them, anchored to his chair. “But I want this. I need this.”

“You don’t need this.” Aang said, firmly. His father didn’t get angry often, not really. A part of him wondered if it was because deep down, he was scared of what he could do, unrestrained. But they’d never know. That fear was the only thing Bumi didn’t want about his father’s abilities. Fortunately, he was not bound to the same cosmic ties.

“You don’t know what I need!” Bumi screamed out. Both of his parents stilled, startled. “Neither of you do!” Everyone paused for a moment, frozen in place. Bumi felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, his uncle, reeling him back in. “You have no idea what it’s like,” he gasped, quietly.

“You don’t need to prove anything,” Katara started, delicately, her forehead in knots. He had caught all of them off guard.

“Bumi you’re incredible just the way you are.” His father affirmed.

“I know!” Bumi shouted again, shaking off his uncle’s hand. “I don’t need you to tell me, I know. I know that now. And I’m proud of myself. This makes me proud of myself.” He ran a frazzled hand through his hair. It felt like he was grasping at straws, all the notes and planned he’d rehearsed had been thrown out the window. His mind was blank, except for one, booming thought. “Why… why can’t you just be proud of me too?”

“Bumi. I love you.” Katara’s voice was soft, now, momentarily. “And we are so proud of you. But this isn’t the answer.”

Bumi wiped his face, almost surprised to feel hot tears, streaming down it. “You can’t know that.”

“I can.” The edge returned to each of their voices in a blink. The ebb and flow was almost nauseating. There was no way he could have planned for this.

“How?” Bumi taunted.

“You think it’s what you need, right? And you do too then, traitor.” Katara’s voice was sharp as knives as she turned to her brother. The focus was suddenly on Sokka for the first time. Until now, he had been a careful fly on the wall, watching the mess unfold. Now, he was center stage. They started arguing, rapid fire, in their native language. They spoke faster together, their accents thicker and words mixed more seamlessly with regional slang. Despite it being one of his first languages, it was hard for Bumi to keep up. His mother silenced her brother, arguing “what if, sprits forbid, he didn’t come back, Sokka? Because that happens all of the time. Is that what he needs? Is that what we need? Do you have any idea what would happen to Kya and Tenzin? They can’t come back from that. I can’t come back from that! Do you want me to have to bury my son? Fuck, Sokka I can’t bury another person, I just can’t-”

Sokka softened, almost immediately. “Katara, hey, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Bumi watched on, as his mother cried in her brother’s arms. She was crying like was already gone.

“You won’t bury me, mom.” It was all he could muster. Bumi was still mad, but for a fleeting moment, for the first time, he was scared, too.

“You can’t promise that, Boom.” Aang uttered. In all of the commotion, he had stood up, but hadn’t managed to leave the table. His father’s pain felt more like a weighted chain than anything else, sometimes, one that taunted him, deciding what he could and couldn’t do on a whim. Sometimes everything, sometimes nothing. “If you choose this path, you can’t.” There was a new indent in the back of his chair, where his hands gripped.

“Dad, please.” Bumi said, peeling his eyes away from his mom. “I want to do this.”

Aang sighed, long and heavy. “What you want to do…”  He started, choosing his words carefully. His eyes were dry and hollow, and for a moment Bumi wished he was crying, too. “I lost everything to it. Everything. Just… give us some time, okay?”

Bumi swallowed. “Okay. I can do that. I can give you time.” Sokka had been right. He wanted to hug his father, thank him and sink into his arms like he did when he was small. Instead, they both stayed at an arms length, with a single nod passed between them, carrying the weight of all Bumi had wanted. For a moment, he was seen. For some reason it still wan’t quite enough.

“If you do this,” Katara began. She had collected herself, now standing on her own in the center of the kitchen. Bumi’s eyes narrowed.“You will die.”

“You don’t know that.” Bumi countered. They would do this for as long as it took. Unfortunately for them both, he did not have the patience of his air bending ancestors. He took after his mother, which annoyed him relentlessly, and absolutely mortified her.

“Maybe not your body, but you. This version of you. ” Katara said, evenly. There would be no more tears shed tonight. The exasperation between them was different, now. The fire had cooled, and all that was left was a cold, relentless, anger. She reached out and traced the edges of his face. “My perfect, beautiful boy.” Bumi stilled, what had settled in him felt anything but. “So until you have a better fucking reason than a calling to do what you’re doing, I will not watch you kill my son.”

“You know… other peoples parents just tell them to be safe.” Bumi spat. He wanted to laugh. But he was tired. they were all tired.

“If they knew they’d never let them go.” Katara said back, not making eye contact. She started to pick up the tea cups, long abandoned and as cold as the air between them now, signaling that the discussion had ended. But Bumi wasn’t done.

“Well it’s not up to them, is it?” He questioned, defiant. “Just like it’s not up to you. I’m going, with for without your blessing. So you can either get on board, or not, but in a few weeks I’m gone.” Bumi waited,  for the final time tonight, he waited. But nothing came. His mother kept clearing the dishes and his father, as present as a passing breeze, remained frozen in his perch. Bumi sighed, trying to force out the sinking feeling in his chest. “Cool. Thanks for the support, guys.”

As Bumi stormed toward the door, Katara caught his wrist. Her face was lined with betrayal. Bumi shook free, not bothering look back before slamming the door. 

Notes:

so yeah. okay. I want to preface again and say that i LOVE katara. I LOVE HER so much. and i also LOVE aang. this chapter shows both of them and bumi in a very imperfect light bc that's what this fic is, it's their messiest, it's their imperfections. ive had this chapter idea since before i wrote this, and it was always going to be ugly. so yeah. love them all, and they are ok, but boy.

 

also did we see the title name drop moment ? ! yup

Chapter 24: becoming

Summary:

lots of talks, past and present. bonding love pain it allll baby

Notes:

this chapter is brought to you by the Ramy Season One and Two Composition Soundtrack, most specifically "You've Been Lying to Me" and "Who are you Becoming"

quick cw: the adults drinkity drink a bit, not a ton but they are tispy in the final segment

apologies for any typos, the english language is a fickle mistress

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

who are you becoming?

Fire Nation Palace, 16 Years Earlier 

Zuko’s best kept secret, was that he had the mouth of a sailor. Of all the traits he aquired after his years at sea, it seemed that his propensity to swear like the the men who rallied around him during his first years of tumultuous independence stuck best; along with the ability to always find North. He quickly learned, after an embarrassing amount of slip ups, that a young, more-than-slightly detested ruler should, under no circumstances, have a swearing problem if he wants to keep any semblance of peace. Instead, he’d say it all in his head. As the years passed, he found himself cursing to himself less and less. But tonight he cursed, both in his head and aloud, more than he had in years. 

“That was too fucking close! Way too fucking close!” Zuko hissed, crawling beside the palace wall.

“Shut up! We’re almost there.” Katara whispered back. 

Admittedly, Zuko had gotten used to things being planned. His days, while somewhat monotonous, carried a sort of  practiced rhythm that he came to enjoy after nearly ten years of ruling, especially after Izumi was born. He liked waking up to breakfast with his wife and child and daily afternoon walks in the garden and family dinner. After so many years of precarious living, and even more precarious ruling, after the countless dangers of his teens and the many murder attempts of his early twenties, the young Fire Lord finally felt like he could see more than a few months into the future with certainty. Suffice to say, he should have said no Katara approached him for a spontaneous mission. 

"Aang’s gonna kill me,” Zuko groaned, gently helping Katara into his room. She grimaced as her weight shifted from one leg to the other. 

Katara let out a strained laugh. “He won’t kill you,” she huffed, easing herself onto his bed. After turning on the lights, Zuko was finally able to get a clear look at the both of them, and it was not a pretty sight. They were both covered in ash stains and a bit of mud from when it all happened, but what was far worse, was the angry red circle burned through the fabric on Katara’s shoulder. 

It was supposed to be something quick. In and out. Information only. Katara and Toph had been quietly tracking a conspiracy in the United Alliance for several months, that a councilman was paying a group of bender supremacists to cause havoc in Republic City on purpose to fuel fear and doubt. After weeks with little to show, they’d received a tip that one of the deals was happening tonight, in Caldera. Fortunately, Katara, Aang and Bumi were staying in the palace until their trip to the South Pole at the end of the summer. Unfortunately, Toph couldn’t make it up in time, and Katara was determined to go, with or without back up. Even more unfortunately for Zuko, Mai and Aang were both gone for the weekend. 

“He’ll be very disappointed in me,” Zuko corrected, grabbing fresh towels and a bowl of water from his private bathroom. Although Katara had insisted this was not an emergency and not to panic with every stilted step home, the water still shook in his hands. “Which is worse.” 

“Hey you didn’t let or not let me do anything, tough guy,” Katara countered, pointing one of the folded towels at him, accusingly. A soft whir encapsulated the room as she got to work on her ankle. She’d rolled on it in their escape. Thankfully, from the way she could move it, Zuko assessed it was likely a sprain. “I chose to go, same as you. So, if he was going to be disappointed, he can be disappointed in me- but he won’t, because we were doing something good. And we didn’t get caught. And got what we came for.” 

“Sure,” Zuko said, grabbing fresh clothes for the both of them from his dresser. He rubbed his eyes. The fever of the night was wearing off, and the exhaustion of it all was creeping in. “But that something good that almost got us killed.” 

It was supposed to be routine. They had done this kind of thing- and far worse- a million times over since the war ended. The best information, Zuko quickly learned, was that which you found yourself. It was such a practiced feat, that for a moment the Fire Lord felt foolish even coming along, Katara was not someone who needed a babysitter. 

It had all gone according to plan. That is, until it hadn’t. Until one guard wasn’t where they were told he would be, and another with frustratingly good aim sent a warning shot, and before Zuko could blink, they were running into the night to escape two goons they could definitely take, if they wanted to blow their cover. While running away was never an ego boost, the thing still radiating through Zuko’s mind, was the fact that when the first shot was fired, when Katara was hit, he froze. In all the adrenaline and excitement, Zuko had forgotten a key detail, the very reason they were both off their game. He hadn’t done this since Izumi was born. Of course, there had been threats and danger and running and fighting, but all defensive, all out of pure, delicate need. All because of her. It was hard to be abrasive, to be harsh, to move and fight like the tested dog he used to unleash when all he could think about was her. 

“We didn’t know it would be like that that when we went.” Katara argued. If this had been a different mission, they would be rallying the team, or would have called for back up, or done anything other than flee at the first shot, but this was delicate. Because of they were after, there could be no evidence the Fire Lord and greatest water bending master - both members of the United Alliance - were ever investigating a fellow member until they were officially making their case. Any slip up could cost them Republic City. 

Katara flexed her ankle, seemingly content with her work. “If we had known what they knew then we wouldn’t have gone, because we would have known,” she reasoned, nonsensically. 

Zuko smirked. “You and your brother are the same person sometimes,” he murmured, picking out his bluest sleep attire for her. 

“Never say that again,” Katara groaned. But their playful nature soon stilled, as she winced trying to grab the clothes with her injured arm. Zuko pursed his lips.

“Let me see.” Zuko reached a hand toward her sleeve, which was in tatters. 

“I’m fine.” Katara sighed, swatting at his hand. “And I can just-” She reached again for the clothes, and Zuko held them further back. For a moment their eyes were locked in a battle to see who would break first, each daring the other-try me. 

“Can you at least for a second pretend to let me help you?” Zuko huffed. There was no anger, or even irritation in his words, only concern. It was hard to see any member of his family in pain, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t developed a particularly protective side for Aang, Toph, and Katara. Even as adults, even now, he felt somewhat responsible for them. In each of them, if the light was right, he would see his sister, just in every other blink. It was like all the love they were meant to give each other, all the care and concern he’d been allotted, had been transferred into each of them. And maybe it was because they were the same age, or because of how it had all played out, he saw her in Katara most of all. 

“Okay.” Katara nodded. She was tired, they both were.

Carefully, Zuko helped her take off her outermost layer, revealing an oozing red mess covering a third of Katara’s shoulder. He held back his wince. “This looks…”

“It looks fine.” Katara said, shortly. “It’s fine, Zuko. I’m okay.” Her voice was softer, now, which indicated to Zuko that he was not doing a good enough job hiding his concern. 

“But what if it-” 

“My arm is here.” Katara started, slowly. She gestured with her water-covered hand to her shoulder. “The baby, is here.” The water bender gestured to her stomach, which had only just begun to show a small bump. When Aang had blurted out that they were expecting, Zuko had not pictured this as the kind of activity they would be doing this summer. “This is nothing I haven’t done before.” 

Zuko nodded. They sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence on his bed as Katara worked and Zuko watched, only the faint hum of her bending filling the air. Zuko traced the portrait that hug above his bed with his eyes. It was painted just after Izumi was born, in the garden. Aside from his wedding portrait, a copy of which rested above his dresser, it was his favorite part of the entire palace. Zuko opened his mouth to ask again about the baby, to reconfirm once more, but he bit his tongue. He had asked enough times tonight. 

What Katara could and could not do while carrying a baby was a touchy subject, to put it kindly. Many of the officials across the world deemed who her personal life their business would be aghast to find out the woman carrying a possible air bender was doing anything other than walking from her bed to her sitting room. As soon as they announced they were expecting Bumi, Katara was fielding questions and concerns and judgements from anyone who decided they had a say in the matter. What frustrated Zuko the most, as an outsider looking in on his friend, was that they didn’t actually care about Katara. Many of them, in fact, wished that Aang would replace her with several non-bending women. They didn’t care if she was healthy or happy, and they would stop caring about the baby they claimed to adore as soon as they weren’t an air bender. He couldn’t even begin to conceptualize the pressure she was under, the stress it all created. Katara rarely spoke ill of her experience as the probable matriarch of the first air bender in 120+ years, but he had to imagine she was afraid. Asking her again about something very out of her control wouldn’t help. He doubted anything would.

“Okay,” Katara sighed, inspecting her arm. “It won’t scar but it needs some bandages for a day or two.”

 “Good. I have some in the closet.” Zuko said. He was tired. Too tired. As he got up from the bed, the momentum rocked the very full bowl of water up with him, and forced the whole thing to land with a splashing crash on the floor. For a moment, the two stared at each other, wide eyed and frozen, praying against the inevitable. And just as Zuko started to carefully lift the bowl up, the inevitable struck. 

Waaaahhhhhh

“Shit.” Zuko cursed, hearing the wails from the room conveniently connected to his. “It’s Izumi. I’ll be right back.” He and Mai had decided even before she was born, that they would keep her as close as possible as a baby, even if it was not in line with Fire Nation customs, which under Sozin, Azulon, and Ozai encouraged a “healthy” separation. Although the timing was inopportune, Zuko was always happy to see his little girl. “Hi honey, it’s okay,” Zuko cooed, scooping a tearful Izumi out of her crib. Together they swayed for a few moments in the dark as she settled, before rejoining Katara. “Okay, here we are. Hi Auntie Katara.” 

Katara grinned instantly at her pseudo-niece. Zuko couldn’t blame her. She was pure light. “Hey little Zooms.” She whispered, as they all settled back on his bed. Katara pulled at the blue night shirt she wasn’t wearing when he left. “I’m sorry we woke you up.” 

“I could have helped you with the shirt.” Zuko stated. He noticed that their singed clothing, which they’d both now changed out of, was also tucked away. 

“I didn’t want her to see this.” Katara insisted, placing another pillow against the headboard so that she could get comfortable. 

“She wouldn’t have noticed, she’s a baby,” Zuko said gently. Izumi was, to his credit, already starting to settle on his chest, her small body going up and down as it rose and fell. She was also no stranger to seeing those she loved with injuries of any kind, whether he liked it or not.  

“Maybe.” Katara said, unconvinced. Both of her hands rested gently on her belly as she traced the slightly distorted designs on the fabric. 

“How’s the arm?” Zuko asked, after a while. 

“Good as new.” Katara smiled. Finally comfortable, the water bender snuggled deeper into the pillows. “Wow, I am wiped.” 

Zuko let out a short chuckle. “Yeah, no shit.”

Katara let out a gasp. “Language.” Her eyes darted between the sleeping baby and Zuko in horror. 

“She’s one.” Zuko exclaimed. 

“Oh, she’s about to be two!” Katara argued, lightly pushing his shoulder. 

“Hey she’s still one for another few days.” Zuko reasoned. He gently ran a finger through Izumi’s growing head of hair. It felt like only yesterday he’d held her in his arms for the first time, now she was a walking, talking person. He wanted to freeze time. “Just let me hang on to that.” 

“Fine.” Katara’s face softened, sympathetically. “I just like that she and Boom will be the same age. It’s cute.” 

“It is cute.” Zuko agreed. Perhaps one of the greatest surprise of his parenting journey, was that he would be doing it with two of his favorite people at the same time.

“Should we wake him?” Katara asked, shifting so she could trace small circles in Izumi’s back. 

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?” 

“No…” Katara muttered, avoiding eye contact, “maybe.”

“Agni, have mercy.” Zuko rubbed the bridge of his nose. The fatigue was getting the better of them. 

“Zooms, your father is no fun.” She pouted, whispering to the baby on his chest. 

“Don’t tell her that.” Zuko chastised, covering Izumi’s ears. “Let her learn on her own.” Katara laughed lightly. Zuko had already dimmed the lights when he entered with Izumi, and couldn’t make out more than an outline of her face now. The room had stilled, filling with a familiar energy, the kind that the two of them frequently slipped into when they were exhausted and the world was quiet and for a moment they could take the armor off. It was the time where they could say anything, say it all. “Are you… are you sure you’re okay?” He was asking about more than the incident. It had been a long few years. 

“I am.” Katara said, quietly. In his silence, she knew he was hesitantly convinced.“I promise. I’d tell you if something was wrong, trust me… Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Zuko confirmed. He would wake tomorrow with a few more bruises and aches than before, but they would heal quickly with time. The memory, however, would not. “I didn’t like that, though. I haven’t felt that way in a while. Actually… I’ve never felt like that.”

“Yeah.” Katara murmured. “It’s different. With them.” It was at that moment that Zuko remembered that his somewhat stable, routine life was not shared by her little family. She was far more experienced in this department. 

“Yeah. It’s just been… wow it’s been a long time.” Zuko ran a hand through his hair as he tried to think of the last incident he’d been in the last two years. “I think your brother might be purposefully keeping me out of the line of fire.”

Katara snorted. “Oh, I wouldn’t put it passed him.” If Zuko’s inclination to being an older brother was like a shallow river, Sokka’s was the entire sea. Katara and her brother often joked that they raised each other, but what they didn’t often add was how much they looked after the others as well, Zuko included.   And Suki was really no different. Her care was quiet, like her husband’s, but always deeply needed. Zuko couldn’t count the number of times in that challenging first year, post-war, where she put him on her back and lugged him into bed after he collapsed at his desk. She carried him, figuratively and literally. 

“Do you think that they’ll have any kids?” Zuko asked, suddenly. He hadn’t been planning to, but the sun would be rising in only a handful of hours, and he’d never ask in the light of day. “Suki and Sokka.”

“I think you should ask them something like that.” Katara countered. She was still tracing small designs on Izumi’s back, but her eyes were facing up at the abyss of the ceiling. 

“Probably.” Zuko agreed. “But I’m asking if you think so.”  

Katara thought for a moment, her face stilled and unreadable. “I don’t know.” She started. “I think if either of them really wanted to they would, but I don’t think either of them really want to.” She continued, frankly. Whenever the question of children was posed to either of them, it was easily deflected. Even Toph, who seemed, by all accounts, years away from even considering it, would give a clearer answer. “I can’t speak for Suki… but I think Sokka would have, eventually, if we never found Aang. It was what you were supposed to do, you know? What you needed to do. But he doesn’t need to do most of those things anymore.” Katara fiddled, absentmindedly, with her sleeve. It was hard to remember, sometimes, because of how rapidly his world had already shifted, how much it all changed for the two of them in a year. “I don’t know… I think people heal in different ways. And I think they are both really, really happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen him.” 

“They do seem do have found a pretty good rhythm,” Zuko agreed. While they were each still on their own paths, their own journeys, still making their ways back to some semblance of peace, Suki and Sokka seemed to have created something that really worked. Even in the beginning, it felt like in each other they’d found the secret to making it out in one piece. As a teenager, a frustrated Zuko was almost jealous of how much it seemed they had healed, until he remembered Suki’s panic-attack inducing aversion to small spaces, and the a period of time where Sokka could not sleep without someone holding his hand. People heal in different ways. 

Zuko realized, with quiet satisfaction, that his baby was back asleep. But before he got up to ease her back in bed, realized that Katara wasn’t tracing Izumi’s back, and her head had found its way to his shoulder. 

“Katara?” Zuko whispered, moving his arm slightly to stir her. 

“Yeah,” she muttered back, dazed. 

“Were you asleep?” 

“No.” Katara lied, sinking deeper into her cocoon. 

Zuko sighed. Her poor body was going through too much. “Go to bed.” He insisted, trying his best to mask any unnecessary concern. 

“I will, I will.” Katara groaned. She waved off his comment with a forced nonchalance, but in the silence, Zuko knew there was more. 

“Bumi won’t notice the bandages.” He said, simply. It was something they were all concerned about, all the time. How to protect their children not only from harm, but from the harm inflicted that was inflicted on them. Before Bumi was born, Aang told Zuko that if he could help it, his children wouldn’t see the Avatar state until they were old enough to understand it. When Bumi was a month old, he was first woken up by one of his father’s nightmares, and Aang changed his statement. “I promise. It’s okay.” 

“It’s so much harder with them.” Katara expressed. There was a pain in her voice that made his chest heavy. Zuko thought about it all too, and he would bet more often than most. It was hard not to think about how much of your past you want to show your child when it is plastered on your face.

“I know.” Zuko said, softly. There wasn’t more to give. 

“I don’t ever want him to feel like- like he’s not everything.” Katara’s voice ached, but it was strong, certain. “Because he is. Everything.” 

Zuko thought for a moment, the night still ringing in his ears as he looked between his sleeping child and his frustrated friend. He thought about how it went down tonight, and how he had, in a way, chosen Izumi first, because now he would always choose Izumi first. And he thought about how Katara would do the same. She had done the same. But he also thought about how the woman who nursed her own wounds and delivered his baby and fights daily for her work was also the girl who made him earn her approval and who won back his country and saved his life. And about the fact that whether or not she’d say it out loud, no matter how much she wanted a water bender, Katara was upset that her second baby was going to be born in winter, because she would do anything to make sure Aang was not alone. They all would, of course, but she was the only one who felt like she actually could. 

Katara’s face was pensive, maybe for the first time, at the prospect of returning to her son. She was so nestled into his side of the bed, she was like a streak of blue in an ocean of red. Katara was tried. Really, really tired. 

Okay. Zuko stood up carefully, trying not to wake his baby. “Just stay here.” He said, clearing his throat. “Izumi and I will go have a sleepover in your room.” 

Katara sat up, supporting most of her weight on her un-injured arm. “Are you sure?” She asked, wide eyed. 

“He sleeps through the night, right?” Zuko asked. He glanced at the blue light creeping through the curtains. “I guess even if he didn’t, there isn’t a lot of night left. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Zuko. Really.” Katara said, earnestly. Even in the dark, he could see tears brimming in her eyes. 

“Of course.” Zuko smiled as he rocked Izumi in his arms. He would hold her forever if he could. remembering “I’m in your village, remember?” 

As Zuko slipped out of his room and made his way to their’s, he felt more and more sure of his decision with every step. In a lot of confusing ways, she knew him better than he knew himself, and he liked to think the same about her. He wasn’t her brother in the way he felt like Aang’s or Toph’s, she already had the very best one, but he liked to think that in some ways it was still special, because they picked each other.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

“So, now that you’re here, what do you want to get out of our time together, Bumi?”

It was the only thing Sulan said after Bumi told his story. While he’d been talking, she had gone between tracing a flame over his body, to inspecting him with her other tools, but now she was seated again, just beside his bed. Bumi had actually enjoyed the session so far. It was the first time he had really said it all, laid it all out, from his acceptance letter to waking up in the Fire Nation Palace this morning. They skipped over a lot in the middle, of course, but it still felt good to tell on his terms. Afterwards, he braced himself for the usual pity, that felt like borderline mourning, or at least a sympathetic frown, but Sulan did nothing of the sort. Instead, she asked her question. 

Bumi was, frankly, caught off guard. He almost waited longer, assuming more would come, but it never did. He didn't hate it, though. It was like a breath of fresh air. He sat up, as best he could, and cleared his throat. “I guess… I want to be able to think about it without like, freaking out.” Bumi grimaced at the distorted memories of screaming and thrashing. “And to not have nightmares.” He added, staring down at his bed, avoiding eye contact. 

“And why is that?” Sulan asked. Her arms were folded neatly, in her lap, so that strands of her long black hair just barely touched her knuckles. She wasn’t guarded, but there was something more behind her words, just below the surface.

“It scares my family and stops my progress,” Bumi reasoned, fiddling with the corner of his sheet. “And then my mom has to start all over again.”

“Not because you want to get better?” Sulan questioned, her face, unchanged. 

“What?” Bumi sputtered. The breath of fresh air had turned into a tidal wave, knocking him down. 

“You said you want your panic attacks to stop because it scares your family and makes it difficult for your mother to heal you,” Sulan explained, gently. “Not so that you can heal. Why is that?”

“I don’t know.” Bumi blinked. He hadn’t even noticed he never mentioned himself. He didn’t like noticing. “I’m a part of why, obviously, but I know I’ll heal eventually so I don’t-”

“Do you want to get better?” Sulan specified. 

“Yes, of course.” Bumi confirmed, furrowing his brows. Now he was getting annoyed. 

“But not so that you’ll feel better, but so that others will?” she continued, moving one hand up and the other down, like weights. 

Bumi scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Why not?” Sulan asked, moving her chair closer. 

“My mom and my sister and my dad and my brother-” Bumi stuttered, his face growing hot, “they’ve all been working so hard for me so of course-”

“Of course their pain is worth more, then?” Sulan countered, her voice even. 

“Not more, but they are only doing all of this for me.” Bumi wasn’t sure what was happening. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only Sulan and her questions. In all of the preparation, his father had failed to mention how deep into his soul the fire healer would be reaching. It felt like she was scraping the insides of his ribs and breaking them open. 

“Did you ask them to do all of this? To help you?” She pushed. 

Bumi huffed. “No-” 

“So why don’t you think this is something they might actually want to do?” If Sulan had been an air bender, the windows of his room would be shaking at the shear power of her words. If Bumi was an air bender, they would have broken by now. “You describe their actions as kind of terrible task.”

“Because I am a task!” Bumi shouted, louder than he had spoken in the last few weeks. He sighed, rubbing his forehead with his un-injured hand. “I’ve always been a task. I’m something people have to deal with.” 

“They love you, Bumi. They’re your family.” Sulan insisted. 

“I’m their mess.” Bumi spat. “I’m the thing my parents have always had fix and clean up after and protect,” he rambled, ignoring the hitch in his voice. “and I’m the reason my siblings have to work twice as hard and be twice as good.” Tears were streaming down his face now, as he picked it all apart. “So I tried to be independent and prove myself and I did! And I was!” There was a triumph in his voice he wasn’t ready to mourn yet. It felt like he was the one carving now, scraping out every piece of himself, laying it out for the world to see. Bumi sighed. The pride in his voice turned to quiet disgust. “But now I’m back here, because I did something impulsive, so me. And now here they all are again, having to clean it all up.” He was defeated. “Why… why would they want this? Why would they want me?”

Bumi fell silent, unable to bring himself to meet the fire healer’s eyes. That was the first time he had said any of it out loud. The first time he had told anyone but the bathroom mirror. How could he? Sulan was quiet for some time. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she would speak again, so alarmed or repulsed by his pleas that the session was over. But there was a stillness that was both impossibly heavy and light which rested over him now, after he’d poured it all out, that made him feel oddly okay with any answer.

“Okay.” Sulan started gently, at last. She was still in her chair, arms folded, as if nothing had happened. It had all happened so quickly. “Bumi, the block you’re having is located in your fire chakra. Do you know what that is?”

“It’s in the stomach.” Bumi answered. He knew the chakras like he knew his name. “It deals with willpower and is blocked by…” he sighed, as it dawned on him. “Shame.” There it was.

Sulan smiled, softly. “That’s right. You’re a fighter, Bumi. From what you’ve told me you’ve always been a fighter. That spirit, that belief that you don’t need anyone, it’s what has fueled you through childhood and up to now.” She moved forward, tracing a flame over his stomach and up to his head. “But it seems like this accident has caused a clog, and has forced a lot of the feelings of dependence and guilt back up to the surface… which also tells me that leaving home was more of a bandaid over these issues than a way to fully flush them out.” Bumi nodded, hesitantly.“From the way that you told me your story, I can tell that you’ve accepted what’s happened, Bumi. Your panic attacks are not set on from fear or memories, but what’s happening now, in the aftermath.”

Bumi sighed, a long, heavy sigh. He wanted to be shocked - betrayed, even - by his brain at the realization, but it didn’t come. A part of him he already knew. The suffering his parents had prayed against, that they were so certain would come to pass, was not what plagued him. Bumi had spent so much of his life training for what happened, and had watched every adult in his life deal with the consequences. He was prepared for the terrifying things, for the uncertainty and the fear and the pain, but nobody could teach him how to handle this. How to handle the rest of it. How to be okay being Bumi, even when things were bad. 

He watched as Sulan floated a hand above his bandages, feeling the warmth from every movement, even though none of them made contact. Sulan frowned when she got to his chest, continuing, “you know what you did and why. And in less time than you think the headache will fade and the bones will heal, but if you do not accept your role in your family, your role in the world, then the pain and all that comes with it will persist.” Sulan placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You the non bending son to two of the most powerful benders in the world. And you are a smart, brave man. And sometimes you need your family. You need to learn to accept help, and believe you deserve it.” 

Bumi wasn’t sure what to say. He had been stripped bare, down to only his bones. Bumi cleared his throat, wiping the stray tears from his face. “How?”

Sulan’s gaze softened, and smiled, genuinely. “That’s what we’re going to do, together.”


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Mai was an observer. At first, that was all she had. Her eyes and her ears. But even after she took back her voice, it was habit she couldn’t quite break, especially with her group of friends, she’d literally seen energy radiating off of Aang on more than one occasion. This week, as it turned out, would be no different, especially after adding Katara and Aang back into the fold. 

“I don’t like not being in the room.” Katara muttered for the fourth time since she and Aang had entered their lounge, rather dramatically interrupting their mid-afternoon “tea” (after the events of the day, they had broken out something much stronger). 

“I know, me too. But it’s for the best.” Aang sighed, leaning back on the pillow he’d semi-stolen from Toph. The rest of their brief had been all but forgotten at the entrance of its missing members, but Mai knew none of them were complaining. It was nice to all be back together again. It had been a long time, longer than she’d realized, since all seven of them were in this room. 

“Is Kya still sleeping?” Suki asked, trying to get their minds off of it. She was already pouring a second round, which Mai gladly took.

“Since the last time I checked on her, yeah.” Katara sighed, draped wearily over their sitting room table. "We're giving her some time."

Another thing that Mai took from before, was the importance of having a safe space like this. She didn’t really get it, honestly, before Zuko and Azula. Her home had been… fine, and the places her parents dragged her to were always stiff and unfamiliar, but the palace was always different. While most of it was barren and borderline terrifying, there were pockets that were just… warm. Looking back, these pockets were always their mother’s places. Her sitting room, her duck pond, her secret back room. It was in these small spaces that she made a mark, that she was still there, still human. Even after their mother left, they were still the places both of her children played, whether they realized it or not. Maybe it was to be near their mom, maybe it was because they were the only places in the palace untouched by their father. Mai didn’t care much either way, she only knew they were safe. Safe for all three of them. 

Zuko felt the same way about establishing that kind of space for his friends. Like the mark of a good ruler, a good, a good host, was when your strongest solider would rest their head down on your pillow, and let themselves idle in your presence. 

“And where is Tenzin?” Mai pipped up. “He’d probably want to know what we talked about.” She was reclining against her husband, picking at the bones of their snacking plate.

“I saw him slipping out with Lin.” Toph offered, leaning back onto the palms of her hands. Mai noticed a small smirk crept across Suki’s face from across the table. Bumi and Izumi weren’t the only kids in the bunch with bigger feelings. They exchanged a glance. It was only a matter of time. 

“I’ll give him the main points before we go back in tomorrow.” Sokka added, lying all the way down tucked between his wife and Zuko. He was near sleep, which all of the needed desperately. Some things never change. 

“Will he be tattooed when he comes back?” His sister shot back, lifting her heard slightly to reveal a very- and she used this lovingly - very Katara scowl. Mai almost laughed. There was something about the Water Tribe siblings that absolutely enamored her. In her youth, she was, admittedly, jealous of their closeness, although she couldn’t ever parse out if she wanted it for herself, or on behalf of her violently torrid boyfriend and ex-best friend. But as they grew, and Tom Tom came to live with them, she learned only to celebrate bearing witness to them. It was an incredible thing, all the ways they so freely, messily, loudly fought, with absolute certainty that they would still be there for each other, unconditionally. 

“Okay, okay.” Sokka sat up with his hands up, in mock surrender. Katara was less than amused.  

“I want to say again,” Zuko started, clearing his throat and raising his hands, “that while this is our house, Tenzin was entrusted into his care, and not mine.” Mai rolled her eyes. Despite her husband’s graceful peacekeeping tactics, he always, always got involved where he shouldn’t when it came to them.  

“Oh I know.” Katara shot another accusing glance at her brother. 

“I mean, a little warning would have been… nice,” Aang sighed, rubbing the back of her head. Mai watched as Katara switched quietly from anger to attentiveness, in an instant her focus was pulled from Sokka to Aang, who’s face was unreadable. Externally, there was little change, but the Fire Lady noticed how Katara’s hand crept into her husbands, and gave a quick but fierce squeeze. Always the healer. 

“You said you liked it.” Sokka argued. 

“I did, I did,” Aang nodded, forgivingly. “But he really shocked me…” he continued, his face still muted. “I just haven’t seen it in a long time.” Everyone straightened up and leaned in at the cryptic hitch in Aang’s voice. Toph visibly stiffened. Mai and Suki exchanged glances once again, both unsure of what he meant. 

The first time they met on the same side, Mai really wasn’t sure what to think of Aang. In all honesty, she was far more worried with what he thought of her. It was a weird feeling, at first. She couldn’t remember the last time she truly cared what somebody else thought. But she did with him, and all of them, really, but it seemed nearly impossible for him to ever like her. How could he feel anything but hatred towards her? Before they met, she didn’t completely understand the severity of what it meant, of what they had done, going from three nations to four. And then they met, and Mai couldn’t get it out of her head. How was he still standing? How was he laughing? How could he not hate her? But as the months went on, and the visits got longer, and they started to spend time together outside of formal events and even time without Zuko, she came to learn his secret. There was no other way. It was forgiveness, or nothing. Love, or emptiness. There was no Aang if he hated her. 

As the years passed, she came to learn that they were more alike than they were different, although not many would agree. But Mai knew. Mai noticed. Aang, while he could be as bright as the sun, could switch it off. He could become unreadable. Unknowable. He could be seen, not heard, with the drop of a hat. She was never quite sure if it was because he was a monk, or the Avatar, or because he saved the world when he was twelve and this was how he wore his pain, but it was scarily effective. The frustrating thing, was that even though they were alike, did not mean that she could read him, she could only tell that he was hiding something.

“I’m too sleep deprived for surprises.” Katara annouced, still cradling her husband’s hand. She was actively trying to get the attention off of Aang, which Mai could tell he was grateful for. They all carried on, knowing that was the signal not to pry. 

“It’s not like he asked me,” Sokka argued. Toph and Suki both winced beside him.

“Oh so you just let my child run rampant.” Katara countered. 

“He’s thirteen I was taking a… hands off approach,” Sokka reasoned. Mai chucked as they started to mimic each other’s cadence. Both of them were hand talkers. 

“Just out of curiosity,” Toph asked, stirring the pot, as she propped her head up on her hands, “who cut his hair?”

“Izumi.” Sokka said, matter-o-factly. There was a pause. Mai felt four sets of eyes land on her and Zuko. 

“Okay-” Zuko sputtered. 

“What’s that, Fire Lord ‘Not Involved’?”  Katara gasped, mocking his tone. Toph was cackling at what she’d created. 

“I believe it’s Lord Not Entrusted” Sokka added, smirking. “Because he’s the snootiest person in the world.” 

“Fine, fine.” Zuko threw his hands up in defeat and took another large swig. “My daughter was involved so I was involved.” 

“Of course we were.” Mai affirmed, leaning deeper into her husband’s arms. Katara’s face softened. 

“Of course you were.” The water bender smiled gratefully. “So…” she drawled, “our children are in love.” 

Mai smirked as Zuko’s head fell into his hands. There it was. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned. 

“Oh you’re fine,” Mai chastised, bumping his shoulder. “Our baby loves their baby.”  

“I missed it.” Zuko mumbled into his sleeves, bewildered. In many ways, it was true. They both had, on some level, missed it. Of course they both had an inkling that their daughter had something with two of their closest friends’ son- anyone half paying attention over the last five years could have guessed that trajectory - but it was what that -thing was what they missed. Of course, Mai was more than certain and Zuko deeply suspected, but both of their knowledge had ended there, as their daughter’s alleged dating life was not often a topic of discussion. 

So much of her daughter’s life was planned, was known, that Mai reveled in, almost celebrated the idea that Izumi had taken back this part of herself from the world, even if in her stand against it all she was leaving her mother in the dark. Her secrecy filled Mai with pride, so much so that she couldn’t bear to pry, and thus the stone was left unturned. Until now. 

“I think they did that on purpose.” Suki offered from across the table. 

Zuko nudged Katara, somewhat frantically. “Did you miss it?”

“Do you want me to say yes to make you feel better?” She pandered. Mai smirked. Despite the woman being years her junior, she always seemed to be two steps ahead. Even before they officially met, before they were on the same side, even when she was loosing, Mai knew this to be true. Until Katara, had never met a girl so certain of herself. To gain her freedom, Ty Lee had had to run away, silent in her power. But Katara would never go quietly. She was loud and defiant and brave and grounded. Nobody had to tell her or show her or persuade her to do the right thing, she just knew. She just was. It’s why Katara warmed up to her before she did to the water bender. She was already sure they’d be friends. Always two steps. Of course she knew.  

“I basically missed it,” Aang offered, pouring himself another glass. 

“Well I knew the whole time.” Sokka announced, crossing his arms proudly. 

Suki scrunched up her nose. “That’s a lie, I had to tell him.”

“Hey, only after you asked me,” Toph pipped up from her cushion. Mai wanted to laugh as she tallied how many people in their little family knew. Her daughter was brilliant, but awful at hiding things. The apple had, apparently, fallen far in that department. 

“Oh fine,” Suki quelled, picking up her glass, “so I needed to corroborate my story with the woman who can literally sense hearts, sue me.” 

“Okay but for the record,” Sokka said, motioning with his hands, “I would have figured it out eventually on my own, because Tenzin is terrible with secrets.”

There was a beat as his parents took it in. “I’m sorry, Tenzin knew?” Katara asked, eyes wide. Mai watched Zuko’s face switch from shock to dismay as he connected the dots. 

“Oh they all knew,” Toph clarified, picking through the last of their plate with a nonchalance not matched by the other parents.

 “Yes darling,” Mai smiled, piling on, “it was just us they were keeping it from.” 

“Oh perfect.” Zuko threw his hands up in childish frustration. It was only now that Mai realized, pouring herself another glass, they had not dabbled in a late-afternoon “tea time” since they were in their 20s and riding on the adrenaline of raising babies and a country at the same time. This may have been a bad idea. “What else could they be hiding?” 

“If it concerns my son,” Katara said, with more of a hint of exhaustion, “probably a lot.” 

“You wanted her to be normal.” Mai argued, blatantly, “they’re teenagers. This is normal.”

“Yes, and I’m happy for her I am,” Zuko lamented. She knew he was. He’d never have a problem with their daughter dating or liking anyone, but it was how it all unfolded, the tears, the secrecy, the pain, that ruffled his feathers. “I never dated in secret.” He stewed. 

“Neither did I.” Katara agreed, swirling the contents of her glass. Toph chuckled at her intensity. “I told my family.”

Aang made a face.“We got secretly married a year before our ceremony.”

“That was different.” Katara dismissed, waving her hand. Mai smirked. 

While Katara and Aang had gotten married at eighteen in the South Pole, what they would all come to learn in the months after, was that the two had participated in a similar ceremony the autumn before, in Aang’s home temple. While they never quite explained why, it was a decision that only made more and more sense with time. When they wed, no one thought twice about their age, but now if Mai thought for too long about it all, her breath caught in her throat. Everyone knew that Aang would have to marry as soon as he was considered an official adult by the world. It didn’t matter it wasn’t in his culture, or if Katara was ready, the Avatar’s wedding was a crucial step in putting the world back together. A wedding meant peace and growth and harmony, but most of all, it meant children. Their wedding, even if they loved each other, was not a decision they were making themselves, and the air bending tradition was a way to take it back.

Sokka cleared his throat, clarifying, “but that also wasn’t technically marriage, right?” 

“True,” Aang started, choosing his words carefully as he folded his legs against each other, “but in a lot of ways it’s deeper than that. It’s making a promise to love one another across lives and worlds, something that binds you spiritually. It’s actually really easy you don’t even need a witness, just someone who knows the customs and is fluent in…” Aang stopped short, his nostalgic smile fading as he realized the gravity of his words. He had just described his son. All ears and eyes were on him. “Actually never mind, here I go rambling away…” Aang’s face was turning a bright shade of pink as he fumbled, but it was nothing compared to the red erupting on Zuko’s.

Mai decided, in the last quiet of seconds of peace between when Aang’s tipsy fumbles left his mouth, and when they sank in, that her daughter had probably not gotten married, or soul bonded, or whatever it was that Aang had foolishly taught his most foolish child how to do. She knew Izumi, and even more, she had taught Izumi and modeled a healthy relationship for Izumi, and set her daughter up with all of the resources and life skills that her mother had not. Her daughter was to be not only a talented ruler, but a smart girl. And even if she had, a spirit pact with the Avatar’s son seemed like something that could be undone or at least altered if she ever wanted to change it. But Mai would keep these musings to herself, for now. She learned a long time ago that it was better to let it all play out than argue with this group under the influence. 

“Aang.” Katara warned, tension rising in her body with every breath. They were all too tired and too out of “tea” time practice for that kind of bomb. It was a perfect storm. 

“Here we go,” Toph whispered, pouring herself, Sokka, and Suki another drink. 

Zuko was warming up by the second beside Mai, control be damned. “You don’t think…” He uttered. She could see the gears turning in his head.

“No, no they’re not,” Aang waved his hands frantically, his sleeves knocking over an empty cup as he tried to quell their worries. “They aren’t. They aren’t.” Zuko and Katara frowned. They were unconvinced.

“Aang if my daughter is married spiritually or not-” Zuko sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh Izumi is due for something reckless,” Katara continued, slamming her glass on the table,“if my son hid another life decision I swear-”

Toph nudged Suki, talking in a low volume. “Ten gold pieces says they did it.”

“I’ll take that action.” Suki smiled, shaking the earth bender’s hand.

“They can’t be.” Zuko decided, pacing. Mai made a face at Sokka, who was trying to mask his laughter. She hadn’t even realized he’d gotten up. “They aren’t.” 

“Oh it’s not the same,” Aang coaxed, rubbing his wife’s shoulder. “We were younger at the time than them honey.” Sokka choked on his drink as his sister’s hair greyed before their eyes. Rested, Aang was as good at conflict resolution as he was at mastering his element, but sleep deprived and tipsy, he was a disaster. 

“That is not helpful!” Zuko groaned. 

“The opposite in fact.” Katara added, rubbing her temples. 

“Is there some way you can find out?” Zuko took one of Aang’s shoulders. At some point he had made his way to the poor Avatar, who was now sandwiched between this crisis. “A spirit you can ask?”

“You could also just talk to your children.” Toph offered, passing Mai the bottle. 

“Who?” Katara scoffed. “The liars who lie?”

Mai cleared her throat. It was time to enter the fray. “Before we take this further,” she countered, raising a hand, “exactly how many hours have we all slept in the the last week?”

“Enough.” Katara frowned, waving away her concern.

“Plenty.” Zuko nodded in agreement. “Aang?” He pestered the air bender again, who was avoiding eye contact, “spirits?”

Aang sighed. “I can’t just ask a spirit something like that, that’s really not how it works.”

“You know what, fine.” Katara declared, standing up. “I’ll just go to the source.” 

“I’m coming!” Zuko started after her, before calling back over his shoulder, “Aang? Mai?”

“I’m gonna let you handle this one,” Aang said, relaxing back onto his hands. 

“I’ll pass, love.” Mai called back. 

With the door shut, a soft stillness enveloped the room. The nervous energy they had collectively been holding was finally released. 

“Oh thank Tui.” Aang sighed, as soon as their spouses were out of earshot. “That’s actually exactly how it works. There’s at least a dozen spirits I could ask I’d just never live it down. It would follow me into my next life.” 

“Does it every creep you out?” Sokka murmured, stroking Suki’s head in his lap absentmindedly. “To say stuff like that?”

Aang thought for a moment, his brows furrowed. “No. Does it creep you out?”

“Oh 100%.” Sokka nodded. Mai knew what he meant, although she never would have asked. His casual acceptance of reincarnation was not something shared by the Fire Nation of her childhood. She often wondered if his approach was because he was the Avatar, or because of his culture, but she was content knowing only what he was willing to give on his own terms. It seemed all that she could do. 

“Ask again next time,” Aang said, stretching. A familiar grin eclipsed his face. “See if she has a different answer.” 

“Just for that I’m going to tell them you lied.” Sokka countered. Mai noted that no one pushed when Aang said that it would be a woman, nor did they ask how he knew they would get to meet her. It was one of the things that she had to get used to in their first few months of friendship. Not only did Aang know more than he could ever explain, but he was very comfortable, if not intimately familiar, with death. 

“Oh please don’t.” Aang winced. “Y’know… This is the most… like herself I’ve seen her in days.” 

The room shifted as they broke out into collective nods and murmurs of agreement. Mai reached out and squeezed Aang’s shoulder. “I’m sure. It’s good all of that is out of their systems.” 

“Poor Izumi, though,” Sokka chuckled. 

“That nervous energy had to go somewhere,” Suki insisted, “she’s taking one for the team.”  

“By the time they find her they will have cooled off,” Mai shrugged, winking at Aang. “We married the most dramatic people in the world.”  

“They’ll tire each other out, they always do.” Aang smiled. “And it took my mind off of things too, for a moment… We really missed you guys.” 

“We know.” Mai said, softly. Zuko and Ty Lee, without a doubt, first taught Mai about love, in all of its pain and desperation and fire. But it was this team, this spirit-sent amalgamation of people, who showed her, who showed all of them, what it meant to be a family. “We did too.”

Notes:

okay yall lets get into it!! big note but i have big thoughts

so i wanted to do a zuko-katara friednship bit since the beginning, and as i was planning them kind of just spiralling at the end there, the injury bit felt like a perfect way to kind of weave in the way their PLATONIC relationship is - gotta love em

sulan is a no nonsense queen. bumi will be okay, but he's really never had anyone push him on any of this like this before, so it was Daunting and Jarring for sure. i think of it as like, his family is too close to it, and many of them kind of exhibit the same qualities, etc. sometimes you need someone on the outside to be a little harsh, and i think it's what he needed, he's a tough love bubba

I also think that while the event was Trauma, the thing that would be the most triggering, would really be being forced back into dependence. from what we've seen in LOK, he is someone who prides himself on making his own way, and having to need his parents, to need bending again, would be kind of disastrous, especially after the stand he took. I also think it kind of explains why katara couldn't "fix" all of it on the island, because it wasn't the pain of the event, but the aftermath. but don't get me wrong, he still needs to Heal from the Fall. Anyways.

aang and mai, my beloved friendship. i think he would really freak her out at first, just since she spent all of her life before meeting him not having to like intimately interact with or atone for the sins of her nation the same way other fire nation favs (iroh, zuko) had during the war. i think that meeting aang would really rock her, and their friendship be kind of a turning point in her own journey. i also think she'd be surprised and hesitant w/ katara and sokka, and thrown their capacity for forgiveness as well, and feel similarly wary w/ Toph and Suki.

anyways, i love writing how these peeps hold each other, and let each other be hold. more of that for now and forever. but first more pain.

Chapter 25: considering

Summary:

lurv, bold choices, sibs, and healing

Notes:

the boys are back!!!

happy summer/spring/whatever the season is for you

and happy US mothers day to any moms/mother figures/step moms/older siblings/parents/those with a hard relationship with their mom/new moms/adoptive moms/and anyone else who's trying their best to work with what they've got

 

as always, apologies for the typos, im human

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I guess I did alright, considering

- boygenius

Fire Nation Palace, Present

For the first time in a month, Katara had a good dream. It was the good dream, almost always the same, always of their first ceremony. Katara and Aang got married once, celebrated twice, and made their promise, the one to love each other across lives, three times. Once was in front of hundreds, some strangers, others not, in Republic City. It was the first wedding of the republic. The second was an intimate gathering of close friends and family the week afterwards in Katara’s village, where they met with elders and upheld traditions and celebrated their new life. And just shy of a year before, was the third. It was just the two of them between the pillars of Aang’s childhood temple. The day they decided to run away to the temple, to make their first vow, was also the day they were told they’d be getting married. It was a warm autumn morning, just a week after Aang’s eighteenth birthday, when he and Katara were called into a late meeting of world leaders and advisors. The Republic was a budding idea, a dream with nothing to anchor it. The public would need to believe in it, believe that better days were ahead- and what better way to prove that than a wedding that was the very definition of coexistence? Katara had been angry, Aang was upset, and neither of them could stomach the thought of this being the next step in their love story. So they did something. They took it back. 

Katara would affirm now, just as she did then, that their promise, their linking, was not something they wanted, but something they needed if they were going to keep loving each other and saving the world at the same time. It was a liberation they did not take lightly, and their decision to hide their choice was the same. Katara remembered the moment they told their friends they were already more just as clearly as the ceremony itself. The had waited until their actual wedding, when their party was still in their dress clothes, and Republic City’s band was so loud through the open windows of their private room that Aang had to repeat himself when he joked that the second time was just as sweet. The fondness of their shock and surprise had dulled now, however, as Katara couldn’t remember for the life of her if one specific person was there. 

“Aang.” Katara whispered, tapping the sleeping body next to her. Even with the giganticness of the Fire Nation beds, they always managed to end up right next to each other. “Aang.” 

The Avatar stirred, sleepily and turned to face her. “What?”

Katara propped her head up against her pillow, concerned. “Did we tell my dad when we got linked?” She asked, tracing the designs in the wood above their bed with her eyes.

“When we did the ceremony?” Aang asked, rubbing his head, dazed. “No we didn’t tell anyone.”

“No, I know.” Katara wrinkled her nose. “But after. We did, didn’t we?” It felt almost foolish, now, despite the intensity and importance of the choice at the time. Regardless, there had been no one to stop them. There was no parent asking where they went or why a new bracelet had appeared on each of their wrists the next day. Katara and Aang were loved and protected and held by their friends, but Hakoda was thousands of miles away and Gyatso was resting peacefully, at last, in the wind. It didn’t occur to either of them until much, much later, that this would be the kind of thing you’d ask someone, ask a parent, about before doing it.

“I’m pretty sure…Yeah, we told the story at your 19th birthday.” Aang affirmed, stretching his arms. Katara frowned. Even as she remembered, it still felt confusing, now, that he wasn’t one of the first to know. Her birthday had been well after their Republic City wedding. Aang studied her face, adding, “he didn’t, Izumi promised.”

Katara let out something akin to a laugh. “I know.” After a nearly embarrassing amount of explaining and badgering, it had become clear that the princess had no clue what an Air Nomad linking ceremony was, nor had she participated in one. 

“And Bumi would tell us, if he did.” Aang added, staring back at the ceiling with a confidence she lacked. “You know that.”

“I know.” Katara sighed. She threaded her fingers in his, and started playing absent-mindedly with the bracelet on his wrist. 

“Are you worried…” Aang started, connecting the dots once again, “that he wouldn’t because we didn’t tell your dad?”

“No, that’s different.” Katara said, quickly. There it was. Her father was her father, and he cherished and fought for her. He was proud of her and cared for her and he loved her. He loved her, endlessly. But there was, and always would be, an asterisk on their relationship. Somewhere between saying goodbye on the shore when she was eleven and deciding to get married at eighteen, love and pride became all they knew how to give to each other.  “We weren’t… kids like they are.” She sighed, tightening his hand around hers. 

“Yeah.” Aang traced each of her fingertips, playfully. “You know, I don’t think we’ve actually woken up in the same bed in over a month.”

“That can’t be right.” Katara raised an eyebrow. 

“I was gone, and before that you were at the hospital,” Aang said, counting each event on her hand, “and now we’re here.”

“Oh, Tui and La.” Katara lamented, sinking into the covers. “Well then I’m extra glad we did. I feel better than I have in weeks. Did you sleep okay?”

“Better. Always better.” Aang smiled, pressing a kiss onto her temple. “Surya’s maybe my new favorite person.” Katara’s protege had arrived yesterday and had offered to monitor Bumi for the night to give his mother the night off. She was one of a select few Katara would completely trust with her son. 

“Oh she’s always been mine,” Katara affirmed, leaning deeper into Aang’s arms. “I can think of a few close seconds, though.” 

“He seemed clearer, right?” Aang asked. Katara could hear his heart quicken in his chest at the contemplation of their son’s condition. “After meeting with Sulan, I mean.That wasn’t just me, right?”

“No, he did.” Katara nodded, hesitantly. “It just needs to keep working.” 

“It will.” Aang decided, effortlessly optimistic. “Izumi seems to be helping too. I mean they all are but… you know.” There was a sing-song quality to his tone that was almost boyish. 

“I know,” Katara smiled. She couldn’t help it. Marriage-scare or not, there was little a love story, let alone her child’s, could do to keep her frustrated long. 

Aang cleared his throat. “Bumi…” He started carefully, “he asked my advice back on the island. He was worried that this would be too much for her. And I uh, I told him that we used to fight about that sort of thing.” 

Katara’s eyes widened, somewhat taken aback. “Oh. We didn’t fight,” she said, definitively. Aang made a face, she rolled her eyes. “Okay fine but it wasn’t a fight fight, we were young and you thought running away and sacrificing yourself was an appropriate way to fix things.” That part of their life, the teen years, the real teen years before marriage and children and republics, was as painful and messy as any piece of the war. Everything felt so climatic, so heavy, it was hard to picture a way to the surface. But looking back, all Katara saw was a group of people trying to salvage something broken without healing themselves. And she saw children, terrified children. 

“True.” Aang sighed, frowning in reflection. “But I wasn’t going to tell him that part. I just said the parts that would be helpful.”

“Which parts?” Katara asked, studying his face. 

Aang gazed at her with the same crooked smile he’d had since they met. “The part where I was foolish and you were right and you stuck with me,” he gushed. 

“Oh honey,” Katara wrapped her arms around him, smothering him in her embrace. “Sweetheart, there wasn’t a world where I didn’t stick with you.” She pressed her forehead to his, just as they had at their first ceremony. 

Katara thought often of that first promise. She thought of how perfect the sun fell behind the mountains, how its rays coated everything in a light that exuded warmth. She thought of his face, his perfect, smiling face, and all the words she heard him say for the first and only time. He had to read most of the ceremony off of a wrinkled piece of paper and she mispronounced half of her part and when they kissed the stubble he didn’t have time to shave scratched her cheek; but in between the stilted hymns and nervous laughter and eye bags darker than the night sky that eclipsed their evening, they stole away a part of themselves, a part of each other, that the rest world would never have.

“You were still right,” Aang murmured. Katara grinned. 

“Oh of course.” she stated, sitting up in bed. Even with all of the pillows, the headboard was cool against her back. “I actually talked to Kya about-well it was different- but I talked about that time in our lives.”

“Which part?” Aang asked, crossing his legs beside her. 

“Just about how we felt at her age and what we needed.” Katara started, fixing one of her braids. “She reminds me a lot of you back then… and now.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.” Aang frowned, his face was washed with a mixture of surprise and doubt. “I was a mess.”

“Okay, you’re not giving sixteen year-old Aang enough credit.” Katara argued, giving him a playful thwap on the shoulder. “Which I don’t like because I really loved him.”

“Oh did you now?” Aang joked.

“Oh, but speaking of Kya,” Katara started again, a familiar nervous energy creeping in. “We need to get her up and into the sun today. Every time we’ve checked in on her she’s been resting or asleep.” Her daughter’s behavior, while undeniably worrying, was not abnormal for what she experienced. Katara found herself oscillating between the desire to let her come back on her own time, and to drag her out of bed by the scruff of her neck. Both were accompanied by a crushing sense of guilt.

“Of course.” Aang nodded, delicately. “But it’s only been a full day. She hasn’t really slept in nearly two weeks and in that time the only people she was with was us.” Aang continued confidently, but picked at the skin around his nails. “If she needs space, I think it’s okay.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Katara pouted, crossing her arms. 

“I know. I don’t either.” Aang affirmed. For a moment they sat in it, a comfortable silence containing their deeply uncomfortable subject matter. Sometimes it shocked Katara just how quickly priorities shifted, how quickly they expanded, after the war ended. If she had been born even a generation earlier, the fact that all of her children, all of her sons, had made it through childhood would be considered a success. They would be considered fine, perfect. There would have been no inquiry, no real one, into their mental state, there was never space, never time. Aang looked wistfully towards their window, where rays of light started to creep in. “Can you believe we were talking about marriage at her age?” 

“We were older.” The water bender said, quickly.

“I mean, not really.” Aang argued. Each of her children felt so impossibly young, too young to face even a shred of the hardships she’d experienced, to make the decisions she had. Bumi and Izumi were teenagers, just on the cusp of life, not ready to for marriage and definitely not children. And yet, they were rounding the corner to the ages she and Aang had checked each of those boxes, whether she wanted to know that or not."

“I don’t care,” Katara huffed, pushing past it all, “none of them can get married until they’re thirty. And they all have to tell us.” 

“Agreed.” Aang sat back. One of his knees had crept up to his chest, and his arms cradled it gently. “Do you wish…” he said, slowly, “do you wish that we had told your dad?”

“No.” Katara said, definitively. She gazed into his haunting gray eyes, hoping they’d have all the answers. “Do you?”

Aang thought for a moment. “I mean it’s different, I didn’t have someone to tell like that.”

“Aang.” Katara started, placing a careful hand on his stiffened shoulders. 

He put out a hand, signaling he was okay, which he was. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, after all. “I have so many people who love me and hold me, but not parents.” Aang elaborated. “I don’t… do this part. I don’t have this dynamic. And I wasn’t exactly thinking about that part, at the time. Also we were-”

“Kids.” Katara finished the sentence. No matter how it felt, that’s who was making the decision. Katara pulled Aangs shoulders into hers, and let them lean on each other. “I know.” 

Katara could have sat in that feeling all morning. But before she had enough time to get sucked into it all, their door opened without warning- and through it a flighty orange figure creeped in. 

Tenzin didn’t seem to register them as he entered, going straight to their dresser without so much as a glance up. After a few moments of watching him rummage, lost in thought,  Katara cleared his throat. “Good morning, honey,” she offered, curious.

“Ah!” Tenzin jumped, hitting his hand on the inside of their dresser. He spun around all at once, eyes wide, genuinely shocked by their presence in their room. “I- sorry. I’ve been coming in here to borrow your shaving stuff and it’s been empty so-not that I forgot you were here-”

Aang sat up straighter in bed, and motioned reassuringly.“Tez. It’s okay,” he started, gently. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, no I’ve got it.” Tenzin shook his head a little too quickly, and motioned to the shaving materials in his hand. “All good.”

“Have you had breakfast?” Katara asked, still trying to push past the fact that he had become so independent in the last week and a half that he may have forgotten his mother. 

“Yep!” Tenzin assured. “I had it with Councilmen Shan actually. I think we may have finally won him on our side but the total vote is still up in the air,” he continued, making the same frustrated face his father would. “Actually, I’ve really got go fix this if I want to fill Sokka in and prep before session-”

“You had breakfast alone?” Aang muttered, quietly. His grip tightened around Katara’s hand. She squeezed back. 

“You know, Tenzin,” Katara started, gently, “since we’re here now, your dad can go in, pick up where you started.” 

“It would be no problem, Tez.” Aang assured. 

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ve got it today.” Tez waved off, barely making eye contact as he shut the dresser. 

“Wait-” Aang started again. 

“Tez!” A voice- Toph- called from the hallway, cutting him off.

“Coming!” Tenzin yelled back. It didn’t take more than two seconds for their son to be out the door, shaving equipment under one robed arm. “I’ll see you both for dinner!” He called, unfazed, over his shoulder. 

After the door shut, Katara and Aang sat for a few stunned seconds, both floored. “What…just happened?” Katara asked, bewildered. 

“I don’t know.” Aang said, stymied. 

“Did he… forget we were here?” Katara wondered aloud. Tenzin had always been her most reserved child, but independence was not the first word that would ever come to mind. He was his father’s shadow, the pair of eyes on the staircase listening to his parents chat, long after his bed time.

“No…” Aang assured, scratching his shoulder, “maybe?” Before they could decide how to feel, another disruption came, this time a knock. 

“Come in!” Katara yelled, making a dazed face at Aang. 

“Hey.” Sokka waved, standing somewhat nervously at the door. 

“Welcome in,” Katara beckoned, “you just missed our son who apparently has forgotten he has parents.” 

Sokka barreled in, fiddling with the envelope in his hand. Katara stared between the now wrinkled piece of paper and her brother’s fairly terrible poker face. “What’s going on?” Aang asked, connecting the same dots. 

“We um, we got some news.” He started, cryptically. Katara and Aang’s pulse spiked in tandem. 

“What kind of news?” Katara asked.

“Everyone’s okay. Sorry.” Sokka assured, idling at the foot of their bed. “Um. So. I sent a letter a while back and um, apparently the responses were coming here, but I wasn’t here and so-” He took a breath before meeting her expectant, tired eyes. “Dad is coming. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Oh.” 


Fire Nation Palace, Present

“Linny Bug!”

 It was the first thing Lin heard when she opened the door. She didn’t even shut it all the way before he hollered it at her. It was Bumi, of course, calling from his bed He seemed brighter today, more himself than he’d been since he arrived. Lin cringed at the name, despite the fact that it meant he could see more than an inch in front of his face again. It was his nickname for her, well not only his, but he’d come up with it. She loved that part, secretly, but would never admit it. Izumi and Tenzin had already arrived, perched by his side and on the dresser, respectively, but there was someone new sitting to his side. She looked about his age, with a sharp black bob and sharper eyeliner. “This is Mei!” He pointed, excitedly. 

“Hey, Lin.” Mei smiled, her voice was deep and warm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” She added, folding one of her legs under the other in her chair. 

“Hi.” Lin said, trying not to think too much about what he could have said. It was dangerous having someone so inclined to tricks witness your entire childhood. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mei was just about to tell us about Bumi in basic training. And how she saved his life the first time.”

Izumi added, drapping a gentle arm around Bumi’s shoulders. Despite the fact that Bumi’s leg was still bound in bandages and therefore twice the size, he and Izumi managed to split his bed with a seeming ease. Truthfully, it was still hard for Lin to see him like this, even if he was more lively. Everyone else however, seemed unfazed. 

“Hey, I couldn’t let him go down without me, we have a pact.” Mei shook her head, waving off any praise.

“It’s called the don’t die doing stupid things pact.” Bumi joked. 

Tenzin moved over on the bureau, making room without asking. Lin joined him, bumping knees as she hopped up. “So, wait who is this?” She whispered. 

“Bumi’s UF friend, his healer said seeing people from the force would be helpful so she’s here now.” Tenzin whispered back. He was still in his professional robes from this morning, and was fiddling with one of his tassels. “She’s also really cool, so be cool.”

Lin’s eyes widened. “Did you just ask me to be cool?” She scoffed.

“Shut up.” Tenzin hissed back, his face turning bright red.

“You shut up.” Lin pumped his shoulder with her own. “Be cool, Tui and La.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. He could put on new clothes and stand up as tall as he wanted, there was no escaping being 13. Or escaping her.  

“Okay I’ve told enough of our stories,” Mei put both hands up, revealing the tightly wound brace around her wrist. That, coupled with the scabbed gash on her upper cheek that didn’t look like it was going to fade away told Lin a lot more about that night than she’d managed to get out of Tenzin. “I need some of yours.”

“Well what do you know?” Izumi asked. Bumi’s un-bandaged hand sat lazily in her lap, as casual and natural as ever. Lin was learning quickly that there was a large difference between knowing they were together and watching it.

“Basically nothing.” Mei sighed, narrowing her eyes. “He’s frustratingly secretive.”

“Secretive? Bumi? No.” Izumi clutched her chest and mock-gasped. Lin smiled, watching on from her perch. She was almost afraid to pipe up, afraid to shatter the window into older teenhood which had just opened in front of her. There were only six years between them, but right now it felt like they were a world away.  Lin could tell Tenzin felt the same, perfectly content to watch it all unfold in front of him, and take notes. 

“Hey, I say some stuff.” Bumi defended, looking between Mei and Izumi, both of which were unamused. 

“You really don’t.” Mei added, propping one of her legs up on the foot of Bumi’s bed. 

“Okay, okay, let me think.” Bumi waved his good hand in the air, demanding time. 

Lin leaned in, curious about all of the possible stories that Bumi could drudge up. Aside from their parents, there wasn’t a single person she knew who had experienced more in less time. Before she could stop herself, Lin pipped up, finding a path into their world. “What about the time you stole a car?” Lin offered. 

“Ha!” Bumi laughed. Izumi covered her eyes beside him. “Tui and La I forgot about that.”

“How did you forget about stealing a car?” Mei exclaimed, shocked. Tenzin had gone stiff beside Lin, who momentarily regretted sharing for his sake.

“Okay it was we.” Bumi clarified, motioning to the room. “We all stole a car. And Kya too. It also technically wasn’t stealing.” 

“It wasn’t not stealing.” Izumi reasoned, sitting back on the headboard. Lin grinned. She loved this story, and never got to tell it. 

“I’m going to need to hear this.” Mei said, scooting her chair closer to the bed. 

Bumi put up a hand in defeat. “Fine, fine.” He sighed, looking to Izumi. “So we were what, 17?”

“We were 15.” Izumi noted. 

“That feels young now for the story.” Bumi hesitated. “No it’s fine it’s okay… Anyways, so the guy that invented the first car deided to give one of them to my dad as like some sort of gift, like proof that it was good. New era and all of that.” He started, slipping into what was fondly known of as his storytelling voice. 

“But Aang hated it.” Lin added. 

“He really did not love it.” Tenzin muttered. 

“We also couldn’t store it on the island, so it was stored on the mainland at Sokka and Suki’s.” Bumi explained. 

“Which is also mine.” Lin added. The garage that held the car was technically on her floor of the building, but for obvious reasons it wasn’t used by her family. 

“Right. And that’s important.” Bumi affirmed. “So it was the summer, Izumi was there, we were feeling extra bored, and the car came up.” 

“I had mentioned I hadn’t really been in one.” Izumi added, sitting up. 

“And that was a travesty. Especially when one was right across the water, just begging to be driven!” Bumi gasped, believing every word. Izumi snickered sweetly beside him. Tenzin rolled his eyes, lovingly. “And so, we devised a plan.”

“The only real issue was getting the keys.” Izumi explained.

“What about getting across the island?” Mei asked, curious. Lin, Izumi, and Tenzin grinned, all knowing the answer. 

“Oh Mei, Mei, Mei,” Bumi started with a crooked grin,“I had been sneaking off that island since I was thirteen. At this point it was clockwork.”

“For a while he had a boat.” Tenzin offered, fighting off his smile at the memory. 

“It was more of a buoyant pile of trash.” Lin added. When Katara and Aang finally found out about him sneaking out, it was because he’d been dropped off by the coast guard after half of his garbage boat had drifted away, leaving him to float aimlessly on a pile of scrap metal and grain sacks. 

 

“Hey it was my buoyant pile of trash. Gone but not forgotten.” Bumi argued, waving away their criticism in mock disgust. “At this point I had a system with Appa. It cost a fortune in apples but he’d swim over and back.”

“I’m honestly surprised he kept your secret,” Izumi exclaimed. 

“I mean I’m his favorite.” Bumi argued, smugly.

“Isn’t dad is his favorite?” Tenzin asked, raising an eyebrow. His legs, which were folded on his perch, bounded up and down, slightly.

“Okay fine,” Bumi sighed, “but I’m the first baby. That’s some pull.”

“So okay were ready,” Izumi started again, both arms out as she steered back to the story. Lin smiled. She liked this part. “When all of a sudden… there’s Lin in the middle of the kitchen!” Bumi gasped, as though he hadn’t been there. 

“I was getting a cup of water they tripped over me.” She explained. Mei let out a laugh. Lin could remember it like yesterday, there was very little that could replace the memory of not one but two people twice your size collapsing onto you in heap, water and all. 

“And we apologized!” Bumi added. “But then I realized we probably couldn’t sneak in to get the keys without getting caught since they were at Sokka’s.” 

“I thought the car was your dads?” Mei asked, trying to keep it all straight. 

“He hated the car.” Tenzin, Lin, and Bumi said, in unison. They were each equally scarred from the week he was asked to drive it to council meetings. It had been the closest they had ever seen him to having true, unadulterated, hatred towards something. 

“But Sokka liked it.” Izumi added. 

“So that’s where Lin came in.” Bumi started. 

“But Lin wouldn’t leave without Tenzin,” Izumi winked, making dangerous eyes at Lin and Tenzin on the dresser. 

“Aww, really?” Mei chided, joining in. Tenzin, who was already red beside her, was suddenly interested in a spot on the ceiling. 

“He would’ve tattled if we didn’t let him.” Lin argued, arms crossed. It’s the line she’d spouted since that night, and the line she’d stick to until the story was forgotten to time. But in honesty, the thing that pulled her back, that forced her to stand up to the two people she idolized most, was because she wanted him to be there. She could do it alone, and she would have fun, but it was better with him by her side. It was always the two of them. Always. 

“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” Izumi said, smugly. 

“So off the five of us went.” Bumi started once more, bringing everyone back on track. Lin was grateful.

“Wait, there are only four of you or am I missing someone?” 

Izumi snorted. Bumi made a face.“Oh, yeah.” Bumi sighed, “Kya was already in the stables when we got there.”

“We were not good at whispering.” Izumi added. 

“So off the five of us went,” Bumi smiled, sitting up to the best of his ability, “across the river and into the garage, and out onto the town!” Lin could remember it like it was yesterday. It was the most fun she’d ever had doing something she wasn’t supposed to. But that’s what Bumi did. It’s what that island was. Bumi, Kya, Tenzin, they pushed her in ways she didn’t know existed. It was like they saw the world in different colors. Each of them, whether they knew it or not, had a magic she never could place, but regardless of how they got it, it made even the tightest among them incredibly comfortable with breaking the norm- legal or not. 

“Bumi started out on the wheel-” Izumi started. 

“I was great.” He boasted. Izumi and Tenzin rolled their eyes in unison.  


“You were fine, I was great.” Izumi said, proudly. Lin remembered Bumi’s ride as the roughest car ride she’d ever been in. It seemed almost impossible for it to go as fast as he pushed it. Izumi, by comparison, was gliding. 

“I was great, too,” Lin pipped up. She hadn’t planned to drive when she left the house, even after they got in the car, the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. It wasn’t until Bumi gave her this look - the look- and nodded towards the wheel. What could she say? Magic.  

“You were okay,” Bumi waved a hand, his ego bruised, “But Tenzin is where we got into some trouble.” 

Mei sat up in her chair. “Hang on. Pause.” She started, eyes narrowing on the dresser. Lin smirked. “How old were you?”

“Nine.” Tenzin said, almost remorsefully. Lin scoffed and bumped his shoulder, which he smiled at, finally. 

“Okay, you were about to be ten!” Bumi argued, as though that changed anything. 

“In hindsight, it was a terrible idea, but the car was so slow and we were all having such a good time,” Izumi sighed, smiling wistfully. Lin wasn’t the only one in awe of the Air Temple Island trio. “Well we were until-”

“It was not my fault! That cat came out of no where!” Tenzin sat up, rigid as a board as he defended himself. Lin snickered, she loved watching him flustered. 

“Tez it was so far away.” The earth bender said. While it was true, had been something in the road ahead of them when he drove, all four witnesses would confirm in every retelling that it was about a block away at the time of the crisis. Privately, Lin was fairly certain that it wasn’t a cat at all, but a bag picked up by the wind, but she kept that to herself. 

“I didn’t want to hit it!” Tenzin argued, his knees coming undone. 

“Still, you crashed the car.” Lin said, matter-o-factly. Tenzin spun his head to hers, aghast. 

“Crash is a strong word,” He scoffed, put a hand up. 

“You crashed the car.” Izumi added, sympathetically. 

“It was dented.” Tenzin crossed his arms. 

“Whatever happened,” Bumi pipped up, deescalating. “Dent or crash,” Lin watched as Izumi mouthed crash to Mei. “Whatever it was, we were all okay thankfully, but the car was not.” 

“But thank Agni, again,” Izumi continued, pointing graciously towards the dresser, “we had a metalbender.” 

“You are really the glue of this group, huh?” Mei asked, smirking. In that moment, the young teenager felt her heart leap out of her chest. Be cool. Lin shrugged in response. 

“She’s amazing,” Bumi affirmed, giving Lin a wink. “Anyways, Linny Bug metal bends the car back into place so it looks fine, but when we start it again we learn that the engine broke in the crash.”

“Dent.” Tenzin corrects, unamsued.

“Either way,” Izumi started, re-fluffing her pillow on the bed, “ it like the third car ever so we didn’t know how to fix it.” 

“So the five of us had to push the car all the way back,” Bumi drawled. “And it took all but we pulled it off!” He finished, clapping his hand against the bed, valiantly.  

“No we didn’t.” Tenzin said, brows furrowed. 

“Yes we did. We totally did.” Bumi countered. 

“Sokka caught us as we were leaving.” Tenzin explained, outlining to Mei the stilted, sleep deprived conversation Bumi and Kya attempted to spin to their Uncle as to why the five of them were not only up this early, but at his front door. 

“Sweets, I love you, but he knew.” Izumi sighed. She had Bumi’s hand in hers and was massaging it with her thumb. Lin watched as Tenzin covertly wrinkled his nose and glanced away. Yeah, still weird. 

“Okay fine maybe,” Bumi folded, looking sweetly into Izumi’s eyes. “But none of our parents ever found out and I take that as a win.” 

“And thank the spirits for that.” Izumi affirmed. 

Lin raised an eyebrow. “Oh you wouldn’t have gotten in trouble, Zooms. Your mom would love that.” Fire Lady Mai was one of Lin’s mother’s favorite people for many reasons, but one of them was that she openly and actively encouraged wildness. She relished any and all things disruptive, especially when it came to her somewhat uptight daughter. Lin believed it was one of the reasons she loved Bumi and who he was to Izumi. She could see it too, their magic.  

“She wouldn’t love it.” Izumi scrunched her nose. 

“She might.” Tenzin agreed, sitting back against the dresser with Lin. 

“She would, yeah.” Bumi nodded, quietly. 

“The Fire Lord and Lady would condone car theft?” Mei joked. Her smile made the edges of her wound twitch, ever so slightly. Breifly, Lin wondered if she could still feel it.  

“It wasn’t theft, more of a borrowing.” Bumi clarified. 

“They can’t condone or not condone anything they don’t know,” Izumi said, striking a finger into the air as she put on what they all called her princess voice. 

Bumi and Izumi had folded themselves so neatly onto his bed that her hair kept almost tickling his nose, as she was sitting further up than he was. Lin tried to think of a time when she felt that comfortable tangled with someone. Every time it was either her sister, her mom, or someone from that dang island.  “Either way Zooms would have been fine.” Bumi continued, cringing, “he rest of us would be toast though. 

Lin smirked, “I think really it would be more you than the two of us. We were nine and ten” She motioned to Tenzin besider her, ignoring how warm his shoulder was as it rested against hers. “And Kya doesn’t get caught she would have found a way out of it.”

“Not always” Bumi’s face spread into a wicked grin. He had that look in his eyes, the one that always reminded Lin of Sokka, that meant it was time to tell another story. This was how their nights would pass when they were all together. It was tale after tale, one always blooming into another, like a cascade of memories woven together after time apart. “Do you remember when mom and dad found out Kya entered that pro-bending match?"

“She what?” Mei gasped, getting louder than she’d been all afternoon. Lin smiled. It was maybe the first time ever that she’d gotten to watch anyone be enamored by their stories, the ones they made through their own adventures and mishaps and triumphs, and not the stories of their parents. 

“I should let her tell it.” Bumi conceded, frowning faintly. Lin’s eyes narrowed. He was still more himself than anyone had accounted in days, but as they started talking about Kya something clouded him. 

“Has Kya met you?” Izumi asked. 

“Oh, she has.” Tenzin lamented, cryptically. 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Izumi clapped, turning to Lin, “how did tutoring go?” 

“What?” Lin’s brows furrowed, before remembering this morning, in all is secrecy and confusion. “It was… good.” She lied. Lin felt Tenzin grow stiff next to her, but no one else seemed to notice. 

“Hang on- she left the room?” He asked, his tone unreadable. 

“Yeah, she and Lin went to go work on math.” Izumi answered, matter-o-factly, but she could sense something more was brewing. Lin tried to avoid eye contact, hoping for them it let it go, to blend back into the background, but it was to no avail. Before she knew it Tenzin had leapt off the dresser, and she didn’t need to meet his eyes to know he expected her to follow. “Wait-”

“We’ll be a moment.” Tenzin called behind him, opening the door. Lin walked through nervously. She wasn’t normally this nervous, let alone ashamed, especially with Tenzin. But something had changed in him now. It was in his voice, in his movements, -even in the way he jumped off the dresser. Lin couldn’t pinpoint it, she had barely noticed it before Kya was brought up. It freaked her out a little, now. He was different. 

“Look-” Lin started, barely meeting his storming eyes. 

 “Which way did she go.” 


Fire Nation Palace, Several Hours Earlier

Every time she closed her eyes, Kya saw him. And every time he was screaming. 

Kya woke up this morning to a dull ache in her fingers, still flexing and un-flexing like they were over the wound, which they had been, just moments before, in her dreams. Sleep was frustrating, but being awake was somehow worse. At least at night, at least in her dreams, she didn’t know how it would end. 

From the moment she opened her eyes, she had decided she had to leave the room today. There was no real, practical reason why she got up this morning and not yesterday, why this instant and not the next. But there was a new voice, a new feeling in her gut telling her she needed to get out. Standing up for the first time in two days was dizzying, but in the commotion of her brain it was less of a pang than it could have been, and was merely whisper in the haze. Kya smoothed back the braid Izumi had done when she arrived, now half undone, and gazed around the almost frustratingly tidy room.

It dawned on her, as tried and failed to massage one aching hand with another, that yesterday was Bumi’s first healing session. It’s what Tenzin said when he brought her dinner last night. She couldn’t remember what she said back, if anything. Either way, he didn’t push it. He just stood there, staring with those haunting grey eyes. When she woke up again, he was already gone, and the half-eaten dinner plate had been replaced with breakfast. The porridge was cold and dry already, and it stuck to the sides of her throat going down. Someone, probably Tenzin, had also gotten her bag at some point between two nights ago, when she first collapsed in a heap at his door, and now. Kya was oddly surprised when the green she tossed on still fit. She half expected it to be too small, for the sleeves to stop at her elbows and her pants to rest above her ankles. But no, they fit just the same. It had only been a few weeks, after all. 

The sun shone brighter in the Fire Nation. It was the first thing that hit her when she stepped outside, the warmth of the day was almost enough to knock her back into bed. It overwhelmed her. Instead, she took one ginger step after the next. Kya had never felt like this. Felt so hollow and overly full at the same time. She couldn’t think. Her head was so loud she barely felt the ground beneath her feet. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And every time he was screaming. 

Kya didn’t mean to walk by the training room. She wasn’t walking towards anything with any sort of intention, but it was foolish to think that she could get through the palace without seeing anyone who would stop her. 

“Kya!” Lin yelled, running off the mat to see her. She and Izumi were sparring, and it was too hot not to leave the doors open. The two girls met Kya with warm smiles and tight hugs that she half-tried to reciprocate. 

Lin and Izumi were talking, but Kya wasn’t paying attention. All she could think about was the last time she was with Lin she had packed the clothes she’d worn for weeks, and the last time she was with Izumi those clothes were covered in blood. “What?” Kya blinked. They had asked something. 

“I’m going Bumi’s room pretty soon, do you want to come?” Izumi asked, frowning.

“Oh.” Kya said, making eye contact with the pillar behind them. She wanted to say more, but the words fell far before they reached her tongue. Kya was almost angry that the first thing that came to mind, was if he was okay. She didn’t want to keep thinking that, to keep asking after him, keep fixing him, keep saving her older brother. It wasn’t her job. He wasn’t her job. And yet it was the first thing that came to mind, the thing that landed with her heart after it skipped a beat at the very sound of his name. But the second thought was his yelling. And gasping. And tears. So she didn’t ask. Instead, the words took refuge somewhere between her throat and her stomach, drifting among the stifled screams and swallowed back sick.

“Bumi’s been asking for you.” She added, placing a grounding hand on her shoulder. For a brief moment, Kya wanted to recoil at Izumi’s touch, at the very insinuation that she was supposed to come at his beck and call. But she didn’t. Izumi meant well. She did.

Kya blinked. It was hard to focus on anything when they kept saying his name. Every other moment, she was somewhere else. Eyes open, she was here, and Lin and Izumi were staring with expectant faces. But when she closed them, she was there. When she closed them everything was hot and loud and the wind stole her screams and blew her hair back in her face and when she brushed it back she smeared blood across her face. And then she opened them again.

Eyes closed. It’s slipping! I can’t hold it closed! Eyes open. “Oh.” Kya muttered again, her friends coming back into view. Closed. Yes you can, you can do it. Open. “I’m busy today.” Kya blurted out, finally, brushing past them, bumping shoulders as she went. The ground felt warm under her feet, even in the shade. 

“You’re… busy?” Izumi echoed, in somewhat disbelief. Kya could almost picture the way her eyebrows were crinkling together, and the small frown creeping up her face. She sighed, turning around slowly at the end of the hall. There was only a bit of space between them all now, but it felt like she was the third buoy in Yue Bay, watching them play on the shore.

Eyes closed. He’s bleeding! Kya! Eyes open. Kya clicked her tongue. “I’ve… I’ve missed school.” She rubber her forehead, massaging away a creeping headache with her aching hands. Closed. I can’t do this I can’t. Open. Kya turned to the younger girl, finding salvation. “Lin’s in my math.” she continued, shooting a warning stare at the earth bender. “She’s going to tutor me.” The Kya from last month would be ashamed of this half-baked, thinly improvised plan, but present-Kya didn’t care. Everything was too hazy and gray. 

“Oh… yeah sorry, I forgot.” Lin started, looked slowly between the two girls, a faint redness creeping up her neck. It was her one tell. Fortunately, she didn’t lie around Izumi often enough for her to notice. “I’m tutoring her today. We’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Eyes closed. Don’t you fucking go anywhere Bumi. Eyes open. Kya sighed. “Yeah.” Her arms were folded across her chest, holding on to one another like they were all keeping her upward. Closed. Don’t you fucking dare Open. “Well, we should go.” 

After another reassuring nod from Lin, Izumi started down the hall. As soon as she was out of ear shot, a hesitant Lin crept up to Kya, approaching her like a wounded animal. “So…” Lin started gently, smoothing her loose ponytail back, “you know I didn’t bring my math supplies.”

Kya smiled, faintly. Even as the goodiest of two shoes, second only to Tenzin, she was still a Beifong. Loyal to a fault. “Yeah. I know, Linny Bug.” Kya nodded, unhooking her arms from each other to clumsily tuck a loose hair behind the younger girl’s ear. “Thanks for covering me. We… we don’t have to do that.” 

For a moment, the sky seemed to part. The clouds shrank in her brain and her eyes cleared. But when Kya looked up, Lin’s face was lined with worry. And the rain returned. “Kya.” Lin started carefully, reaching out for her hand, “if you need to talk-”

Kya refolded her arms. Eyes closed. I’ve got this. I have it. I have it. Eyes open. Kya frowned and took a step back.“I’m good,” she lied. Closed. I’ve got this. Open. “I’m gonna go for a walk. Alone. Don’t tell.” She muttered, turning down the hall. 

“Kya-” Lin called after her.

“I’m fine, bugs.” Kya snapped over her shoulder, walking faster. 

Kya heard her heave a heavy sigh behind her, but Lin didn’t move. “I won’t. “But I should.” Lin called back. On any other day, on any other week, there was enough worry in Lin’s voice to make Kya stop whatever she was doing, no matter how important it was, just to make her feel better. Lin was special. She was their rock. While Lin and Tenzin were each other’s everything or whatever they were destined to become, Kya liked to think they had something too. Their relationship would be uncomplicated in a way her siblings’ never could. They had each other’s backs, always. But today was today, and this week was this week, and the tremor at the end of Lin’s sentence wasn’t enough to make her turn around. Kya was her own everything. 

Kya started down the familiar path, one she knew like the back of her hand. Down she went, through the brush alongside the back end of the palace, hitting a right forty paces passed the stables and through the hidden passage, in the tunnel and out the other side into the woods on the outskirts of Caldera. When she was old enough to toddle, she was made to run it, over and over, until she could do it in the dark. She never walked it alone, then. There was always another hand firmly wrapped around hers, always his. Her parents couldn’t, or wouldn’t rather, picture a world where she’d have to leave alone. But her brother could. After they did it together, Bumi would make her practice on her own, making sure she could get out if he wasn’t there to lead the way. He’d put Tenzin on her back, the way the baby was supposed to sit on his, and trace the path on her little hand, so that she new the way, too. Just in case, he’d say. Just in case. 

Kya wasn’t supposed to be his job, he just decided she was. He seemed so grown up, then. So grown up  that she actually trusted him when he said she’d never walk it alone. 

By the time she reached the grove that rested on the edges of the city, the sun was high in the sky, shining through the trees in streams of light that bathed the forest floor. Kya wove her way between the trees, searching for one with a soft patch to rest under. By the time she’d settled in her nook, the screams between each blink were softer, but the gnawing feeling in her throat persisted. Even still, it felt more manageable now, away from brothers and friends and parents, just her and the trees. Her father said that being surrounded by nature was the closest a human could get to the spirit world from our side. She was inclined to believe him. The woods, in all their life, remained still, soft in their vibrance. Like water. They both knew more than they would ever say.  

This notion was why she wasn’t entirely surprised when the tears started to flow. For the first time since it all, the first time awake, Kya cried. What scared her, though, was what followed. She thrashed and sobbed and screamed so loudly the birds above her fled and branches shook and there was no one and nothing in the world but her pain. Her hands throbbed from when she had, unwisely, punched the trunk of an unassuming birch. But she didn’t care. She kept going. They were already aching anyways, and now it was for her and her alone. Her family had become twisted in her mind and her element a weapon and the person she most trusted-the hand that was supposed to carry her through the tunnel-had gone slack in her grasp.  

She blinked. Screaming. Bleeding. Screa- “NO!” Kya yelled

She didn’t wan to be like this. All of the work she had done, all of the learning and unlearning and confessing and working and balancing she had perfected felt like it had been erased in a matter of hours. She didn’t want to be this person. She wasn’t this person. She wasn’t supposed to need fixing. She wasn’t supposed to need at all. She wasn’t Bumi or Tenzin or her parents. She was her everything. 

And yet, everything fell. Kya dug her hands into the dirt, feeling it creep under her bloodied fingernails as she steadied herself, gasping for air. In every other breath she could feel the slapping of her hair against her face as she tried to work. Even now, as it hung down, ticking her chin, it felt like a cruel reminder. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the woods, or the sound of her heart beating so hard in her chest she couldn’t breathe, but in that moment, she had finally found what had to give. What needed to change. 

Hair was important in both of her cultures. The air bending nuns cut their hair for the first time when they received her tattoos, even though their brothers would spend their entire lives completely bald. Her mother had cut her hair ceremonially on a few occasions, often in a time of mourning and reverence. In different ways, it was a way to hold and honor to the past, while stepping into the present, a renewal and rebirth all at the same time. 

Kya gave a silent prayer to the patch of grass she lifted the water from, and formed a small icey blade in her hand. It had worked, it seemed, for her younger brother. It would have to work for her. She gathered her braid in one hand, synching the tie where she wanted her hair to fall, just at her chin, and raised the knife to her locs. 

Slice.

Kya watched half of her hair fall to rest on the forest floor. 

Closed. Open. Closed. Open. 

When she blinked, she saw nothing.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Lin was lying. Tenzin knew, even before the ruby red flush creeped up her neck and on onto her cheeks, that every word was fake. He knew his sister like he knew his own hand. Each of his siblings felt like an extra limb, holding him and hurting him all at the same time. Kya wasn’t studying or resting or getting a meal, if she had actually gotten out of bed, if she had asked Lin to lie she was gone. Kya was an apple that fell straight down off of their father’s tree, and running was always her first instinct.

“Lin, come on.” Tenzin sighed, checking to make sure the door to Bumi’s room was completely shut. It was the middle of the day, meaning most of the staff was in meetings or prepping dinner, so the hall was empty. He turned to Lin, who was picking at her fingers nervously. It only took one glance for her to know that he knew. 

Lin was to her credit, very good at spinning a lie into the truth. She had perfected the art of manipulating each word so that her heart wouldn’t budge to get passed her mother, but she was almost terrible at lying to other people without preparing. And she was loyal to a fault. Lin crossed her arms and took a breath, “look. I promised her that-”

Tenzin took a step closer, “I know, I know and you don’t have to say anything, okay? Just point in a direction.” He had been calm, careful when he called Lin into the hallway, even heart pounded deep in his chest. But now there was no doubt in his head of what he needed to do. He had to fix it. And fast. 

Begrudgingly, Lin pointed West, her eyebrows in knots. The tunnel. Tenzin thought-or rather, decided. He had to find her, so she would be there. She had to be. “Okay.” Tenzin sighed, running a hand over his bald head. He was barely thinking, he just needed to go. “We’ll be back soon.”

“I could come with you.” Lin offered, taking his hand comfortingly. At any other moment, the feeling of her hand in his would have completely taken him, consumed him whole and left him in pieces. She had never done that before. Of course they had held hands, a lifetime ago, walked arm and arm together to school and back, but not like this. Never like this. But what he needed now was to be smart. What he needed now was to think like someone who did what they wanted and didn’t get caught, of which he was neither. What he needed now, was to think his sister.

Tenzin squeezed her hand and let go, even as blush crept up his face. “Thanks… but I think need you to cover for us with our parents, please?”

Lin frowned, crossing her arms. “Seriously?”

“Have I ever asked before?” Tenzin pleaded. 

Lin’s face softened. “No.” She shrugged, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. “But you owe me.”

“Of course,” Tenzin smiled, slightly. He was ready to start off West, until he remembered who Lin would be walking back into. “Please… please don’t say anything to any of them too, okay?” Tenzin looked between the door and the earth bender, who hesitated. “Bumi’s finally… okay and I can’t risk that. I can handle this part on my own. But if we’re not back in an hour tell my dad to be ready for tonights meeting, just in case.” 

Lin put both hands on Tenzin’s shoulders, which he hadn’t realized had crept up to his ears. “Tez,” she said, softly. They had always been the same height. One day, he’d shoot up like his siblings, but in this moment, for the first time, he wished against it. “She’s okay. She’s just a little… lost. She’ll come back when she’s ready.” 

Tenzin sighed. She didn’t mean literally, they both knew that. “I know. I know… But I just need to get her.” Lin gazed at him with her great emerald eyes, and nodded. She didn’t need to understand, and he didn’t need her to, she’d do it anyways and so would he. They weren’t used to this part, to solving things for the people around them. They were the youngest, the littles as Sokka had named them. But something had changed. Tenzin didn’t know what he would do if she didn’t change with it, with him.  

After parting ways, Tenzin walked to the tunnel. He was brisk, but he didn’t run. His sister was what his great-grandmother would call a restless child. She liked to wander and wane. Although he didn’t know exactly why she left or what she was up to, for some reason Tenzin knew she was in no physical danger. The spirits had never welcomed him into their world but today, as the breeze ran across his skin, he felt as close as he’d ever been. For the first time, he just knew. He’d never just known anything before. 

No, if she had used the tunnel, Kya was likely in the woods, finding space. Tenzin glared at the sun as the it opened into the wood, cursing the sunny skies. He’d already given her space, and she wasn’t someone he could let wane without him. She was one of his limbs, and he was one of hers. He couldn’t not know, not anymore. He had to fix it. 

As he drifted between the trees, Tenzin found himself humming one of his mother’s songs. It was her work song, the one she kept close, whispered only to her children on restless nights. Most of the things the young air bender inherited from his parents, admittedly, were from his father. He had his bending, his eyes, his ears, and one day - when the last of his baby fat fell away and his growth spurt kicked in, he’d have the sharp, square of his face too. An old council member once said that that he was his shadow. And in many ways he always would be, he’d follow in his father’s footsteps very literally. The young air bender’s goal in life, if he cut away everything else, was become all that Aang is and all that he couldn’t be. Tenzin knew all of this, and he would have known it even if it wasn’t told to him by every other person he’d ever met. He was just like his dad. 

But what people didn’t see, what they chose not to see, was how much he was his mother’s son. He had her fire, for better or worse. Tenzin didn’t know it, not really, until it was spelled out for him. It was hard to see anything else in the mirror when all you’ve been told is that you’re a painting of someone else. It wasn’t until Iroh spelled it out last week for afternoon tea that the paint started to peel away. He’d mentioned, as they all had, about how much he looked like the Aang they first met, the Aang they all fell in love with, but before he could take his next sip, Iroh added something new, something different. 

You know… you may share your father’s gifts, but you have your mother’s purpose 

Her purpose?

You’re here to fix things, to put us all back together. You’re a healer, Tenzin. Just like her. 

Iroh’s words were still ringing in his ears when he dropped Kya’s dinner off last night. Tenzin certainly didn’t feel like he was fixing anything then. She hadn’t said more than three words since she’d arrived. He was anything but confident in his choice to give her space, lacking all the divisiveness he’d witnessed in his mother. She made snap decisions every day in far more dire circumstances with far less doubt. The cloud of doubts in his head was still trailing him when he’d gone to visit Bumi, still uneasy and unsure and unpracticed. 

At first, it scared him. Tenzin wasn’t the oldest. He wasn’t a source of comfort, or safety, or wisdom of any kind. He couldn’t take away pain in a single second like his mother. He’d never put his body between a stranger and danger like she had, nor had he fought to earn the respect he was given. But he had her fire, he knew that, somehow, deep down. He had her purpose. He was here to make a world of three nations, four again. He was here to heal, whether he believed he could or not. But as he wove down the path he’d walked with her so many times, into trees and up the hill, all of the doubt had slipped away. It didn’t scare him right now. It didn’t matter. He was barely planning, barely thinking, moving only on one single motivation. He’d fix it. He had to. 

By the time he saw Kya, she was already starting down the path back to the palace. They met in the middle, a mixture of worry and relief flooding the both of them as they saw each other.

“Hey.” Tenzin said, softly. The trees grew still around them. “I like it.” He gestured to his own head, and then to hers. While his change was more drastic, he knew what it meant. She was different now, too.

“I like yours, too.” Kya smiled back. The storm in her eyes had passed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”

“It’s okay.” Tenzin brushed off, taking a step forward. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Kya sighed. He believed her. 

“Good.” He said. Gingerly, he opened his arms, and softly she accepted. For a single moment in time, this was all there was. “That’s really good.”

His mother was a healer. His sister was a healer. His father was a bridge. His brother was a fighter. Tenzin wouldn’t be any of those things, even if people needed him to be, but he if he could just keep it all together, he was beginning to think he could be enough.  

Notes:

wooo hoo!!

some notes:
- first, i love exploring the idea of being like an adult who started to be a "chosen one" as a kid and just kind of Reflecting, especially when your own kids are the age you were "chosen one-ing" like oml
- I think katara (and sokka's) relationship with their dad would realistically ebb and flow and evolve, especially considering they lived and adapted w/out him so young - no hate just like course of things
- LINNY BUG!! i feel like its a very universal experience to be a kid/young teen and just kind of idolize the teenhood around you, like i remember thinking my friend's older sibs/older cousins/etc were the COOLEST people on the planet; i also think she kind of idolizes the whole family in a way, but I also like to think that Kya, Bumi, and Tenzin are all a little magic, be it from having a half-spirit bridge dad or being the only ppl raised in the air nomad tradition in 100+ years
- KYA MY LIGHT! She's having big feelings and sometimes you gotta just put you first and be you
- Tez! oh tez! he'll figure it out he's ok

Chapter 26: i am no mother

Summary:

chats ! parents ! girlhood !

Notes:

we are BACK and we are rounding out the end baby oml

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Souther Water Tribe, 4 years ago

Sokka could hear the slamming of cupboard doors from the walkway to his father’s house. The moon was already high in the sky and dinner was long over, but the kitchen was alive with loud, forceful noise. 

“Hey Katara.” Sokka nodded, opening the door. The first few times he stayed at his father’s house, the house built after the war, he found himself knocking at the front door, even though he had a key. It was a nice house, a house he’d paid for, but it didn’t feel like home, not really. 

Sokka’s relationship with homes and houses was complicated. His childhood home, the place he learned to read and walk and play, was soured in his mind by the image of his mother’s lifeless body collapsed in the very spot he’d eaten breakfast that same morning. It didn’t matter if it was the only place he’d ever lived with her, it was also the place where she died. The igloo they lived in with their grandmother had happy memories, but it was also where he had been left. Where he waited anxiously for someone who, no matter how they sliced it, never came back. And now there was this house. This grand, abundant, masterpiece that had enough room for his father and grandmother and everyone he loved. It was a house you could really grow in, a house full of life, just a decade too late. Truly, when Sokka reflected on it, the only continuity he’d ever had, the only thing every place shared, was the person making a tremendous amount of noise in an expensive kitchen.

“Hi.” Katara said, curtly. She had stationed herself at the table with a hunk of seal meat in one hand and a large knife in the other. 

Sokka took a seat, ignoring the obvious air of frustration. He was on a mission tonight. “It’s a little late to start making jerky don’t we think?” He asked.

“Gran Gran wants to start drying it tomorrow and if I don’t marinate it tonight it’ll be ruined.” Katara said, focusing intently on her slicing. Every drawer in the kitchen was thrown open, something his sister would normally correct immediately. This kitchen was organized differently from both of theirs in Republic City, and Sokka wondered briefly if that was the kind of thing that would be the same as their parents in another life.

“I’m sure it’ll still be good if you don’t marinate it.” He reasoned, reading each of the spice labels laid out. “We didn’t used to.” 

“I don’t want it how it used to be.” Katara chopped forcefully. “If it can be different, if it can be better, why not just make it better?”

Sokka thought for a moment. The South was hard for them both. “Can I help?” He asked, finally. 

“Sure.” Katara nodded. She handed him a bowl of sliced jerky ready to be prepped. 

“Thanks.” He affirmed. They worked for a few moments in what Sokka felt was a comfortable silence, but he was fairly sure that feeling was one-sided. He had come on a mission that had yet to be started. She knew it too. “Katara.” Sokka pushed the bowl aside and turned to his sister. 

“What?” She asked, already on the defensive. 

“Can we talk about what happened today?” He asked, carefully. Katara stiffened. 

“Talk about what?” She asked, looking up from her work. Sokka made a face. “I’m fine it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” 

Before Sokka had the time to retort, a small voice pipped up from the doorway. “What’s not a big deal?” Lin asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily. 

Katara softened, changing her tone. “Nothing, sweetheart.” She sat up in her chair, trying to see if any of the other littles had followed. “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey.”

“I wanted water.” Lin muttered, finding her way to the open cupboard. “What’s not a big deal?” She asked again. Sokka opened his mouth to respond, but was again interrupted by another, not-small voice. 

“Grandpa let me and Kya hunt on our own.” Bumi answered, nonchalantly from the same doorway. Sokka winced. His mission of delicate, non-abrasive conversation had officially been compromised. 

“Seriously?” Katara gave an annoyed glance, which the teen ignored as he made his way the fridge. 

“I wanna hunt on my own.” Lin echoed, filling her cup at the kitchen sink. Bumi cackled as he sifted through his grandfather’s fridge until he found the snacks he was looking for. 

“No, honey.” Katara said, quickly. Sokka didn’t have to be an earth bender to know her pulse spiked. She got up, wiping the spices on her apron. “You’re not supposed to do it alone it’s a group activity. A large group. With adults.” 

Bumi clicked his tongue. He’d closed the fridge with his elbow, as his hands were full with nearly every snack offered in the South Pole. “He said Sokka hunted alone.” Bumi countered, antagonizing his mother. He bent down to give Lin one of his bags, who took it joyfully. “All alone.”

“Well, Sokka nearly lost an arm.” Sokka responded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. While he would be the first to acknowledge that many of Team Avatar’s less-than-safe adventures were told and retold to friends and family (especially their children) in a tweaked, palatable manner, something about today struck a chord. It was hard to stomach that his harrowing hunger-fueled endeavors were being regaled as heroic escapades, even more that they were grounds for his niece and nephew to follow suit. He and Katara had a long-standing unspoken agreement that their father had apparently not realized: the two years they spent alone in the South were off limits. 

“Ooo cool.” Lin wowed. 

“No. Not cool.” Katara grunted, chopping her slices of jerky into smaller and smaller pieces. “Bad and terrible and scary and bad.” Sokka didn’t remember anything after he’d been bitten that day, only waking up afterwards with his arm in bandages and a fresh cup of soup by his side. Katara didn’t tell him exactly what had happened and he didn’t ask. All he knew is that he didn’t walk himself back to the village, and his grandmother’s eyes were too bad to stitch him up. His sister had done it, she’d done it all. 

“And a little cool.” Bumi whispered. Lin giggled.

“Tui and La.” Katara massaged her temples. 

“What?” Bumi asked, shoving his pilfered snacks into his bag, “we were fine, I don’t know why you’re so freaked out.” Sokka’s eyes widened. Zuko once confessed, after his then-toddler daughter asked if she would get to “go on a trip” when she turned thirteen, that he didn’t think he’d ever felt that young. Sokka thought he knew what he meant then, but he was absolutely certain now. 

“Aren’t you going to a party?” Katara asked, brushing past the subject. His sister, most certainly, had never felt that young. “Just go to the party. Quickly, before I change my mind.” She motioned toward the door. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her this eager for Bumi to go anywhere unsupervised. 

“Got it, going,” Bumi put on his coat quickly, taking the hint. “Bye mom, bye Sokka, bye Buggy.” With the quick blow of a kiss and an exaggerated bow, the teenager was out the door. 

As the door shut, Sokka turned back to his sister, who was decidedly more peeved than when he’d come in. Katara frowned.“Don’t give me that look.”

“It just seems less than fine.” Sokka shrugged. 

“Yeah. I could feel it.” Lin nodded, clutching her cup in one hand and snack in the other. 

Katara melted into the back of her chair. “Okay you have your water, honey. Back to bed.” She motioned for the door. With a nod, the eight year-old scampered back down the hall. If the littles had one thing on the older crowd, it was that they did what they were told the first time. 

Sokka waited, making sure she was out of ear shot before he started, at last, with what he came to say. “Katara. It’s okay.” He started, gently. Needing something to do with his hands, he gathered both of their bowls and prepping them to sit overnight. “He was out of line.”

“It was not dad’s call to make.” Katara said quietly, folding the edge of her apron. In moments like this, when time collapsed and he saw his sister at five, fifteen, and thirty-five all at once, it was hard to believe that it had been twenty years since they called the same house, “home.” 

“I know.” Sokka confirmed. He’d placed the meat aside and let the cool water run through his fingers in the sink. It was ice cold, like it was fresh from the snow, but he didn’t mind. Katara clicked her tongue behind him, moving to get a spot. 

“Spirits forbid, what if something had gone wrong?” Katara continued, brows scrunched. She’d turned the nob to make the water hotter, and for a moment she was so lost in thought steam started rising from the sink. “The tundra is dangerous for the most experienced hunters and he sent my teenagers out by themselves!” Katara slammed both hands down to turn off the faucet and took a breath. Sokka waited, leaning all the way back on the kitchen counter. He wondered, briefly, if this is how it would have been if they’d grown up in this house. If they would talk into the evening in an electronically-lit kitchen with warm running water instead of over a weak lantern in a tent half the size. Would their fights be any different? Any kinder? Probably not, he mused. A lot more would have had to change. Katara grabbed a wet rag and started wiping down the table, still stewing in her anger. Sokka joined her with a dry one. “I think… I think the part that really frustrated me was his reasoning.” She continued, quieter, focusing intently each swiping motion. “He kept saying was that they were old enough. That they were responsible.”

“Oh.” Sokka’s fingers wrapped tighter around the rag, instinctively. 

“But that’s the thing!” Katara slammed her rag down, abandoning its purpose. “Of course they could be, but they shouldn’t have to! They should be irresponsible and make mistakes without it costing them everything!” There were pin pricks in her eyes that were fueled by more than mourning the what ifs of this afternoon. No, this was simultaneously all about her children and had nothing to do with them at all. 

“Yeah.” Sokka frowned. He took both rags and placed them in the washing bin. “It struck a chord. I felt it too.” 

At that, Katara looked at him, into his eyes and heart and soul in the way she could. The way that made him want to crumple into her arms and give her all that ailed him while at the same time wrapping his arms around her and letting her fall apart. It was sad, worn expression, one that hesitated with age. “I just…” she started, carefully. Katara folded her apron into a neat square, despite the fact that it was about to be washed. “He told him-Bumi- that she was his responsibility. Like he’s some grown up, some man.”

Sokka looked down at his hands, trying to syphon off any guilt she’d already felt disclosing this part of it. There it was. His pain and hers, tightly wound around two other unsuspecting souls. “He’s not.” Sokka said, firmly. “He’s just a kid.” They looked at each other for a moment, exchanging what would always remain unsaid. Unfortunately, this was just as much about his niece and nephew as it was about him as it was about her. 

So were you. His eyes said. 

So were you. Hers responded. 

“Sometimes…” Katara sighed, leaning heavily on a dining room chair. They’d cleaned up all they could for today. Now it was just the two of them, standing somewhat uncomfortably in their father’s kitchen.  “Sometimes it still makes me really sad. How it played out. I thought it didn’t but it does.” It was just the surface of the iceberg of their youth, but it was all she could muster for tonight, he knew that. The South made things hazier. 

“Yeah.” Sokka said, leaning close enough that he could bump her shoulder. “It makes me sad too, sometimes. The good thing is that nothing happened today.” He glanced at his sister, her arms folded together, supporting herself and everyone under this roof, everyone in this home, one breath at a time. Tomorrow she would make jerky with her children and grandmother, four generations together, profiting off of the work she did tonight between tears. Sokka nudged her arm. “They’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Katara smiled. “They were okay.” 


Fire Nation Palace, Present

“I noticed you haven’t gone to see Bumi.” Aang asked, gently, running a comb through her jagged locs. When he’d offered to make her haircut even after dinner, Kya had been hesitant, but obliged. She didn’t ask if or how Aang knew to cut hair, but she trusted her father. When she’d returned that afternoon with her new look, he hadn’t blinked, even before a surprisingly protective Tenzin not-so-covertly warned their parents that this was something they would only love and support. 

“Dad.” Kya warned, picking at her fingers as he brushed through her hair. She should have known he’d know. It was foolish to think she’d all but slipped into the shadows when it came to her family. 

“Okay.” Aang nodded. One thing she could always count on with her father, was his boundaries. If you drew them, he wouldn’t cross them - for better or wore. “You know, I was younger… I used to run off. A lot.” He started, instead. 

Kya blinked, puzzled. “I know, dad.” She said, gently. 

“But what took long time to realize that it was just my way of making sure I wasn’t the one getting left. I used to get so upset when Sokka or Toph or Zuko or even your mother had to go.” Kya’s eyes widened. She had assumed, of course, that he was talking about before- not after. Her mother’s comment on their likeness from what felt like a lifetime ago was ringing in her ears. “But now I know that wasn’t fair. Everyone has to make their own path, has to follow their own rhythms even if it means being apart. Especially if it means being apart.”

“I know.” Kya huffed, “I know it was his calling dad, I’m not… mad.”

Aang started pulling pieces gently and snipping where he saw fit. “I’m not just talking about your brother, honey.” He started, delicately. Kya stilled. Aang continued, “this feeling you have… it’s not going to go away on its own. It’s okay if you need to leave to grow. We’ll always be here.” 

Kya felt the pit in her stomach open tenfold. “What if I don’t want to?” She asked, carefully, daring him. 

“Then you’ll stay.” Her father answered, simply, as though it was the easiest solution in the world. “But I have a feeling that’s not your path.” 

“I wish…” Kya hesitated. The Avatar was not a sad being. They did not hold anger or grief or mourn. They brought peace, freedom, solace. They were the future, not the past. But Aang could be a sad person. He was happy, and full of love and joy, but there was little another could do to fix what he’d lost. There is little that can heal the last of a people. Kya came to learn this just as her siblings had, over the course of many years, many instances, many weights. And yet, it had always been hard to grasp. His sadness seemed so deep, so peripheral yet all-consuming, it was hard to become tangible. It was hard to make her own. Her pain surrounding the loss of their people had always felt like an extension of his loss, like she was merely a limb of her father, his wayward left hand at best. That was, until now. Until the woods. Until her hair. “I wish I had grown up with your people.”

Aang sucked in a bigger breath. “Me too.” He said, running a final hand through her hair. “I think that about all of you, but… it would have been so good for you Kya. So good." The emphasis on each word tugged deeper and deeper into her heart. Like any child of a lost people, of genocide, of a place that you can never return, Kya wondered often of what her life could have been like with the Air Nomads. The feeling of loss only deepened when she started developing a crush on her sparing partner at school. The Nomads didn't have a closet you had to come out of, you could just be, infinitely. The feeling of the weight that could have never existed was almost too much to bear. "You have their spirit

“Thanks, dad.” Kya chocked out, turning to her dad. Aang was smiling, sadly. 

“I mean it, my love.” He cupped each shoulder, gently. “I’m so sorry that you’re hurting and I didn’t notice. My strong, brave young one.” Every syllable fell of her father’s language fell like water. “What do you think?” He asked, motioning to the mirror in front of them. 

It looks good.” Kya said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Really good.”


Fire Nation Palace, Present

“I love you all, but I really don’t have time for this.” Katara huffed for the ump-teenth time as she begrudgingly entered Mai’s private room in the palace wellness center. She was ignored, just as she had been every time, as her friends continued to prepare for their restful afternoon. 

“You have time.” Suki said once again, gently, handing Katara one of her bathing suits. Begrudgingly, she took it. She’ll do it if you make her. Toph had said, when they were devising their plan.

Since their first meeting, Suki had been nothing but impressed with Katara. She was strong and self-assured and unwaveringly protective when it came to the people she cared about. She didn’t need to be handled or saved, she did that herself. In another life, Katara would have made an incredible Kyoshi warrior. It wasn’t until after the war, after it was all over and they could look more than three steps ahead, did Suki start to see her as a younger person, as someone two years her junior. She’d never forget the first time Sokka mentioned that Katara had asked what she was wearing to a banquet. When Suki, surprised, asked why she would care, Sokka had given her this look. It didn’t matter that they had fought side by side and ended wars together, she was still a teenager, and could finally feel like it. Suki was a cool older girl. Not only that, she was the older brother’s girlfriend, even if they’d loved each other just as long. From that moment on, Suki relished her role. She liked what she meant, what she could give. She could be that slice of normalcy.

“Surya recommended you take a break,”  Mai said, stepping into the volcanic hot spring. “Do you really want to go against doctors orders?” In two-and-a-half decades of friendship, they had long learned that the only way to help Katara when she didn’t want it, was to power through. 

“What if I was drowning then would you get in?” Toph asked, already shoulders-deep in the water. 

“Are you drowning?” Katara raised an eyebrow. Even after decades of friendship, of building cities and weddings and children, time seemed to elapse with them, with her girls. While there was a time they would have detested the comparison, Katara and Toph were as close to sisters and Suki’s warriors back home. They grew into adulthood side by side, arm in arm- even if sometimes the arms were trying to tear each other apart. Now, they raised their children together.

“Katara,” Mai started, stretching out an arm to beckon her in. “You need a break. A real break.” Suki remembered the first time Mai offered to do Katara’s makeup. It had been a big step, mainly for Mai, an olive branch of her own design. To this day, Katara still did her blush Mai’s way.

“Bumi’s getting better.” Suki added, placing a comforting hand on her back. “He was up walking today for the first time.” 

Katara sighed. “Barely.” Even as reluctant as she was, Suki could feel her muscles release as they stepped in. 

“He was walking.” Toph affirmed, making room on the bench. “Just sit with us for an afternoon you need it. We can all feel it you’re so tense.”

Katara clicked her tongue.“Thanks, Toph.” The younger woman smiled devilishly in response. 

“Okay I have grapes, crackers, and two kinds of tea.” Mai listed, pulling goods from the pool-side cupboard. 

“Do you keep this fully stocked?” Katara gawked. 

“It has to be we go in every week.” Mai reasoned, passing the tea cups around. 

“We call it date night.” Suki grabbed a grape. She and the now-queen had not been as fast friends as her previous counterpart. Ty Lee, even more than Zuko, had been the glue between the three of them for the first five years of their friendship. It wasn’t until the acrobat moved to Kyoshi Island full-time and left the two of them at the palace, that they were forced to find common ground. After more long talks than either of them had really been prepared for and a substantial dent into Caldera’s finest whiskey reserve, it was clear they clicked. They were different people, strong in different ways, but she taught Suki that that could be incredibly refreshing. Mai was refreshing.

“And I’m going to miss it so much when you leave.” Mai pouted, pouring her favorite tea. Suki’s eyes widened. Her secret was out. Mai winked, knowing what she’d done. The pusher had become the pushed. 

Katara and Toph both sat up. “Wait- are you moving back?” The earth bender asked.

“I’m moving to Republic City at the end of the summer.” Suki sighed. She had planned to tell them, there hadn’t really been a reason not to, but still she’d hesitated. The warrior had not lived in one place since she was fifteen. Her freedom was her life force. She was everything she needed to be, all at once. “For the next year at least.”

“Oh thank Tui, we miss you too much,” Katara grinned, wider than she’d seen in days. “Mai’s been hogging you.” 

“Believe me I tried to convince her to stay, but she’s set in her ways.” Mai gave her a forgiving smile. 

“It’s time.” Suki said. It was the only reason she could articulate, the only one that felt like it mattered. Besides, it was Katara’s day.

“In other news, I’m going on a trip this summer with Tom Tom to visit our mom in her old village.” Mai added. 

“Oh really?” Toph raised her eyebrows, intrigued.

“Yeah. I only went once when I was a kid, and he’s never been so it’ll be new for us both.” She mused, swirling her cup. 

“Are you excited?” Katara asked. Mai’s mother, like many of the topics of her past, were delicate at best.

Mai sighed. “I’m excited to spend time with my brother. And I’m already exhausted. It’ll be complicated.” 

“I heard that.” Toph raised a glass. Like nightmares and separation anxiety, parental dynamics were something else they all shared. 

“How is Tom Tom? I feel like it’s been so long,” Katara asked. Before Bumi, the group joked that Tom Tom was the first baby. In a lot of ways, it felt like he had been, at least for Mai and Zuko. 

“He’s good. He’s been spending most of his time in the South while Koa finishes his program, but they’re going to move to Republic City once he’s graduated.” Mai said, beaming in her own way with pride. 

“Oh good!” Katara cheered. 

“See? All the more reason to visit.” Suki raised her glass in Mai’s direction. 

“Um, like there wasn’t reason enough before?” Toph asked, dramatically unamused. 

“There was always reason before.” Suki assured, smirking. She could remember the first time they hung out alone, one late night after the war, a night where nobody was sleeping yet it felt like none of their work was getting done. When there was a lull in the fray, Toph took Suki to the only Earth Kingdom shop in the area, on the outskirts of Caldera, and they ate every single thing they had. She had noticed Suki wasn’t eating the Fire Nation dishes, and thought it might help to have a taste of home. She hadn’t expected any explanation- she didn’t need to know that at the time they reminded her too much of her time in prison, but that it felt silly given all that had happened and all everyone had lost, to ask for a different menu- Toph just took her to the restaurant, no questions asked. She would be remembered as a once-in-a-generation fighter, a mastermind of diplomacy, but the thing made Suki love with her, truly love her as a sister, was that she was a damn good friend. “But now there are way, way more.” She jested. 

“I come plenty.” Mai waved off their teasing. “But speaking of visitors, is Mei staying here tonight?” 

“She’s back at her mother’s house, but she’ll be here tomorrow for dinner.” Katara explained.

“Oh fun.” Suki responded, eager to meet the person who saved Bumi’s life. 

“She’s the first friend I’ve met in ages.” Katara complained, picking at their plate of snacks. 

“Lin’s the same way.” Toph agreed, pouring another cup of tea. “She brings more people to your house than mine.”

“Oh they never stay though, they always just drop their things in my hallway and go somewhere else.” Katara rolled her eyes, adding, “well my kids do the dropping, yours hang theirs up and finish their homework first.” Suki held in a cackle at the difference in obedience between the two sets of children.

“Where do they go then?” Mai asked. “To hang out?” 

“The park.” Katara thought.

“Downtown.” Toph added, popping a cracker in her mouth.

“A ditch on the side of the road.” 

“An unpaved road with barbed wire, I’m assuming.

“Izumi just goes for tea.” Mai scrunched her nose. 

“Katara, how come you don’t have a pool like this?” Toph asked, leaning back against the edge of the spring. “This would be much better for our own date nights than that noodle place.” 

“I really should.” Katara nodded, propping her feet up in the water. “I don’t know why I don’t.”

“Can you get it ready by the summer? I’ve grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle,” Suki asked, sinking lower in. 

“What are you planning?” Katara passed her the tea pot. “Back to the council?” 

Suki hesitated. Mai nodded encouragingly. “Actually no… I’m taking some time off.” She sighed. The others waited eagerly for an explanation. “I just, I turned 40 and I don’t know… My whole life has been this one track. I’ve done different things-things I’ve loved- but it’s all been the same… mission. So now that our lives are settling down… it’s time.” 

Suki doesn’t say the other part, the part between the lines. She doesn’t mention whose life is settling down. She doesn’t bring up the fact that she and Sokka had had the same, fairly consistent schedule for fifteen years, with little settling to be done on their part. This is the piece she doesn’t talk about with them, where her role as an oldest, as someone married to an older brother, as a big sister, comes into play. The decisions Sokka and Suki made, about where and how to live, were influenced more by how to support Katara, Aang, Toph and all who followed, more than any of them would ever know.

Sokka understood it before she had, he’d prepared before she had. It was how he showed love. To him, it was simple. Aang would be needed forever, all the time, even after his last day on this plane. Katara was a prodigy with a path that made her indispensable to their new world. They would have kids. They had to have kids regardless of if the world was ready or if they were ready, kids would be had. For Suki, it became simple as soon as she held Bumi for the first time. The world was a mess, to put it frankly, and her little cobbled family was fighting hard to put it back into place. None of them could do both, be both parents and heros, without each other, without more. It didn’t mean limiting her own path or getting in the way of her future for someone else’s, but the last two decades became a sum of small sacrifices and little changes for the sake of her family. It was who she could be. 

Even if his sister and surrogate-brother were not tied to some cosmic duty, there wasn’t a world where Sokka didn’t stay as close to them as possible- they had been a set since they found Aang in the ice. Toph folded nicely into their plan six years in, which Sokka had prepared for, building an accessible apartment with two floors and many, many bedrooms. It was what they could do. It was who she could be. 

Katara waded over and brought Suki into a hug. “A break sounds amazing. You deserve it.” She squeezed. “I’m so happy for you, Suki.” 

“Thank you, love.” Suki smiled, placing a quick kiss on Katara’s cheek.

“We’ll save you a seat at the noodle house.” Toph grinned. 

Suki smirked. “I don’t know, Kya might invite me to that unpaved road.” She poured another cup of tea. “I’m keeping my options open.” 

Suki didn’t want children. She didn’t need kids of her own, but she needed her girls and all that came with them. She was a sister with sisters, through and through. 


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Bumi was getting better. It was slow, and frustrating, but he could feel it. Every breath was easier, every session less intense. Between the water and fire and talking (so much talking), the light at the tunnel was growing clearer each day. But he hadn’t realized how much clearer, until he could make out every furrowed piece of his sister’s face as she stood in the doorway. She was different, and he could see it, he could feel it. The fog that had consumed his mind was lifting, and behind it all stood Kya, minus several inches of her once long dark hair. He also knew that this was her first time visiting him since they came to the palace, a fact he didn’t forget. 

Anytime he asked after her, which wasn’t often due to an upsetting combination of shame and guilt, he was met with a worried shudder and little else. His parents would sigh, his aunts and uncles assume she was resting, and his brother would inextricably change the subject. All Bumi knew for certain, was that it was because of something he couldn’t remember. Izumi had told him, in so many words, that it was Kya who had kept him alive on their journey. His little sister. 

Suffice to say, when she finally appeared at his door, days later, Bumi wasn’t sure what to say. The guilt which he and Sulan were working so hard to subdue reared its ugly head, and this time it was harder not to feed. They were supposed to hold each other, and he’d left her alone to hold them both. She looked taller now, in their doorway, like she’d out-grown him. For the first minute, neither of them spoke. Bumi wanted to thank her, of course, but it seemed wrong now, as she stared at him with a haunted gaze. His water glass was forming small ice crystals on its sides.

After Tenzin left his room today, leaving a fairly distressed Lin in his wake, Bumi had accepted that the reunion with his sister would be painful. To the earth bender’s credit, she stuck to the lie that she’d concocted as to where he’d gone and affirmed that they definitely knew where Kya was, but Bumi’s head was clearing up and while a master of her own heartbeat, Lin Beifong was not a good enough liar to get past him. Bumi had prepared Kya to be angry, to scream or cry, but not this. She was different. She was present, taking it all in. When she was ready, at last, she spoke. 

“Do you remember when we were little and we were staying at the Western Air Temple, and I was scared, so you stayed up with me and told me about each of the constellations until I fell asleep?” She asked, arms stiff at her sides in the doorway. Her face was unreadable, waiting. 

“Yes.” Bumi answered, surprised. He’d nearly forgotten about that vacation. Kya was scared of the temples for the first six years of her life, but she refused to tell their father. The parts of the temples she didn’t like were also the parts Aang didn’t like. The emptiness. The ghosts. The feeling of loss that couldn’t be scrubbed from the walls like the ash had been. Bumi understood, and came up with a different plan to help her sleep. 

Kya’s shoulders relaxed slightly at the sound of his voice. Still, she stayed at the door. “Can you do that again?” She asked, firmly. 

“Yeah.” Bumi sighed.“Yeah I can.” He motioned cautiously for her to come in. 

“Okay.” Kya nodded. She sat gingerly in the chair beside his bed and folded her knees up to her chest. 

Bumi cleared his throat, and began as he always would, with her favorites. For a moment, they were a decade younger and halfway across the world and Kya wasn’t a water bender yet and all of Bumi’s injuries would be healed by his mother in an afternoon. Those times, while sunny, were not simpler, as that was the year Bumi started getting into fights and Kya started growing frustrated with the baby’s attention and their generational grief, ever present, was haunting them to the point of insomnia. And yet, it was a period where he held her, and she let herself be held. Back then she wasn’t anyone’s savior and he didn’t need to be saved. 

With each constellation, it felt more and more possible to do that again. To see simpler times on the horizon where they would hold this, and nothing more. Just each other, their baby brother, and the stars.

Notes:

AHAAHAHHA thank you for reading!!

some thoughts !

- again, this is not Hakoda slander, but I think that his dynamic with his adult children and his grandchildren is very complex and interesting to explore
- Aang and Kya my LOVES
- GIRLHOOD CAN BE SO SPECIAL AH I LOVE MY GIRLS no but fr I just really like the idea of like "Suki's love letter to her girls" and the partnership they've created as a subset of four, i feel like highlighting their bond in all of this as the people that kind of heal the healer is imp - it takes a mf village people!
- Bumi and Kya <3 they'll be okay

Chapter 27: don't you agree?

Summary:

Parenting. Sisterhood. Finding Your Rhythm. Parenthood. Parents. Parenting.

Notes:

so yalll. it's been a minute, apologies. my computer broke and then Summer Summered and now we're here. crunch time. thank you for taking this journey with me, I love you all dearly.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

There's something tragic about you
Something so magic about you
Don't you agree?

Republic City, 17 years earlier

The boat ride to Aang and Katara’s passion project was chilly with the kind of wind that whipped passed your face and tangled your hair. In the decades to come, Toph would learn to sense this as the first sign of Autumn, slowly pushing out the summer weather. But that was years away, today Toph was underdressed and the ride to what would soon be called Air Temple Island was just cold.

The island itself seemed nice, though. It was made of strong earth and had plenty of space to build everything Aang had in mind. In time, Toph believed it could be a great space, and she’d be lying if she didn’t like the idea of Aang and Katara joining her in Republic City more often. Having to track them down was becoming a hobby in and of itself. Even still, she was surprised when Katara had decided to stay on the island during their last trip, despite their small house being somewhat unfinished.

Toph opened and closed the cupboard for the umpteenth time, going on her tippy toes to try to feel if she missed anything in the back. “You know my apartment is just sitting there, empty, and it has things like food.” She called out. Toph could feel Aang scurrying around the living room, his heart beating a mile a minute.

When Katara was here with Bumi they spent most of their time on the mainland, switching between the hospitals and clinics she had set up across the city. Toph was proud of her friend, obviously, but what she quickly realized was her favorite part of the routine was that she didn’t have to take a boat to see her or the toddler. That all changed rather abruptly last week though, when Katara and Sokka were called home to help fix an impending crisis in the South. Toph didn’t know the much of details, but did know that it was the reason Aang was now surprise solo-parenting. And because she was a wonderful friend, she was making a house call.

Aang huffed, moving the couch for the umpteenth time since she showed up. “Bumi’s been staying here for weeks. Katara wants him to have the stability, we can’t move him.” Until now, Toph didn’t have a hint of doubt over Aang and Katara’s somewhat precarious lifestyle, but in the last month they seemed to hit a rut. Every time she spoke to one the other seemed to be racing off to somewhere else, and they’d all learned long ago that one without the other never worked as well. They were a matched set, and baby makes three. Case in point, Toph had been standing, listening to Aang search frantically for thirty minutes.

Toph crossed her arms. “Yeah no that makes sense.” She snorted. “You seem super stable right now.”

“He’s asleep isn’t he?” Aang countered, uncharacteristically brash. “We can sit in a moment-I’m sorry I just need to find the bunny.” The bunny, or Bumi’s flopsy, had been missing since Aang’s arrival, and Katara’s departure, a few days prior.

“So how is Katara, have you heard from her?” Toph asked, sitting down on the somewhat deconstructed cushions.

“She’s fine.” He called from the kitchen. Aang seemed to be looking in the cabinets now for Bumi’s toy. “Says it’s been stressful but it should be okay.”

“Will you guys be meeting her there?” Toph called, almost hoping the answer was yes.

“Nope. I need to be here,” Aang sighed, turning over the other cushions. If Toph had worse ears, she wouldn’t have heard her friend add, for some reason under his breath. “Also the danger. The looming civil war is making the South a pretty unideal place for a toddler.”

“Super fair.” Toph nodded, his nervous energy growing closer. Okay. Before he could reach another cushion, she decided enough was enough. “Aang.” Toph grabbed his hand, stopping his shuffling. For someone known for his softness, Aang could be incredibly loud if he wanted to. “Aang we’re not doing this anymore. You’ve looked everywhere. You’re not going to find it tonight.”

Aang pulled back, but let her keep his hand in hers. “I had to give him a dish rag to fall asleep.” He huffed. His voice sounded tired, the kind of tired she hadn’t heard in a long time.

“But he’s asleep, yeah?” Toph countered.

“I can find it.” Aang started back down the hall, presumably to take apart the spare-turned-storage room again.

“No,  Sokka was totally wrong. I definitely didn’t have to check on you.” Toph mocked, following closely behind, unamused.

“Bumi’s fine.” Aang said defensively, dumping full boxes on the ground to widen his search.

“Oh I know Bumi is fine, bud.” Toph leaned in the doorway. “That’s not who I’m worried about.”

Before he could deflect, Toph heard a loud thud and could practically feel one of Katara’s full water pouches land square on Aang’s foot. “Shit!” He yelled, wincing in pain. For a moment they were both silent. His heart rate started to go back down, and without completely meaning to, they breathed together.  Slow in, slow out. “I’m sorry.” Aang said, at last. 

“I’m gonna make some tea.” Toph announced. When she returned from the kitchen, the Avatar had sprawled out in his living room, his hands on his head. “Have we cooled off?” She asked, handing him a mug.

“This is cold.” Aang said, dryly.

“Yeah.” Toph affirmed, taking a seat next to him, bumping his shoulders.

“Why did you give me this?”

“You have fire hands don’t you?”

Wordlessly, Aang took both of their cups and gently warmed them in his hands.“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said softly, passing the cup back.

“It’s fine.” Toph sipped her tea.

“It’s not.” Aang leaned into her shoulder. “It’s been a long… year.” He mused.

“You can say that again.” Toph laughed. She knew there was more going on, more they would say, and she wanted to be ready. Ever since he’d lapped her- as in gotten married and had a baby-it felt like he’d put himself on a different track, a track without her. While she was only a handful of months younger, now she felt more like a little sister than his twin, as they once joked they were. He used to confide in her, and now it felt like he didn’t believe she could understand.

Aang took another long sip, and set the mug down.

“Bumi’s not an air bender.”

Toph took a breath. There it was.

“I know.” She said simply.

“You know?” He turned next to her, jostling them both.

Toph thought carefully about her words. “I mean I wasn’t totally sure… but I had a hunch. The way you walk is so different, like it feels different… it’s like you’re always floating, just a little bit. I’ve never been sure if that’s an air bender thing or an Avatar thing.” She thought back on the last year, all of the signs she’d collected and done nothing with. “But I don’t know… when Bumi started toddling he wasn’t floating.”“It’s not an Avatar thing.”Aang said, she could feel the grief in his voice. “I wondered if you knew.”

“How do you know?” Toph asked. Part of why she hadn’t said anything was because she really didn’t want to be the one to break this kind of news to her friends. Also, she kind of wanted to be wrong.

Aang clicked his tongue the way Sokka and Katara would. “We show so early, it’s almost hard to miss. There’s just this feeling in the air when someone else is controlling it, it’s like a tickle or a sense or something. You just… know.” Aang’s voice was like honey. It was the kind of warmth he reserved only for talking about his people. And their little chosen family, sometimes. He cleared his throat, adding, “that, or the baby sneezes ten feet into the air. For about a week I almost convinced myself I just couldn’t pick up on it anymore, since been so long.”

“So you’ve known for a while?” Toph asked. She cupped mug, which was still steaming in her hands.

“I’ve known for a few months, yeah.” Aang stretched out on the cushions, flexing the muscles that had been so taught earlier. “But if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve suspected since he was a year old.”

“Katara knows, right?” Toph had to ask.

“Yeah of course.” Aang bumped her shoulder, she pushed back. “I told her as soon as I was sure. She was so hopeful.” It felt like the two of them were walking through a field of landmines. It was incredibly rare to find herself this confused in a conversation with Aang. But this time things were different. They were talking about his baby.

“She must have been frustrated.” Toph confirmed, thinking about the time she’d spent with her friend just last week. If she really focused, there had been some cracks in her composure in the last year, here and there. But Katara, ever a protector, ever a healer, had held it together incredibly well to the untrained ear.

“She told Sokka. But other than that no one knows.” Aang sighed.

Toph’s eyebrows shot up. “Sokka knows?” She gawked.

“He’s been good at not saying anything. The two of us actually haven’t even talked about it.” Aang affirmed, forcing through a hollowness she couldn’t quite place. “We weren’t trying to keep it a secret on purpose, and I’m not upset or anything like that. He’s my son. He’s perfect. If he was an air bender he wouldn’t be all of the wonderful things that make him who he is.” Aang declared. His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt.

“Of course.” Toph believed him, wholeheartedly.

Aang ran a tired hand over his neck, and Toph knew the eyebrows he once let her run a hand over were scrunched together. “But there’s so much expectation… I don’t know.” He sighed, speaking softer. “The world loves him today. And the second they learn he can’t do what they want him to… they won’t.” Aang had slumped in on himself, his hands and legs pulled close to his chest in a manner of self-soothing that was so ingrained and unconscious that Toph was never entirely sure where it originated.  “And the pressure it will put on Katara alone is enough to make me avoid the topic for as long as possible,” Aang sighed, his sorrowful tone, soured. 

“Right.” Toph nodded. The world leaders, and the world, for that matter, would be less than pleased. It was shocking, even to her. And maybe, in hindsight, this was foolish. Only one parent was an air bender, and even if they both had been it’s not a perfect science. What was more surprising than the news itself, was that it forced Toph, would force them all, to reconcile the uncharacteristically, almost forcibly naive outlook they’d had on air bending. Of course they had all mused on Bumi’s seemingly endless bending possibilities, but at the end of the day they’d all assumed that he would be an air bender. That he’d be what was needed, even if it was unspoken. In truth, it had nothing to do with Bumi at all, but opened up the somewhat harrowing possibility that had plagued Aang since he came out of the ice berg. He could die the last.

“Please don’t say you’re sorry or anything.” Aang asked, breaking the silence. There was a mounting anxiety in every syllable as he braced for her hypothetical sympathy. “I’m not.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Toph said, gently. And she wasn’t.

“Because nothing is wrong.” Aang continued, his arms tensing beside hers. “If anything it’s them that’s wrong.”

“They are.” Toph nodded. The abrasion in his voice made her heart ache.

Aang continued, his voice rising, “because we had one air bender or ten, it still wouldn’t bring them back.”

“It wouldn’t.” She offered, rubbing his back. For better or for worse, she was used to this type of hurt. While the tired, parent-Aang didn’t come to her first, the Aang that was grieving, the teenager who was mad at the world, used to crash on her apartment floor.

“The world is acting like if we have an air bender everything will suddenly fall back into place and be perfect but it won’t. They’ll still be gone and I’ll still be here.” Aang’s voice was raw as he spoke, daring to crack. He was wracked with an anguish Toph hadn’t felt in her friend in nearly half a decade. “None of that is going to change.” Aang buried his head into his hands, feeling everything with every piece of his body.

Toph opened and closed her mouth, wracking her brain for to say. It all fell on her tongue. There was little that could be done with his grief, she’d learned, other than to hold it with him. They sat together in a stilled silence, before a small, surprising cackle echoed through the room.“Wow.” He added suddenly, into his hands, “I’m an awful dad.”

Toph sat up. “What?”

“I’m dragging my two year old down with me into all of this, and I can’t even find his favorite toy.” He continued, exasperatedly. “And I don’t know where it is because I was gone for a week, working with people who are all expecting something no one can control!” Aang huffed, leaning further into her side. “And I won’t be able to help him. And I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Toph thought for a moment, choosing the best words to bridge all the feelings, all the versions of her friend, all the loss, all the pain, past, present, and future. “Okay. Aang. You’re not a bad dad.” She grabbed both shoulders and turned him to her, purely for his gain.

“I’m-” Aang started to refute, slumping in her grasp.

“No. Stop. You’re not. You love your kid and you’re present and you listen to him. Good parents worry about that, bad parents don’t, trust me.” Toph thought briefly of the dining room table she used to sit at alone during the parties her parents hosted in her childhood. They’d show off every painting, every sculpture, every piece of fine pottery, every other ornament in their house, but her. It didn’t hurt anymore, not really. She took a breath, “but other stuff… it just really sucks, man.” Toph fought back the pinpricks in the corner of her eyes.

“It’s okay.” Aang said softly, changing his composure instantly. He noticed every time, no matter what any of them tried to do to shield it.

“I’ve known you a decade and I still don’t know how to help you with it. You’ve been alone for a long time and now you’re not. Even if he’s not an air bender he’s still a nomad. That’s a big adjustment.” Toph reasoned. She didn’t cry much, not over an injury or her shitty parents, but thinking of Aang for too long always seemed to get her.

“I just don’t want him to think he’s not enough.” Aang confessed, sinking into their embrace. They’d both settled now, breathing together. “He’s everything.”

“He has you to tell him that. And his mom, and all of us. We’ll make sure he knows.” Toph affirmed. If there was one thing a group of orphans- some half, some self-selected-could do, it was love the shit out of someone who needed a little extra. “But I need you to know you aren’t dragging anyone into anything. Loving you doesn’t feel like drowning.” She added, honestly. He was her first friend, trusting him had been the easiest thing she’d ever done.

“Thanks Toph.” Aang said, thickly. He rested his head on hers. “I’m sorry about getting so intense. I guess I needed to process some of this.”

“It’s what I’m here for, dummy.” Toph taking a final sip from her mug, the tea long cold. 

“You’d be a good mom.” Aang mused.

Toph nearly choked on her tea, taken aback. “I hope so,” She wished, truthfully. “But not now, I’m still way too young.”

“You know we’re the same age and I have a kid.” Aang said. His voice, now steady, bounced off of the short walls of his makeshift house, just slightly.

“And it continues to alarm me.” Toph smirked.

Aang let out a real, confident laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I try.” Toph beamed. With a job well done, she shuffled out of their embrace and stood, announcing, “Okay. Is there anything else before I go check on Boom and get us some real food?”

Aang’s heart skipped a beat, and Toph raised an eyebrow. She was mostly joking. “I mean…” Aang started, his voice sickly sweet, “Katara’s pregnant.”

Toph put her hands on her hips. “Aang, honey, I know that too.”


Fire Nation Palace, Present

No matter how early Kya got up, it seemed she could never beat the Fire Nation sun. It burned brightest in Caldera, encompassing everything in a warm glow no matter the season. It had taken her mother some getting used to, but it wasn’t a problem for Kya. She’d taken her first steps here. It was home, too, it was rooted. But the heat was still relentless, especially with summer peeking around the corner.

On hotter days like today, Kya would normally be inclined to head straight to the pools, but her parents had been keeping her on a fairly strict schedule post-haircut. Until she returned to Republic City, which would be “soon,” her life would consist of only breakfast, forms, lunch, supervised free time, dinner, sleep. It was almost suffocating, but Kya did it nonetheless. She wasn’t Bumi, after all.

Kya ate her breakfast dutifully in the near-empty dining room, each crunch echoing off of the walls. Her mother sat beside her, semi-present. It felt like one part of her was always with her brother, though whether that started before of after the accident Kya wasn’t entirely sure. They’d been late to breakfast this morning, meaning they’d missed spending it with their family, which the young water bender wasn’t entirely upset about. Lin and Izumi were some of the closest people to her, and while it wasn’t her fault, Kya still felt odd about leaving them in the dark when it came to how she was feeling.

Last night, after Katara had, lovingly, kicked Aang out and invited her daughter in, she’d brought up the distance that had grown between the three girls. Kya had bee surprised, admittedly, at her mother’s observation- she had told her self it wasn’t on purpose. But under the soft glow of the moon, wrapped loosely in her mother’s arms, there was only room for the truth. It was time to talk to her girls.

Kya fiddled with a loose strand on her shirt all the way down the path to the outdoor training center. She didn’t need to pay attention to the path, she knew its turns and bumps as well as she knew the paths of Air Temple Island. Her heart quickened are she started growing nearer. The two figures, one in green the other in red, didn’t see her coming, and even if Lin knew, she was knee-deep in a spar. If there was one thing that could distract a Beifong, it was a fight she wanted to win. 

Kya waited on the sidelines until they finished, standing awkwardly on the outer ring. “Hey,” Kya waved a hand, as they concluded. “Mind if I join?” She asked, wiping the sweat that had already started to form on her brow. The damn heat.

The two girls looked to each other, both panting lightly from their last match. Izumi won, but that didn’t mean Lin didn’t give her a run for her money. Kya waited patiently for an answer. It was weird-frustrating almost, being nervous around them. If she’d found them sparring a week prior, she’d join without even asking.

“Sure.” Izumi smiled, wiping ash from her glasses. Lin nodded in affirmation, and went back to take her starting place. As kind their shared childhood had been, far kinder than their parents, they were still raised by warriors. When it came to sparring, they were trained to become relentless. They were trained to survive. They didn’t take breaks.

Kya smoothed back the baby braid her mother had done and took her stance. Izumi tightened her ponytail and joined them. With a nod, they began. This training center was one of many on the palace grounds, but was by far Kya’s favorite. It had been a labor of love, designed by Izumi’s parents and constructed by Lin’s to be useable for everyone, benders and non-benders alike. Most importantly, it was surrounded by a  small, self circulating river, meaning Kya could work with an endless supply. She could be creative.

“So… I’m sorry about before.” Kya cleared her throat, summoning a long stream to block the imminent attack from the fire bender to her right. “For the lying, and making Lin lie.”

“Oh Kya, c’mon. I’m the one who should apologize.” Izumi said, launching at her. While more patient than her predecessor had been at her age, Izumi could be oppressive on the court. Her best move was what Kya called the three A’s. Arrest. Assess. Attack. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice how much you were in pain.”

Kya quickly recovered, and somersaulted back into her stance. Lin, surprisingly, had taken a few steps back, letting them fight each other. “Yeah, you really don’t have to apologize, Ky.” The younger girl said over Kya’s shoulder. “But, you know you could’ve talked to us about that stuff… right?” Lin’s voice grew hesitant.

“Yeah, I know.” Kya said simply, shifting into a half back-bend to avoid Izumi’s next move. If she had been less distracted by the fire bender, she’d have more time to question Lin’s lack of involvement. But Kya had a lot of her mind. “And it’s okay, I know there was a lot going on.”

“Seriously.” Izumi echoed, smiling genuinely as she drew her leg back. “Always.”

Kya smirked and lunged at the fire bender before she had time to shift stances, and swung the water whip, hard. “Honestly I don’t really remember the last week.” Izumi braced for the attack by creating a flame that wrapped around both of her arms, turning the water to steam on impact and engulfing the center ring in a thick cloud of fog.

Kya was still inches from Izumi’s face, just close enough to watch her eyes widen as they disappeared into the mist. Oh fuck. Kya cursed inwardly. They’d just made a very bad mistake.

Back home, Kya relied on her familiarity with Lin’s form to give her a leg up on the girl, just as she would Tenzin or Bumi. She knew Izumi’s moves well of course, but nothing could beat what they had crafted on Air Temple Island. Kya, Lin, and Tenzin had all started training in their element within a year of each other. It was Lin who she would sit beside on those wide slabs of stone in her backyard, half-listening as one of their parents or uncles explained a concept that could extended across the elements. Kya just knew her, it was a simple as that. But Lin knew her too. She knew both of them.

The two older girls stopped moving. They’d both trained to fight with their eyes closed, but they were no match to a girl who used her feet as a second set of eyes. Instead, they fell silent, hoping not to attract more attention. It didn’t matter though, with the way they were fighting their heartbeats were traveling a mile a minute and could not be slowed in time. Izumi and Kya had a habit of pushing each other to the edge. Their parents often likened them to a pair of shirsu’s after the same target when they sparred, going after each other and letting the rest of the world fall away. The move they’d done was a risk on both parts, leaving Kya slightly winded. Even if she did take the moisture from the air, it wouldn’t be enough time. All Lin needed was a second with their guards down.

Kya had been expecting a classic Beifong move. She braced to be entrenched in an earth prison or thrown halfway in the ground, forming ice around her fists for easy removal. The air beside her was beginning to heat up, and Kya knew Izumi was running through the same scenarios. But neither came. Instead, to Kya’s surprise, the sand below them began to vibrate.

Before Kya had time to react, each particle of sand joined together, whooshing and shaking around her. It was only then that Kya remembered that there in fact had been sand of an unknown origin in the room she shared with Tenzin. She had been meaning to ask him how he could have possibly dragged that much of the training center into their room, but she’d forgotten. It had been so inconsequential, so peripheral to her last week.

“It’s the octopus form!” Izumi yelled, now bearing the brunt of the attack. Kya squinted into the fog, her eyesight obscured by two forces now, as she tried to get a better look. Sure enough, through it all, she could see multiple sand arms weaving towards Izumi, who was just narrowly dodging them. It was the first voice she’d heard since they created the fog bank, as Lin wisely went dark to preserve her location. Now however, all the sand arms were coming from the same place.

Kya gathered her ice fists and ran toward the origin of the octopus formation. With an adrenaline-filled leap, she landed squarely on Lin’s shoulder, which should have knocked her back and out of the circle, taking Lin out of the game. What she hadn’t calculated, however, was that Lin had covered herself in sand as well. The second she hit the sand-covered shoulder, the fast-moving particles went stiff around her hand, and started to slowly climb up her arm.

The earth bender stifled a laugh.

In one calculated sweep, Lin trapped the water bender in a wall of sand, and sent her straight toward Izumi. By the time Kya opened her eyes, the sand and fog had settled, revealing the two older girls splayed in a heap, squarely outside the circle.

“You know in hindsight” Lin said, wiping her hands in the circle’s center, “maybe I should have waited until after our the heart-to-heart to kick your butts.”

Kya, detangling from Izumi, looked up at the younger girl with a mixture of shock and pride. “I didn’t know I was going up against a sand bender, Buggy.”

“That would have ruined all the fun.” Lin smirked.

Izumi dusted off her pants and extended a hand to Kya, who took it graciously. “Lin I knew you were training with your mom but I didn’t realize you were that far along,” she praised. “That was very advanced.”

Kya watched as Lin’s face turned a tint of pink, the confidence from her win dissipating as she slumped her shoulders. “I’ve been working on it for a while now, actually.” Lin scratched the back of her neck, nervously, the way Kya’s father would. “I just wanted to make sure I had some traction before I made its debut.”

“I thought you’ve been practicing with Tez?” Izumi inquired, reentering the circle.

“Well yeah but that’s Tez,” Lin paused, fiddling with a rock that had found its way between her hands. “I meant with you guys.”

Kya nearly melted. In all the mess and stress, she’d nearly forgotten. It had been easy to slip through the cracks, slip into herself, when the person she looked up to, the person she needed, couldn’t hoist her back up. It was easy to isolate, to give in to all the pain of it all when the person you count on was gone. It was easy to forget that there was this part, too. She was in the middle. She was an older sister. Kya needed her girls because they needed her, too. And it was a different need, a good need. “It was really amazing, Lin.” Kya said giving the younger girl a playful shove.

“Really incredible.” Izumi affirmed, settling back into her stance.

They didn’t need to say more today about Kya, or the ache of it all, what needed to be said had been shown. Where her relationship with her own brothers could be complicated, grow hazy in the shadow cast over all three of them, being in between these girls was anything but. Kya could be held, and she proved she could hold. It was as easy as that.

“Yeah, yeah.”  Lin smiled, waving off their praise. “I know.”


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Tenzin was on fucking fire. He’d never understood why his brother did all of the impulsive, somewhat dangerous things he did, until now. He was chasing the adrenaline, chasing the high, and Agni was it powerful. Most benders found it in their forms, weaving through waves or breaking through stone or breathing literal fire. His ancestors put their lives in the hands of the wind, sailing on the backs of gliders alongside their bison instead of on top of them. Tenzin was supposed to find it in the sky too, he knew that, but there just too much keeping him on the ground. It wasn’t effortless.

For whatever reason, he found it on the meeting room floor. The young air bender was weightless. It was uncomplicated, simple in the way so few things in his life were. There were those for, and those against, those who you could convince and those you couldn’t. Behind the session doors, nothing else mattered but the person talking and the category they fell into. Here, Tenzin could shed the anxiety and worry he wrapped around himself in everyday life. He didn’t have to think about the precarity of his siblings, or what his parents thought, or if he’d pass his next form test. He wasn’t a student of any kind. Instead, he was in control. Here, he had one job, represent his people. And for the first time in his life, it felt like he could.

By the time the final session rolled around, Tenzin would have been disappointed if it wasn’t for the fact that this was only a taste. This would be the rest of his life.

“Tez! How are you honey? Feeling ready?” Suki hooked her arm around both of his shoulders as they strolled down the hall. They were both two minutes early to the pre-brief as usual and could take their sweet time waltzing into the private sitting room.

“Ready to watch Bao loose it when we win.” Tenzin snickered, earning a hair-less head ruffle from his aunt.

“Oh you know it, kiddo.” Suki laughed. One of the best surprise benefits of being a representative, was being able to watch his aunts and uncles in action, and for them to watch him too. Being the youngest of three and the same age as Lin, Tenzin never really felt like he had an individual relationship with all of his relatives. Of course they all loved him and spent a great deal of time with him, but it was never singular, never this much special attention. Sokka, Suki, and Mai had all taught Bumi at one point or another, and Kya had been taught alongside the girls on more than one occasion. But until now, Tenzin’s training had felt singular, isolated. Now, however, they were all teaching him, and he was helping them in return. 

Inside, as predicted, Sokka was already seated, quietly looking his plans and awaiting the arrival of his less punctual friends. However, the face Tenzin had forgotten to expect, was his father’s.

“Hey!” Aang smiled, eagerly. He had asked- well, more told- Tenzin that he was going to be attending the last meeting as a shadow. Aang had said it was important as a council member, but his son was fairly certain it had more to do with him forgetting about his parents the other morning. Which he had, admittedly, but only for thirty seconds. A minute tops

“Oh! Hey dad.” Tenzin smiled back, taking a seat beside his father. The Tenzin from a few weeks ago would have been relieved his father was stepping back in, but now he was only excited, ready to show him all he’d learned, all he’d done.

Once Toph and Mai finally took their seats, Sokka didn’t waste any time to get things rolling. “Alright last pre-brief of the season people let’s make it count!” He clapped his hands and started to pass around their last set of notes. “Aang, welcome, thank you for joining us.”

“Feels good to be here.” The Avatar nodded.

“Do we have a final tally of who’s voting what today?” Toph asked, popping a grape in her mouth.

“50% yes, 35% no, 15% undecided.” Tenzin reported. He’d been calculating and recalculating those numbers all night. The odds were good, but they still needed to get key members on their side if the council was going to invest in better martime protections.

Mai raised a hand. “And of the undecided votes, remind me who we think we can sway by tonight?” She asked, getting the note sheet from Suki. 

“Councilman Yinzin, which is a shocker, Councilwoman Hiromi, Councilwoman Layla, Councilperson Jin, Technical specialist Jia, and Technical Specialist Dae.” Sokka recited, selecting a cracker from their plate.

“Alright who’s on what?” Zuko asked. Slowly, the room started to build in speed, everyone talk and debating at once over the best way to win over each person. Tenzin inhaled it all.

“I can focus on Layla during open session.” Suki volunteered.

“I can take Jin, they owe me.” Toph offered, leaning against Aang’s pillow. “I built like seven of their schools for free.”

“I have Dae.” Tenzin raised a casual hand.

“Sounds great.” Sokka nodded, not giving it much thought, “I can take Yinzin but I need some help with strategy. What do we have on him?”

Before anyone could respond, Aang raised a hand. “Sorry, isn’t Dae notoriously hard to work with?” Tenzin narrowed his eyes, puzzled.

“I have an angle, dad.” He confirmed. “Also, he’s from Lin Li’s province so-”

“Lin Li? From Taku?” Aang asked, an eyebrow raised. Tenzin frowned. Right. He hadn’t been there.

“That’s the one. She’s on our side.” Zuko added, pouring himself a second cup of tea.

“All thanks to Tez.” Toph smiled.

“Oh, it was nothing really.” Tenzin muttered, scratching the back of his neck, nervously. Old habits, he supposed.

“What if I take Hiromi and Jia,” Sokka sat back, thinking through the plan aloud, “so Toph you and Mai can double up on Yinzin once you’ve swayed Jin?”

Toph leaned forward, grinning wide. “What do you say Fire Lady, want to bully a war-profiting bureaucrat with me today?”

“Thought you’d never ask” Mai smirked, popping another grape in her mouth. “Unless Tez wants to push him around a bit today, last chance.”

Aang’s eyes shot back to his son, who remained at ease at the suggestion. “Thanks, but I think I can get through to Dae today. I did a lot of research last night on his industry history” Tenzin smiled, almost bashfully. “Plus I think I gave Yinzin enough to think about last time.” He added, reflecting on their last open session. If he could go back in time and tell the Tenzin from a month ago that he’d not only been trusted in a council meeting, but completely chewed out a seasoned politician, he would think he’d drunk cactus juice.

“You went toe to toe with Yinzin?” Aang asked, eyes wide. Tenzin hesitated, suddenly aware of the look creeping over his father’s face. It was the same one he’d had when they first came up with the idea to send him as a representative. It was the look he’d had when he saw his shaved head- like Aang was somewhere else. Tenzin was as much the past as he was the present, as much history as he was the future as he was himself.

“He’s half the reason he’s undecided.” Suki praised, squeezing Tenzin’s shoulder. Tenzin grinned, but he didn’t say anything, still waiting eagerly for his father’s response.

“Wow.” Aang exclaimed, shaking off his unease and giving a proud smile. “You did really great work, Tez.”

Tenzin took a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I just did what you’d do.” He shrugged.

Around them, the pre-brief continued, but Tenzin found himself going back to his father’s praise, and his response. The last few weeks had felt so unique, so authentically himself. He’d spent so long trying to do exactly what he thought people wanted, what he thought they needed, doing what he thought was best was uncharted territory. He’d said what he’d normally say to his dad, which had been historically true.

I just did what you’d do.

Although, this time, for the first time, he wasn’t so sure if he had.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Aang always came early to set up for dinner at the palace. After nearly three decades, the staff knew better than to ask him to leave. Instead, he’d be handed a stack of plates and fall in line. They’d make small talk, ask about each other’s days and children, and when the job was done they’d all retire until dinner. Aang didn’t tell anyone he did this, he didn’t find it incredibly important, but at this point most of his friends were aware.

Aang didn’t think much of it, honestly. In truth, he did it because of how much these dinner meant to him. Having all of his friends together in one place was one of his greatest joys. Sharing food and stories and laughter- he could sustain on that alone. Community was his lifesblood. It fueled him, it vitalized him, and family meals were at the center of it all.

Before, meals were as grounding a practice as group meditation or practicing forms. For a people with little attachment, there were very few times in his life where Aang was alone. It was in these moments, during dinner or breakfast, that he could feel close to that part, the part separate from the bending and rules and forms, and just be close to them, again. Setting the table had been his job then, too. Almost always.

Tonight’s dinner loomed heavy in his mind as he placed each set of chopsticks. There would be thirty-two on the table tonight. The arrival of his father-in-law had gone off without a hitch-so far- despite both Sokka and Katara’s less than subtle reservations. Balancing the three of them together was a puzzle Aang was never sure he’d be able to do correctly. There was always a missing piece. Hakoda always tried, Aang could see he did in a way they couldn’t. But even if they could, even if they did, Katara and Sokka would choose protecting each other over meeting him where he was, every time. They would pick each other first, always, because they’d had to. When Aang was younger, this distance weighed heavy on him. It was hard parse through, at first, and even harder to know how to fix. This trip, however, had started out alright, despite Sokka’s hovering and the hike in intensity of Bumi’s healing sessions. 

By the time Aang had finished his work, it was nearly time for the guests to arrive, giving him just enough time to collect Bumi’s friend- Mei- at the gate. It hadn’t been his son’s first choice, naturally, but while his newfound strength could get him to the dining room, walking all the way to the palace walls would have sent both of his parents to the hospital. Mei had been there before, had walked in before, but  it felt wrong, if not rude, to force her to find the dining room herself. Aang could still remember the first time his best friend visited his temple, and the tour Gyatso insisted Aang give him.

Dinner was, as always, everything he needed it to be. Sokka was early, Mai was late, and the littles, somehow always within an arms-length of each other, sat side by side. The conversations were loud and the laughter was louder and stories old and new were shared in the way they only could be with company. Mei and Hakoda laughed right along with them, despite the latter having heard most of them about a dozen times.

“So Mei,” Suki directed, halfway through the first course. After having as many semi-professional dinners as they had, the group had concocted a fairly foolproof way to make any guest comfortable. Part of which, they learned from experience, was waiting until they showed that their own guards were down before asking them to lower their own. “You said your mother is from Caldera?” She asked.

Mei straightened at the ask, as all eyes and ears shifted towards her, but she didn’t seem phased. “She is. But we lived in the Republic until a few months ago. She moved back after I got into the force.” Mei explained. She was sitting between Bumi and Izumi, which was probably the only thing keeping them from holding hands, rather un-slyly, under the table. “My dad is from Republic City though, and he’s still there. He um…” The young woman cleared her throat, eyes shifting between the line of adults, “he’s actually a fisherman, so thanks for what you did today.”

“Oh… of course.” Suki uttered, mildly taken aback. With an uncomfortable amount of support from his son, the United Alliance was able to pass the Mar-time Protections Act that Aang and his team had been trying to push through for a little under a year. He’d done it. He’d done it all. And he was still beaming. Suki nodded, earnestly. “Always happy to help. It was a real group effort.”

“Did you publish the news already?” Katara asked, brows furrowed. They had been out of the loop this go-around, but this quick of a turnaround was unheard of.

Before she could answer, a voice popped up, echoing across the high ceiling. “I told her.” Tenzin said, boldly. Aang watched as everyone’s eyes widened. Sokka nearly dropped his chopsticks. “What?” He asked, defiantly. “It’s a ridiculous rule to keep them private for some grandiose declaration. It’s a law for the people, they should know.” With that, the young teen returned to his food, earning a playful shove from Lin.

Aang squeezed Katara’s hand under the table. They were both making the same face, holding the same thing. Who is this? The Tenzin from last month would never have questioned the system they’d built, let alone do so at the dinner table.

“You… are right.” Aang said, recovering. “I’m going to bring that up at our next meeting.” It was hard to watch his children grow up, but it was becoming all the more terrifying to watch them grow towards all of the things they promised to shield them from. It seemed each of Aang’s children was taking on a different private fear of his, a different path he’d taken that had broken and rebuilt him in one way or another. Aang cursed this line of thought. The key now was remembering it was not his path at all, not his fear for them to hold, but their own journeys, their own roads to forge. This part was always harder to place in focus, even now, as he sat across from his son and could see, clear as day all of the joy unleashed from the very thing he believed to doom him.   

His other children, thankfully, did not seem to be shouldering this burden as heavily.

“Tenzin broke a rule without being pressured. Ten bucks.” Bumi whispered, almost inaudibly, to his sister in Aang’s language.

Kya wrinkled her nose.“Radicalization doesn’t count.”

“So counts.” He smirked. Aang pretended not to hear them, knowing full well their habits were picked up from every nearly every person at this table. He’d be the first to admit, he was a flawed role model.

Hakoda cleared his throat, unaware of the bet unfolding beside him. He was seated at the head of the table, a place Zuko often offered out of respect to other leaders. “If I may,” he started, almost cautiously. Aang watched as Suki placed a calming hand on Sokka’s lap. “Did you two meet on your boat?”

“We met in basic training, actually.” Mei answered. Aang and Katara both leaned in. Due to a variety of fairly frustrating, somewhat shameful circumstances, Aang didn’t actually know much about his son’s first few months with the force, only stories relayed later from Sokka. “We were both on grunt work for the first few weeks, working these awful jobs and crazy hours. We got in the habit of teaching each other different things each night.”

“We figured if we combined our skills, they’d have to put us on a good rotation.” Bumi added, his noodles spilling down his chin like they used to when he was little.

“He taught me how to use throwing stars, I taught him how to tie a few knots.” Mei grinned, starting to wave her hands while she talked. “We were pretty fast friends.”

“I feel like you’re leaving some stuff out.” Katara raised an eye brow. She was half-joking.

“This version may or may not be censored for present company.” Bumi responded, half joking along with her. He hesitated, his face softening, just for a moment. “Just take it, mom.” Bumi pleaded, far more earnestly.

“So I take it you’ve enjoyed the force so far?” Hakoda asked again, brushing past whatever lasting tension brewed between his grandson and his daughter. Aang, personally, was grateful.

“It’s been really great.” Bumi answered, before pausing with a lopsided grin. “I mean, aside from the obvious.” He gestured to the bandages still peeking through his shirt. Aang cringed and Katara tightened, not yet at the phase of laughing off possibly the worst moment of their collective lives. 

“I really value the community.” Mei continued. She spoke with a slight accent Aang recognized from the hills of the Republic, a mixture of the rural Earth Kingdom and the echoes of Caldera’s finest blending together so heavily it would be impossible to parse where one started and the next began. She glanced, briefly to Sokka and Suki, adding “I mean, I won’t say that being a non bender has been easy, but it’s really rewarding.”

Hakoda clapped his hands together, boisterously. “I’m very proud of you both for making your way.” He smiled, every word dripping with pride. “You’re both making your families very proud.”

Aang watched as Bumi took it all in. He knew that in the eyes of his son, his grandfather’s approval, a warrior’s approval, was as good as gold. It was what he lived for, what he needed. Not just the affirmation, but a place. It pained Aang more than anything that he didn’t give it to him. “Thank you, grandpa.” Bumi uttered, beaming, responding in his grandfather’s language.

“Thank you, Chief Hakoda.” Mei nodded, with little hesitation, giving a small traditional Fire Nation bow.

The rest of dinner carried on nicely. Dessert was delicious, Sokka coaxed Zuko into telling the rather embarrassing story of his haphazard proposal to Mai, and Su recited the sentences she’d learned to spell all on her own. Mei seemed to fit in nicely with his dynamic, borderline chaotic family, pipping up when it was appropriate and telling her own stories along with them. It felt good to hear stories of his son he didn’t know, and hear them in such a positive light. So much of his son’s career felt sharp, rough and unapproachable in contexts as relaxed as this one. Even though the hatchet had long been buried, the wall between them and his new life still seemed to remain. Now, though, it felt like it was being chipped away, bit by bit.

By the time they were clearing the table, Aang had nearly forgotten he was supposed to be on alert. He’d been so lost in thought, so proud of all he had heard about his son, that he hadn’t realized the rest of the family had cleared out, leaving only his wife, her father, and himself standing in the hallway. It was late, and with the walls dunked in red and given a low, soft light, Aang could only make out the dimensions of their faces. They looked so alike now, with only the square of their jaws visible.

“Katara-.” Hakoda started. After a murmur of goodnight, she had already started down the hall. There was still some resentment between them, albeit slightly misplaced, considering Bumi and his deployment. Hakoda had found the idea smart, strong, and Katara, of course, had not.

“Yeah, dad?” She asked, arms crossed loosely across her chest. There was no malice in her voice, but she was tired. They were all tired. Hakoda stared, nervously.

Aang cleared his throat. “I can go if you-” he started. He was standing between them, looking back and forth. The helplessness he’d resided in with them in his early twenties started to bubbled up. As the Avatar, he always felt confident that he could solve any problem with the right help, time, and tools. But with this, as Aang, it could never click. He could relate most issues back to his own experience, his own journey,  but he couldn’t with them. There was no mirror.

“No, that’s okay. What’s up?” Katara sighed. The blue tunic she’d thrown on fell loosely on her frame, making her seem small in the shadow her father cast in the low light.

Hakoda took a step towards them both, his face wracked with something far heavier than what he’d brought to dinner just minutes ago. “I just…” He reached forward and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry, honey. I’m sorry to you both.”

Aang blinked. “What?” Katara asked.

“I won’t pretend to know exactly what you just went through,” He continued, his eyes darting between his daughter and Aang, who’d somewhat shyed away behind his wife. “But I… I know what it’s like to watch your child go places you can’t follow and get hurt in the process.”

Aang swallowed hard. On more than one occasion since he’d become a parent, Aang had felt compelled to race to the South Pole and apologize to Hakoda and Kanna for the fact that their children’s destinies were so intertwined with his. He wanted to tell them that he hadn’t known then, that he’d had nothing to compare it to. He wanted to explain that he knew now. That he understood what the universe took.

“Oh, dad.” Katara squeezed his arm, her voice thick.

Aang nodded again, unsure of what else to say. It was hard, normally, to think about what Monk Gyatso would do in parenting situations. There was so little crossover from his old life that comparing the two felt like it would only deepen the pain, not suppress it. However, so much of the last month felt like a true test of his parenthood, it seemed only natural that his mind would drift to his guardian. However, until this moment, until now, it never occurred to him that Gyatso could have done more than offer advice. At this point, he was more of a figment, a figure in his memory, that it was almost hard to remember that there could have been this, been comfort, too.

“That must have been so scary.” Hakoda continued, his voice steady. “Scarier than you thought possible, right?”

“It… it was.” Katara mumbled. Her voice seemed far off, almost, like this was all dawning on her. Aang stood back, giving them space.

“I still remember when you got caught in that skirmish…” Hakoda continued, rubbing her back. “It’s so different when it’s your baby.” Aang smiled, softly. For the first time in a long time, her father perfectly understood. He knew what to say and what to do and he could be all the right things. He always tried.

Aang picked at the skin between his knuckle and his nail. The spot had a scar from two decades earlier, but in the last week had been reopened. As they continued to talk, Aang found his mind wandering back and forth between the scene, his son, and his mentor. For whatever reason, it was hard to stay focused when he couldn’t quite shake the fact that the words were not for him. Nearing forty, Aang’s lack of parentage didn’t weigh all that heavy on him, but it was harder in these moments to ignore the ache that stemmed from the depth of his independence. As he moved through his day, through his busy, full, love-fueled life, it was easy to forget that everyone, even in his family had other people, had older people, who were tracking them. It was funny, honestly, how often he forgot.

Finally, Katara sunk into the embrace. As her father held them both, their matching blue hues blended together. “Yeah.” Katara sighed. “He’s okay. He’s okay now.”

Aang was fine, if not content, with being merely an observer, not a player in this scene. Their kinship was all the comfort and ease he needed. But his wife, of course, would never have that. In an instant, he was pulled into the embrace, resting his hands lightly on them both. He knew he wasn’t getting exactly what Katara was out of this, of course, but he still leaned to rest his head on Hakoda’s shoulder just the same.

“I know. I know. Just… just remember that he has all the tools he needs when he goes back not to make the same mistakes.” Hakoda cleared his throat. They’d stepped out of the hug but he still had a strong hand on both of their shoulders, despite the fact that Aang stood a few inches taller than him. “He’s a smart man and from what I can tell, he has good people around him out there. He’ll keep being okay.”

Katara smiled, pinpricks forming in the corner of her eyes, and thanked him, earnestly. When they departed, she seemed lighter, like an old weight she’d been carrying was finally picked up by one of the only people who could take it. Aang felt lighter too now, in some ways. But his weightlessness seemed to be more of an extension of hers than his own. As they shuffled about their room, rolling through the motions of retiring to bed in a comfortable, practiced silence, Aang found himself consumed by their conversation. No matter how much he wished to be rid of the feeling, there was a lasting yearning for someone who’s sole job it was to have arms he could crumble in. And maybe if there were, it would be easier to brush over the feeling that if he hadn’t been standing beside Katara at that very moment, no one would have told him those things.

Aang didn’t have a resentful bone in his body. He was happy- no, elated- that Katara could find comfort in her father. It was what he was for. Aang didn’t doubt that the next few days would be easier for her now, too. That things would feel clearer because he held her, and she let herself be held. And maybe that was why he felt so torn. Because in this moment, he could clearly see that having her dad, having that figure, would make her a better parent. Bumi would be able to tell too. Just as he would be able to tell that Aang wanted one. And he’d translate that, as he often would, into the idea that Aang wanted more.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

“For someone who’s chosen weapon is throwing knives you have a lot of fans.”

Bumi watched as Mei gingerly picked up one his mounted metal plates off the wall and gave it a few mock swings. He sat upright on his bed, but still braced himself with a few pillows, not wanting to jinx it. After dinner, Mei insisted on being given a proper tour, now that he was up and (somewhat) running. Somehow, they’d wound their way back to his room, where she was taking the liberty of going through his things.

“Most of them are technically to small from me now.” Bumi said, folding and unfolding the metal fan between his fingers with ease. “Those are from the summer I spent in Kyoshi when I was eight.”

Mei whistled low, examining the craftsmanship before placing it back on his wall. “Cool.” She mused. It was late, and the only light now was from the warm lanterns, washing the room in a comforting glow. Most of the palace had electric lighting by now, but Bumi’s room had yet to be updated. He didn’t mind. Mei’s eyes traced his desk, which housed most of his knick-nacks and souvenirs, including an old boomerang, prayer beads he’d never actually used but always kept near, and a signed photo from his favorite pro-bender. “How much time did you spend here growing up?” She asked.

Bumi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was a hard question to answer. In a sense, he’d lived here all his life. Just as he’d also lived in the South Pole and in Republic City and on Kyoshi Island and in the eves of his father’s temple. To give just one of these places the title of “home,” would be to rob the others. “About as much as I spent anywhere else.” He surmised, brushing a bit of dust off of his Love Amongst Dragons playbill.

“This is what I mean when I say you’re secretive.” Mei teased.

“Okay fine, fair.” Bumi shook his head. He had half a mind to blame his nomadic lineage for his ambiguous disposition. “I’m not really sure now much exactly, just that it was-is- a lot. We didn’t really live on Air Temple Island until Tenzin was born. Before that we were kind of…everywhere.” He stated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Bumi didn’t have many memories from before his siblings were born, but the ones he did have were all in different places. His parents were like a racing river, just constantly moving. It was chaotic. But it was also nice. “This has been my room longer than at my house.”

“Makes sense.” Mei affirmed, making her way to a stack of photos and drawings that Bumi always meant to hang up and never got around to. “Aww, baby Bumi!” She gasped, lifting up one of the oldest in the stack. “You’re really bundled up.”

“That was taken in the North Pole,” Bumi smiled, taking the frame. “They insisted.” The photo was taken by the Northern royal family before cameras were accessible and widespread, on his first trip North. Despite it being fairly grainy and slightly light-damaged, he could still make out two dazed smiling faces and a six month-old bundle on his mother’s back. Privately, it was one of Bumi’s favorite photos. There were so few photos, he felt, that truly captured their little family. Paintings always glazed over imperfections, and most pictures were taken professionally, in dress clothes and staged locations. But for some reason, one member of the Northern royal court got trigger happy, and took one with little warning, just as Aang and Katara landed.

Katara’s hair was undone and Aang’s robe was riddled with stains and if you squinted you could see that Bumi rather unhappy with the cold, but they were still smiling. The photo is imperfect, they’re imperfect, and it’s real. It was how Bumi remembers his first handful of years.

“The North Pole, very cool.” Mei nodded, moving on to another picture. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“It’s fine.” Bumi wrinkled his nose. “South’s better.”

Before he could give context to a rather embarrassing professional photo with his hair smoothed all the way down, two voices called out from the open doorway.

“Wow!” Aang called, leaning in the frame. “Look at you go, kiddo.”

“Hope we’re not interrupting.” Katara called from behind him, bowl in hand. “I want to get one last session in before I turn in.”

“Sounds good.” Bumi smirked. “Just had to show Mei my new tricks,” he jested, earning a flick on the arm.

“He’s improving really quickly.” Mei said, standing up much straighter than before, just as she had at dinner. Sixteen year-old Bumi would have become instantly uncomfortable with the way people acted in their presence, but nearing twenty, he’d learned it was a fruitless effort. “He’s already much better than the last time I was here.”

“All thanks to my mom.” Bumi affirmed.

“Healing is a team effort, my light.” Katara said, waving away praise as she set up her station. The others seemed unfazed by her words, but Bumi froze.

She hadn’t called him that in a long time. No, not since before he joined the United Forces.

Katara also hadn’t called him that since he was five, but that fact didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that had probably been closer to ten years than two since she’d last uttered those words in his direction, but it was the last two that felt heavier, that stung more. It didn’t matter that it was a loving phrase typically reserved for babies, that she stretched the term as long as she could, well into his kid years, because of how deeply and profoundly he was her everything. No, all Bumi could see was those last two years. When it changed. All he knew, was that he was not her light, not anymore. 

Though now, it seemed, he was again.

“I should probably start to head home,” Mei started, giving both of his parents a small bow. Bumi was grateful, as although his healing sessions had become far less intense, it still was not the prettiest sight to see. “Thank you both for having me. Master Katara, Avatar Aang.”

“Oh please, just Aang is fine.” His father replied, bowing back. “And no problem. What’s Zuko’s is mine is yours. Please come as much as you want.”

After exchanging final hugs and promises of seeing each other soon, it was time to begin healing and face the music he’d been so tactfully avoiding, yet again.

“Need a hand?” Aang offered, as Bumi started toward the bed. He hadn’t asked why both of his parents were here for tonight’s session, but he had a hunch.

“I’ve got it.” Bumi waved away his hand.

“Are you sure?” His mom asked, warily. Watching him anxiously as he stepped, one slow foot in front of the other, to his bed.

“I’m good, mom.” Bumi affirmed, triumphantly plopping on his bed despite their extremely lackluster vote of confidence. “How are you?”

Katara clicked her tongue and began taking the wrappings off of his knee, as Bumi started unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m fine, Boom.” She frowned. “Tired. Ready for your siblings to go home.”

“It feels like Tenzin wants to stay.” Bumi said, sliding off the layer of bandages that wound across his chest. His brother had been coming in every day after session to tell him what had happened. Bumi didn’t know if he cared about every single political maneuver, but it was worth it to see how Tenzin’s face lit up.

“Tenzin is thirteen.” Katara said, firmly. There was a fear, an undercurrent in her voice that signaled to Bumi not to press.

“Right.” He nodded, relaxing as the soft whir of his mother’s healing landed on his knee.

“Sweets,” Aang called, walking over with the stack of photos. He was holding up the one Mei had pulled out. “Look at this, huh?”

Aang held the photo at her eye level. Katara’s face softened. “Oh wow. I remember that trip.” She smiled.

Aang held the photo delicately, tracing each of their faces with his fingertip. “I’m sure you know this…” He started, folding one leg into himself on the chair beside Bumi’s bed. Aang scratched the back of his neck as he spoke, almost nervous. “I mean, obviously, but you were the first person I ever met that I was related to. That I can remember, at least.”

Bumi faltered. On his leg, he felt his mother tense too, just for a moment. “Oh… yeah I guess I am.” He wondered aloud. “Was that weird?”

Sometimes, it felt different with the three of them than it did with his siblings. That was why Bumi felt more comfortable than his peers asking his parents bold questions, and why, more often than not, they would answer. Maybe it was the war, or something to do with his parent’s parents, but Bumi was pretty sure it was the fact that he came onto the scene before anyone was ready, and they’d all been forced to figure it out together. It’s what he saw in that picture. It’s what he felt now. They’d grown up together, whether they liked it or not.

Aang thought for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip. “At first, yeah. I don’t think anyone can really prepare you… Spirits I had no idea what it was like, y’know? To see my face, my quirks, my expressions right there on another person. It was like magic, Boom.” His father’s voice had gone thick and sweet. He met his eyes, grey and swirling with pride. “You still are just, magic.”

Bumi looked away, choosing instead to focus on his mother’s work. “Well I try.” He sighed, blinking. Sometimes his father’s weight, his difference, hung too heavy for him to bear. Even this small piece of information, something Bumi would have never even considered, stung. It wasn’t something he knew how to hold, not really. Spirits help his brother.

“It really is incredible to see, even now.” Katara affirmed, bending the water back into the bowl. “Bumi can you bend this form me honey?”

“Yep.” Bumi obliged. His leg was healing on schedule, but it would still be another week or so before he was officially out of “bed rest” and physical therapy.

Aang smiled again at the photo, cradling it delicately in his hands. “This really was a great trip.” He continued, taking a seat on the bed opposite Katara. “We got to take you out on the big boats which you just loved, and you tried your first solid food.”

“Oh that’s right!” Katara laughed, placing the bowl of water aside as she moved up to his chest. Her eyes crinkled at the memory. “You started teething too, so we’d give you these hunks of frozen fruit to gnaw on.”

Given the precarity that consumed much of his first few years, his parents seldom told stories that took place outside of borderline idyllic circumstances. He’d heard the story of his first steps on Appa or his first words on Ember Island hundreds of times, but the moments that happened in between, the times that were clouded by the stress of a new world, the times that reminded him that his parents were twenty, were rarely shared. Because of this, Bumi was more than content to sit and listen as his parents reminisced. He’d had that picture for years, and never heard more than a handful of sentences about the trip.

“That wasn’t the trip with the block of rocks, was it?” Aang asked, folding one leg up to his chest as he rested against the bedframe.

Katara paused her healing to look back at the picture, her eyes widening with recognition. “You know what I think it was.” She sighed, shaking a wave of anxiety off of her face. “Wow. I forgot about that.”

Bumi raised an eyebrow. “What block of rocks?” He asked. If she hadn’t been bending over his chest, Bumi would have missed how his mother flinched, ever so slightly.

Despite the fact that they weren’t even facing each other, Bumi could tell his parents were locked in one of their private conversations, the kind that seemed almost spiritual, almost superhuman. After a few seconds of stilted silence, his mother met his eyes with a worn expression. “So, you have to understand, this was at a different time.” She started, clearing the water from his chest and examining the wound with a cold hand. “As you know, in the years after the war there was a lot of infighting in the North, and at this time there were a lot of skirmishes breaking out in the city.”

“The situation was also much worse than the council had described before we got there.” Aang continued, pulling his leg closer in. “They… they also didn’t tell us that a lot of it was about a fear of outsiders and nation mixing.” His mouth formed a thin line. Bumi’s eyes widened. While they were all well aware it existed, his father didn’t like to talk about this particular version of post-war pain and prejudice all that often. He was ashamed to say, this aversion made it harder, sometimes, for Bumi to remember he’d lived it. They all had.

Katara sat back, her hand finding its way into Aang’s. “Just know, we wouldn’t have taken you if we’d known how bad it had gotten,” she affirmed. Bumi blinked. It was rare for his parents to prefacing a story for him.

“No, yeah. Of course.” Bumi nodded, unsure of what else to say. With the way his parents had gravitated to the end of his bed, he felt like he was being told a bedtime story. A somewhat chaotic, incredibly detailed, bedtime story. 

“So, the hub of the discourse was right where your mother was working, so you spent most of your time with me in meetings.” Aang continued, his thumb massaging Katara’s hand as he spoke. Bumi could almost picture the disappointed faces of the stuffiest Northern councilmen at the sight of a baby in their chambers.

“This was well before we were comfortable trusting you with people we didn’t know.” Katara clarified.

Aang continued, explaining, “and at the lunch break we’d have to do a trade off outside the hospital, so I’d put you in this like…”  He smiled, shaping his hands into a cylinder, “weird block of rocks in between your blankets as a sort of protection.”

“You looked adorable. But ridiculous.” Katara laughed, lightly.

“Honestly, I think it was more piece of mind when we walked through the town.” Aang sighed. The lightness in the air dissipated. “They were all good people for the most part, just confused and scared.”

Bumi went quiet, contemplating.“Did… did anything happen?” He asked, at last. There were a few marks on his body he’d never been able to discern as birthmarks or stretched-out remnants of healing. He’d never ask.

Aang stilled. “No…”  He started, slowly. His hand fell all too calmly onto Katara’s.

His mother’s face hardened, only for a moment. “Not to you, honey,” she added, firmly. In an instant, she was beside him, pulling him into a delicate hug. “We wouldn’t let that happen,” she murmured. Behind them, Aang rubbed his left elbow absentmindedly, which Bumi knew housed an old scar.

“That sounds…” Bumi took a breath. It was easier now to have grace with his parents, as his mother would fuss or his father would hover, when he remembered they were the same people in the photograph. The same people who wrapped around their baby because they thought people would try to hurt him. They were always, it seemed, much stronger than he’d ever be able to be. They could make any lemon lemonade without trying. Despite it all, they’d started by calling it a fun trip. “That sounds really hard.” Bumi sighed. He needed them to know that. They didn’t get a medal or a congratulations for trudging through, but their son knew it was hard.

“It was. But it was also okay.” Aang mused, his eyes closed. When he opened them again, they were the shade of grey that felt like lightning could strike within them. And they were staring right at him. “Bumi… I think sometimes because stuff like that, and because we were young and the world was coming back together,  you  didn’t always get the best from me.” Aang’s face washed with guilt, but he kept his eyes on his son. Bumi’s breath caught in his chest. “But I don’t want you to think that I haven’t been paying attention. That I don’t see you, because I do. I see you, Bumi. We see you.”

Bumi didn’t respond, not yet. Instead, he let the words echo in his brain, in his chest, until they became apart of him. 

“Things were- are, really- so different for you, honey.” Katara continued. She brushed the frizzy strands of his hair away from his face and behind his ear, like he used to when he was small. “You had to grow alongside us instead of have us as just your guides in all this, and sometimes that means it’s hard for me to let go.” Her voice hitched at the end, as all the grief and anguish they’d shared dispelled. “I’m… I’m so sorry that it took me so long to accept what you do.”

“It’s… it’s okay, guys. I know.” Bumi sighed. His bed felt like an island, housing the only people who had lived how they had, who had felt how they had. It was a funny feeling, being the age his parents had become parents, the age that he started being apart of their lives. He was humbled and terrified all at the same time. It made them feel closer. It made forgiveness easier.

“You’re forging your own path and that’s so exciting. I’m proud of you, my love.” Katara smiled, wiping away her own tears as she cradled his hand in hers. “Whatever you do, I know it will be incredible. And if you need it, I’m here. Forever, honey.” She shook both of their hands as she spoke. Bumi nodded. He believed her.

“Watching you grow has been such a privilege.” Aang added, moving closer on the bed. His face was beaming in the dim light, like he was charged with his own electricity. “I’m just… I’m so excited by everything you do.”

“Thank you, seriously.” Bumi smiled, bowing his head slightly. He thought for a moment, picking at his sheets. It was hard to know how much his parents would appreciate his outlook on their first few years, but with just the three of them it was always easier to say harder things. “But please know that I… I like to think that the imperfect part is the best part of how I was raised. It showed me that you’re human. That you can make mistakes and still be okay.” He answered, truthfully.

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard.” Aang argued, frowning slightly.

“Yeah,” Bumi reasoned, shrugging. “But what I said is true, too.”

“Perhaps.” Katara sighed, giving his hand one final squeeze before letting go. “In any case, I think you’re done for the night. It’s been a big day, I want you to get some rest, okay?” She added, the heaviness in the air already thinning as they collected their things.

“Sounds like a plan.” Bumi gave them both an exaggerated thumbs up, earning a shake of his mother’s head and an even bigger thumbs up from his father. Before they got to the door, Bumi pipped up once more, starting in his mother’s language and continuing in his father’s, “I love you, mom, I love you dad. Thank you both.”

“We love you, Bumi.” His mother echoed, her frame illuminated by the soft glow of the hall.

“Goodnight, young one.” His father replied, smiling big as he turned out the light.

Two decades later, when Bumi turned forty and his father wouldn’t be there to see it, this would all wash over him again. When he was nearing twenty he’d believed his parents had it all figured out, but at forty he knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. He thought a lot about his dad that day, and if he’d had enough time to figure it out. Probably not. Time was not kind to Aang.

His mother would still be there, though. She’d insist on baking him a cake the way she would every year of his childhood, and even though it had been years since she’d made it, it still tasted the same. When they parted ways that night for bed, she would hug him for a long time and whisper goodnight, my light in his ear. It would be just the two of them, standing in under the cold Southern sky, holding each other up. Forever her baby, forever her star.

Notes:

Aang Has A Complicated And Also Uncomplicated Relationship Towards Parenthood And Parents. As Does Katara.

And The Kids Are Alright :)

 

ALSO: I feel like with hakoda, i wanted to show the balance, show that there is "also this" etc, and also show that even in the good, there is imperfection. also, Aang. he's a little numb he's a little frustrated, but he's trying

Guys. One more chapter. Thank you for your patience and your love and support. I seriously can't put into words what it means to me that anyone reads this. Thank you for loving these characters as much as I do.

Chapter 28: it's getting better and better

Summary:

we say goodbye :')

Notes:

LAST ONE OMG.

I thought about waiting, but like why, you know? this one is softer, this one is kinder, let's end on a good note shall we?

please read my final note.

i love you all, endlessly

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Every day, in every way, it's getting better and better

Fire Nation Palace, Hours Later

Thwack.

The instant the noise rung out through the princess’s bedroom, she knew what it was. Izumi hadn’t been asleep for long, but the telltale sound of rock hitting glass had her wide awake. It wasn’t until the third rock hit her window however, she finally got out of bed and slid it open.

“Seriously?” Izumi frowned, leaning on the windowsill as she looked down at her somewhat out of breath boyfriend. Bumi was in his old, slightly too small tank top and baggy pajama shorts, but he still managed to look pretty under the moonlight. Yue’s gift, he’d call it.

“I was feeling nostalgic.” He smirked, raising up his hands. He looked healthier too, now. Like himself.

“Help me up.”

After a few awkward lurches and more strength than she’d wanted to exert in her finest nightgown, the two landed in a pile on her bedroom floor. “You really shouldn’t be doing that in your-” she started.

“It was twelve steps.” He huffed, slowly sitting up. “I counted.”

Gingerly, she helped him up and onto the bed. “Were you lunging?” Izumi wrinkled her nose.

“You’re no fun.” Bumi clutched his chest in mock-upset. Izumi raised a warning eyebrow. “ I was trying to be romantic.”

“I prefer healthy.” She countered, placing more pillows around his back and his leg, as she’d seen his healers do.

“Izumi, babe.” Bumi caught her hands. “I’m okay. I’m going to be completely okay.” His face was close enough now that she could count every freckle if she wanted, even in the low light. She could also see every nick, every remnant of what threatened to take him away. “Trust me?”

“Tentatively.” Her eyes narrowed, but she resigned to lay down.

“I’m going to miss you so much when I leave.” Bumi sighed, raising their intertwined hands to his chest. “I feel like I just got here.”

While the circumstances were life-altering, they had managed to make the last few days feel fairly normal. Bumi took pride in making a show of every milestone, and Izumi relished sneaking them extra desserts between healing sessions, like he used to do for her when they were small. Before, when she pictured telling her family about their relationship, she envisioned stress and loving noisiness, but there had been none of the sort. It was refreshing, if not more relaxing, to be together in the way they longed to all day long.

“It’s a good thing that you can go home, Boom.” Izumi reasoned, leaning her head gently on his shoulder. In just over a week, Bumi would be cleared for travel, and spend the rest of his physical therapy in Republic City between his home and the UF base. The news was cause for celebration, creating a wave of peace throughout the palace, but Izumi would be lying if she didn’t wish he could continue his work here.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bumi sighed, leaning his head against hers. “I just… I don’t it got me thinking about when we get to be together all the time.” His voice was sickly sweet, with just a hint of hesitation.

Izumi contemplated for a moment, daring to press on the vagueness of his statement. She hadn’t turned on the lights, and for whatever reason the mild darkness fueled what bravery she needed. “Did I tell you our parents thought we got married?” She asked.

His hand stilled in hers. “What?” Bumi squeaked.

Izumi snorted. “Yeah. They thought we… soul bonded? That we did whatever ritual your parents did.” She explained, turning to face him. Even in the dim light, she could see his face had turned a slight shade of pink.

“Oh, the promise thing?” Bumi asked, brows furrowed.

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Bumi sighed, staring out, suddenly incredibly interested in her ceiling. Whatever he was trying to play off, she could see through. He was as familiar to her as Fire Nation red and as predictable to her as the heat. “What did you… think about that?” He asked, neutrally.

Izumi thought for a moment of all she could say. “I don’t know… It seemed nice.” She answered, honestly, letting the statement hang freely. He knew her too, after all, and could read her just as well. “I think that’s the part that surprised me. The fact that I wasn’t that phased by it.”

“Yeah…” Bumi echoed. “Same.” Izumi leaned closer, running a hand over his exposed shoulder. He was staring right at her with the boyish grin that made anything feel possible. The tension in the air was thicker than her throwing stars and just as deadly. His icy eyes almost dared her to say it.

For a second, she nearly did.

“But we can’t.” Izumi said instead, leaving out what would remain unsaid. “We’re teenagers.”

“They were teenagers.” He smiled, foolishly.

Izumi leaned deeper into her pillow, pulling away from his gaze. “But we’re real teenagers.” She argued.

“Fair.” Bumi shrugged, accepting defeat. When she glanced back he was still looking at her, utterly enamoured, like she held up the world. Instead of accepting his unspoken offer, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, hoping to stave off any impulse she still had to chart a course to the nearest temple.

“Still…” Izumi started, pulling back. “I looked into after they explained. It sounds really sweet.”

“It’s very pretty.” Bumi explained, stroking her arm, absentmindedly. “You can do it at sunset or sunrise. The temples are beautiful this time of year…”

“Bumi The Second,” Izumi gasped, sitting up on her elbows. She was maybe the only person who used his complete name, and only when she was serious. It was more fun, honestly, having more syllables to throw around. “Do not go there.”

“Oh you went there first, princess.” Bumi countered, smugly, pulling her close.

Izumi let some strands of hair fall forward as she focused on their hands, interlaced between them. “So not now,” she affirmed, playing with his fingers in her own, “but one day… I’d like it, I think. If that was apart of my plan.”

“I’d like it too,” Bumi nodded, moving impossibly closer. “Just, you know, if we’re talking about things we’d like.” 

“Yeah,” She smiled, coyly. “Just if we’re talking about them.”

Bumi loosened a hand from her grip, and caressed the side of her face with his palm. “I love you, Zooms.” He whispered.

Izumi leaned in, letting their foreheads press together. They were so connected that she could feel the rise and fall of his breath, knowing whole heartedly she’d want to be this close, for the rest of time. “I love you too, Bumi.” Izumi whispered back.

For this life and the next.


Fire Nation Palace, Present

Bumi remembered the day they moved to Air Temple Island permanently with a clarity so piercing you’d think he’d written it down then and there. He hadn’t, of course, but it was one of his clearest memories from his childhood, from reasons fairly unknown. It proved to be helpful, though, in the years to come, because he was fairly certain he was the only person who remembered it clearly for several reasons. The primary being his beautiful new baby brother and his obnoxious set of lungs. After Tenzin, Bumi was shocked his parents ever thought he and his sister could ever be air benders. When the baby wailed, he wailed loud and he wailed long. To make matters worse, Tenzin had been experiencing a terrible streak of colic, making his air bender screams even more erratic and leaving their parents more sleep deprived than they’d been in the war. To make matters worse, when they finally arrived Republic City was facing the worst winter storm season in its recorded history (which was not long, but bad nonetheless).

Suffice to say, Bumi spent much of that week holed up inside and largely untracked, playing in moving boxes with his sister and avoiding leaks. On paper, it could have been pretty terrible, but to him it was magic. He was moving into a house, and not even that he’d have his own room.

Despite his otherwise haphazard existence, his first six years on the road had made him a fairly tidy packer. He could be in and out of a space in three minutes, four tops. It was a skill that was already serving him well on the force, and would for years to come. His siblings however, spent all of their formative years in a home and despite their many travels, did not obtain the same skill set.

This was precisely why Bumi was largely unsurprised when he rounded the corner to his sibling’s guest room and saw a slew of bags poking out the open door. Since his therapist, his mother, and her staff had all deemed Bumi “out of the woods,” his siblings would be leaving today with the Beifongs so they could ease back into their “normal” lives. Thankfully or unthankfully- depending on who he’d asked- they would only have a few more weeks of school before going on summer vacation. Toph had declared that they would leave at 10:30, and it was currently 10:15.

Their room was so crowded with clothes, jewelry, and other supplies he could barely see the floor. While they often attributed their mess to the fact that they had to share and he did not, Bumi wouldn’t hear it. He’d served his time housing all of his belongings in a single pack until he was seven. In fact, when they finally moved, the prospect of his own room in his own house - not just the guest room at the palace- had been so exciting, so enticing that at first that he could barely picture how to fill it.

Kya and Tenzin, both wearing old tunics he’d recognized as his and Izumi’s hand-me-downs, were so consumed by packing they didn’t notice Bumi standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat.

Kya raised an eyebrow, unenthused by the smirk creeping over his face. “What are you doing?” She asked, frowning. Her short hair was down, showing off the tighter curls that had formed post-cut. Bumi wanted to make a joke about how they had the same haircut, but he hadn’t quite found his angle yet. For now, he refrained.

“I’m seeing you off.” Bumi explained, side-stepping one of their packs to sit on Kya’s bed. Surprisingly, both of them had been made.

“I’m still packing.” Tenzin said, over his shoulder. On his bed, he’d carefully folded each of the robes he’d worn during council meetings, and was placing them all in different, individual bags.

“Yeah, which is taking forever.” Kya complained, tossing a handful of clothes into a duffel. They always seemed to leave with more clothes than they came with on their trips back to the city.

Bumi could still remember unpacking his sister’s boxes on Air Temple Island. All of their things were coming from different places, different hubs that his parents had called home for nearly a decade. For whatever reason, most of Kya’s things were sent from the Earth Kingdom, and mixed in with all of the gifts the crown had given them over the years. He’d had to sort through so many pictures, stuffed animals of the royal bear, and various green robes in search of a book she’d tasked him to find. Growing impatient, the then-toddler picked up the box and shook out all of it’s insides. At the palace, Bumi smiled as his sister scooped up another pile of things and shoved it in her bag. It seemed her cavalier attitude toward worldly possessions was still holding strong.

“Don’t you leave in like ten minutes?” Bumi asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. He would never take his vision for granted again. Boy, had he missed that.

Tenzin turned, already pinker in the face. “I have an entirely new wardrobe!” He snapped. Bumi’s eyes widened as his voice started to bounce off of the walls. “These robes are one of a kind and if I don’t-”

“Okay, okay.” Bumi put a hand up, settling him.“Sorry I asked.”

Bumi realized that Tenzin was an air bender the week they moved to the island. He didn’t tell his parents though, because it wasn’t something he felt like he could explain. He could just feel it. It wasn’t just the screaming-although that helped- but everything. And maybe without the storm, without spending ever second with the baby, he wouldn’t have noticed, but he did. Tenzin was so impossibly small, the smallest baby he’d ever seen, and he moved like he weighed nothing. Every shake, every hand hold was so impossibly light. Even the way he cried seemed like he was moving with the air, with the world, instead of just taking it in. Like he didn’t just need to breathe to live, but that the air needed him too. He was just… different.

“It’s fine.” Tenzin dismissed, already calming down. His defensiveness told Bumi he’d been preparing for a fight. Maybe those meetings had been affecting him. Then again, he shared a room with Kya, who who was trying her best to look nonchalant as he spun out. “I just have to focus.” He affirmed, refolding one of his robes, which had wrinkled in his hands.

Kya clicked her tongue, getting Bumi’s attention. “If you’re here can you help me find my hair band?” She asked, already scanning the floor. “I don’t need it anymore but it was moms, so...”

Bumi obliged, opting to look through the bag on her bed beside him than lower all the way to the floor. Baby steps. In the bag were a myriad of ribbons, cuffs, and other hair pieces from the Water Tribe, all that worked best for long hair. “You know, if you wanted, I could braid in one of my beads.” Bumi offered. From the first moment she could, Kya had had something in her hair from their mother’s culture. She’d had so many clips, ties, and tassels over the years that it was almost shocking to see her hair without a spot of Water Tribe blue.

Kya’s eyes lit up, almost cautiously. “Really?” She questioned.

“Yeah.” Bumi smiled. “I have some in my room. Grandpa always brings extra for me.” The beads Bumi wore were almost exclusively gifted from his grandfather and uncle, worn traditionally by men in the tribe. But that rule was ancient, and Bumi didn’t think Kya would have a problem breaking it. Tenzin had some too, somewhere, but never as many.

“Okay.” Kya nodded. “I’ll grab them.”

Bumi was almost sure Kya ran there, given how quickly she returned with the beads and comb in hand. In seconds, she was sitting carefully in front of him on the bed, ready for him to begin. As he combed through her hair, Kya selected her beads, combing through his collection with an eagle eye. It always surprised Bumi how quickly you could fall into a familiar rhythm. The week they moved to the island, Katara braided his hair in the doorway to their “back yard.” She said it was because they didn’t have furniture in their rooms yet, but Bumi was fairly certain it was because of how much she loved the rain. Bumi sat on the steps, shielded from the rain, as his mother worked. He still remembered looking out across the island, the thick brush swaying in the wind and beyond that the rough ocean waves, looking as white as it did blue in all the chopping. Tenzin had been there then, too, sitting on her lap. Simultaneously apart of it, and not at all.

As Bumi wove in the bead his sister selected, he glanced over at his brother, still working away. He had gone silent, both in voice and in his movements. When he wanted to, he could almost disappear. “We can put one on your bracelet Tez.” Bumi offered, nodding to his new bag of beads. His grandfather hadn’t known about Tenzin’s haircut before he came, yet he’d only brought beads for Bumi. In his defense, Bumi hadn’t asked, or thought about it at all. Not until now.

Tenzin’s back was to him, but Bumi could still see his shoulders creeping up to his ears. “Oh you don’t have to.” He sighed, placing another orange robe into his bag.

Bumi shook his head.“Sorry,” he said, pulling two beads out of the bag. “Too late. I’m doing it.” If he and Kya were going to match, as they often could, Tenzin would too. If there was one thing he wasn’t doing, it was being another person boxing his brother out of his own culture. One day, Bumi was sure, Tenzin would return the favor. One day, after all, he would hold the keys to their home.

With a tentative eagerness, Tenzin took a seat beside his sister and extended out his wrist. Each of them had a unique bracelet, woven with oranges and blues, that their had made. The bracelets were apart of an Air Nomad custom, symbolizing a milestone they would have reached at the temples at age thirteen. Bumi wasn’t exactly sure which- a product of his frustration and indifference during his teen years- but he knew it would have been impossible for any of them to actually meet it. They’d had the ceremony nonetheless. Kya wore hers for special Air Nomad occasions and their fathers birthday. Bumi didn’t wear his, but always moved it with him, keeping it close. Tenzin never took his off.

“So, where are you going after mom comes back?” Tenzin asked, watching intently as Bumi added the beads to his strands.

“Oh. I’m going with her.” He explained, twisting bead to ensure it would stay put. “Sorry, I thought they told you guys.”

Kya wiped around, her new beads clanking together with the force. “Back home?” She gawked. “Really?”

Bumi raised an eyebrow. “Is that so hard to believe?” He questioned.

The week they moved to Air Temple Island, Bumi had bragged to anyone who would listen that he’d have his own room. The closest he’d come before then was at the palace, but it seemed the moment he’d graduated from sharing with his parents, his little sister was placed on a mat beside his bed. No, Bumi had never really had his own space. He was triumphant, aching with anticipation for the first night to fall so he could finally experience his freedom. But when it finally came, it wasn’t what he was expecting. It felt weird. It was lonely. Bumi had been willing to suck it up, lest he damage his pride, but before he could fall asleep there was a soft knock at the door, and an even softer whisper from a mess of wispy curls and glowing blue eyes. He moved over without hesitation, and she slid into place.

Tenzin picked at each bead with a tenderness so gentle you’d think they were alive, or as old as their father. “Kind of.” He admitted, chewing his cheek. “Now that you and Izumi are out in the open…”

There was a hesitancy in his voice that pulled on Bumi’s heartstrings. A few days after they moved, Bumi convinced his parents to take the baby with them outside, into the storm. Maybe it was because they’d all been cooped up, or because they were all a little too tired, or because the baby had already proved to be stronger than he looked, but that afternoon they walked out onto the unkempt lawn, Aang with a baby in his arms, Kya’s fingers wrapped around the her mother’s hand, with Bumi leading the way. Together they danced in the showering rain, laughing and splashing and playing together. It had been a long few months, a scary few months, and looking back it was exactly what they needed. Tenzin giggled and Kya hooted and Bumi romped harder than he ever had, all because they were all there, all of them. It was at that moment, in that afternoon, that Bumi realized they were better together. It would be the three of them, from here on out. The three of them forever.

Bumi shook his head, waving off whatever smirks his siblings were giving him. “I want to spend time with some of my other favorite people.” Kya made a face and looked to Tenzin, both equally doubtful. “You know, I just really miss the lady with the jerky cart on Kanna Street, the Fire Flake guy,” he drawled.

Kya shoved his shoulder, lightly, but still. “You’re hilarious.” Tenzin sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I try.” Bumi half-bowed.

Before they could retaliate, there was a knock at the open door. “Kids!” Their father called, stopping at the site of all three of them, crosslegged on the bed. “Hey Boom. Are you guys ready?”

Kya waited for Tenzin to nod before responding, something Bumi had never seen before.“Yeah,” she called back, “we’re ready.”

Bumi looked on as Tenzin helped Kya grab her last bag, as she did a final check under their beds, as they walked to Appa, not quite side by side, but in pace, not letting the other drift too far behind. They’d grown in the last few weeks, more together than apart.They didn’t need him to keep the peace, to look after them in the same way. But that wasn’t all bad, he supposed.

When they finally departed, after hugs and farewells, both Kya and Tenzin waved as they flew into the distance, their beads clattering in the wind. Bumi waved back.


Ember Island, 20 Years Earlier

If the Fire Nation had more than one season, Katara could seriously see herself moving to Ember Island. Over the last six-odd years visiting nearly every corner of the globe, she could confidently say that there was nothing like being by the ocean. She’d spent every night of their trip in the water, long after everyone else had gone to sleep. Then and only then, could it be just the moon, the ocean, herself, and her baby. Her baby. As terrifying it all was, the sea, somehow, was making it a smoother adjustment. They could float together there, effortlessly, just as she knew they would when they came earthside.

It was difficult to imagine now, a few days into the trip, that they ever hesitated coming. When they’d first found out in Omashu, both Aang and Katara found the idea of a group trip to be overwhelming. They had plans to grow their family, but not this minute. Their plan was to wait, to just be for a little while. Parting with that plan would be doable - it would have to be - but adding the chaos of a group vacation on top of it all was giving them pause. Aang had said it was her choice, and Katara gave the go ahead. Ultimately, it was simple. It was Zuko’s birthday. She could manage.

If you’re sure, Aang had said, his voice fraught with hesitation. His forehead was wrinkled in the way that distorted his tattoo. Twenty had been good to them so far, but their teen years had already caused more wear than they’d like to admit. Sometimes, she wondered if he’d be grey if he didn’t have a shaved head. After last week, probably.

As they soon learned, a week where they could truly unwind, surrounded by their nearest and dearest, was exactly what they needed. Instead of using the old royal beach house, Zuko and Mai had purchased a slightly more modest home down the beach, built with enough rooms for all their friends. The house quickly became one of their group’s favorite spaces, despite the fact though they spent most of their time on the beach, in the water by day and around the fire at night.

However, this year Katara found herself inside more than ever before. It seemed like with every passing day, the heat was getting to her quicker and quicker. She’d known to expect sensitivities, but the thought of it already impacting her life was a harder pill to swallow than she’d care to admit. Her friends had noticed, of course they had, but no one had brought it up yet, thank Yue.

Aang, in his infinite wisdom, thought to tell them that they were meditating together in the afternoons now - which was half true. Aang would never pass up an opportunity, and Katara was laying quietly, technically.

Katara was reading one of Zuko’s books, a whirlwind romance novel none of his court could ever know was in his possession, when she heard a soft knock at her door. Everyone else was down at the beach, but even if they weren’t she knew who it was. She always knew when it was him.

“Hey.” Katara called, as he opened the door.

“Hey.” Aang shot her a quick smile as he shuffled in. He was wearing his favorite pair of swim shorts, a gift from his friend Bumi. They were just a little too big on his, despite how he’d filled out in the last few years, and always hug heavy at the waist. Katara didn’t own much green, but she always managed to end up wearing her sage sundress on the same day. She wondered, incredibly briefly, if any of the stands in town would carry a green baby bathing suit for next summer.

Wow. That’ll be next summer.

“How was your session?” Katara asked, leaning her head back on the dashboard. If there was one thing the Fire Nation knew how to do, it was make a good bed.

“Good. Great.” Aang muttered. He was still standing at the door, hovering almost. Katara raised an eyebrow. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good.” Katara said, slowly. Bringing her knees to her chest, she made room for him to sit, if he please. He didn’t. “Just resting. You know, this book is wild,” she drawled on, getting only nods from her partner. Katara nearly laughed. Somehow, he was a brilliant liar, but a terrible secret keeper. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Aang’s eyes grew wide. His face stilled, frozen and unreadable as he decided how to proceed.“I told Roku.” He sputtered at last.

Katara sat up. “What?”

Aang crumpled, almost instantly, into the bed beside her. “Is that okay?” He rambled, running both hands over his head. His shoulders crept up to his ears, riddled with anxiety. “I just realized I didn’t ask, and we’re not telling anyone else and-”

Katara gathered his hands in hers, forcing him to breathe. “Aang, honey, it’s okay.” She nodded. “I mean, Roku is you, sort of, so technically you didn’t tell. And even if you did tell someone, that would be okay too.”

Aang sighed, she could practically see the tension dissipating off his body. “Thanks. I just… I don’t know, I didn’t want to mess this up.”

“There’s no way you could, babe.” Katara affirmed. Together, they relaxed back onto the bed, sliding  into their respective sides. “He’s happy for us.” Aang said softly. His arm was wrapped casually around her shoulders, her head snug on his chest. “He was a little surprised, but good surprised.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Katara murmured, cuddling deeper into the embrace. She could hear the waves crashing on the beach outside, and without realizing was breathing in time of the ebb and flow of the tides. Their room seemed to be enveloped of a stillness they seamlessly fell into.

“It was nice to tell him.” Aang continued, his head resting on hers. She could feel his breath on the top of her head, rising in and out longer than anyone else she knew. “They both know now. Bumi and Roku.” He muttered. Katara pulled his arm in closer.

Katara turned back, sitting up on her side to face him. “That’s really great, Aang.” She nodded, looking him square into his endless eyes. “I’m really glad you’ve told them both.” There was a piece he left unspoken, a piece he would carry until he was ready to let her hold it with him. Even in their happiest moments, there would be loss, too. His people, not just air benders but his people, his family from before would never meet their child. She knew the feeling, she’d felt it, her own version. They’d carry it together, someday soon. But not today.

Aang sighed, his face turning from enigmatic to animated in seconds. “How are you feeling?” He asked, sitting up, far more chipper.

Katara wrinkled her nose. “You already asked me that.”

“Sorry.” Aang cringed. Ever since they’d heard the news, he started to change his behavior with her. Right now, it was small things, less twirls, soft, borderline-awful passes while sparring, and of course, the questions. But she had a feeling this was only the beginning.

“I’m fine, we’re fine.” Katara assured, settling back. “I’m just tried.”

“Want me to go?” He asked, carefully.

“No.” Katara took his arm and wrapped it back around her. He gladly obliged, sinking deeper into the pillows.“Never.”

“Okay.” Aang drawled. His free hand crept tentatively towards her stomach. After a nod of affirmation, he let it settle. “Any more thoughts on the timeline?” He asked quietly.

Katara frowned. “Not really.” The question of when to tell their friends had been a topic of debate since the second they left the clinic in Omashu. They wanted to, of course they wanted to, but the stillness, the bubble they shared right now, felt so precious, so vital to making it through this next chapter. “But this trip it just feels like… I don’t know, maybe we wait? Am I crazy?”

“No.” Aang assured, giving her a quick kiss.“Never. Whatever feels good, let’s do that.”

The rest of the day passed by quickly, with a far too competitive after-lunch volleyball game easing right into another fire-roasted dinner and bonfire. Conversation flowed, drinks were poured and snacks were torn through as they waited for their kebabs to crisp.

The main topic that had captured and consumed their group for nearly a year, was the upcoming wedding between the Fire Lord and Lady. Talk of their preparations and rituals made Katara’s three ceremonies feel casual, cringing deeply as she huddled under a blanket beside Aang.

Mai, however, seemed to be in good spirits as she regaled their latest venue-related endeavor across the fire. “Last week were talking to my mom about the seating, because there is nothing else I do these days,” she grumbled, pouring herself and Zuko another glass of imported wine. “My mom just became so confused about the plating for our tables and we couldn’t understand why she kept changing things, until we realized that we were referring to all of you as family.”

“Oh. I’ve run into that.” Toph echoed, sipping her glass on a log beside Suki, who was roasting both of their kebabs. “My mom doesn’t really get it. Very classic war-era conservatism. How do you the rest of you guys refer to us when you’re with your parents or other people?” She asked.

A silence fell over the group as they thought, the air only consumed by the crackle of the fire. Sokka spoke first “Family.” He affirmed. As a self-proclaimed grill master, he had his own log, accompanied by all of the fixings and skewers. Katara would be the last to commend him on his newfound cooking abilities, but he’d managed to construct an elaborate and somewhat tasty array of things that even her uneasy stomach could tolerate.

“Family, yeah.” Suki concluded, picking her sticks out of the fire for inspection.

“Our dad and Gran Gran have always gotten it, I think.” Sokka elaborated, glancing to Katara for confirmation, who agreed. “But the South is different.” 

“I mean is there another word?” Suki asked, passing Toph’s stick back to her, which had far fewer vegetables than Katara would like, but she held her tongue. “We’re way more than friends at this point.”

“I guess I really use family and friends interchangeably. But I think that’s because family has always been made up of friends. ” Aang spoke up, shifting under the blanket beside her. They all quieted, turning to listen to his unique perspective. “What matters is that you’re all people I love, endlessly.” Katara kissed him, earning a mock groan from the crowd.

“Awww Aang loves us.” Toph drawled.

“I think I define family really as who you take care of, but also become the people you escape to. The people you’re safest with.” Zuko pipped up, his eyes focused on the fire as he spoke. “When I have news, I want to tell you guys first.”

Katara felt Aang still beside her, for only a moment.

“Exactly, you’re who I want to share things with.” Toph raised her glass, grinning. “You guys, you’re my people.” The others raised their glasses along with her, echoing her phrase.

Katara’s heart pounded in her chest. The conversation was not a new one, but they never seemed to have the vocabulary, or the time, to speak at such length. Since the end of the war, and even before, it was clear to Katara that they all loved each other, and always would. They could give each other what they all so desperately needed. They’d be dependable, be supportive, be there for the good and the bad.

Aang was already looking at Katara when she turned to face him, a knowing look in his eye. Neither of them had to speak, only exchange a subtle smile and a squeezed hand.“I couldn’t have said it better, Toph.” Aang chocked out, already swallowing back happy tears.

“Katara?” Sokka inquired, motioning his glass towards her with a childish smirk. “No interjection of love? This is right up you’re alley.” He was echoed with a chorus of cheers and affirmations from the group.

Katara looked to Aang, who gave her a final nod, and took a deep breath.

This group, these ridiculous, brilliant, exceptional people, they were her home. They were his home. They would be the baby’s home, too.

“Okay, okay. I agree with all of it. This circle, you guys are my family.” Katara smiled, tears already forming in her eyes. Her chest swelled with every word. Her and Aang’s lives may have changed when they heard the news at the clinic, but it was this moment, here, this felt like the real beginning. This was start of the rest of their lives, and for the first time she felt ready. “And as my family, as our family, Aang and I actually have something we’ve been wanting to tell you guys…”

The End.

 

 

Notes:

The end of an era. First off, if you’ve been with me for a minute, my final request is that you read this note, as it is my last chance to shower you with love and gratitude.

If you’ve read even a sliver of beautiful boy, if you just started it today or if you’ve been here from the beginning, THANK YOU! If you didn’t know, this is/was my first ever multi-chapter fic, and what an undertaking it was!! Also, if you’ve seen my other stuff, when I started I was/still am a fairly new writer. I had no idea what the heck was I getting into but I’ve cherished every moment.

Everyone and anyone, Thank you for sticking with me. It took me three years to write this. Three years of hiatuses and disappearing and rewrites and publishing with typos (SO MANY IM SORRY) but it took what it took and I’m proud of how we got here. I know it’s rough, I know the writing shifts, I know things are sloppy at times, but I’m giving myself grace and hope that you do too. No one dies right? That’s good.

Quick Special Thank You if you’ve been here since the beginning. Hey buds. Wow. Three years, y’all. Three years. I don’t know about you, but I was in a different place in the year of our lord 2020 (dare I say it). Anyways, thank you so freaking much I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am. And I hope the last three years have been kind. We did it.

Thank you for bearing with me, thank you for feeling the angst and going with my rambles and loving these characters as much as I do. This isn’t the end of this world, but it is the end of this story.

Stay golden, stay safe, and be kind to yourself.

All my love,
Azalea

PS: I will be posting what i call the "elephant graveyard" of all the snippets that didn't make it in very shortly:)

Chapter 29: the epilogue: my love, mine all mine

Summary:

the epilogue: 5 years later

Notes:

so okay. yes, this is ended, yes we did it, but listen. the bones of this chapter was originally the ending, and then i went in a different direction. and i don't know, the holidays are a funny thing. this just didn't feel over, you know? anyways. love to you all

 

also shameless plug, I have a new gaang fic called if i were a mountain come check it out if you like aangsty vibes

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The Epilogue

"Nothing in the world belongs to me
But my love mine, all mine, all mine"

Ember Island, 5 Years Later 

Bumi paced back and forth along the smooth red-stained deck. It wasn’t long, just twenty steps to one end and twenty steps to the other, and after a few minutes he was already subconsciously avoiding the nick in the middle and the loose board. With over twenty-five summers of hearty use, the royal beach house had lost some of its regal flare, but was still perfect for a proper vacation- not that their crew was ever picky.

“I can’t believe it.” Bumi sputtered, taking a break from the empty horizon line to call back into the house. “They’re late.”

Izumi poked her head out of the window and wrinkled her nose. “They’re barely late. Which is fine because we aren’t ready for them yet.” She shifted a basket of blankets to her hip, bunching the skirt wrapped at her waist just slightly. They spent practically every moment on Ember Island in bathing suits.

“But they’re never late.” Bumi explained, leaning dramatically onto the doorframe.

“Bumi, baby,” Izumi smiled, beckoning him in with a flick of her hand. He sunk into her embrace. They were both a little sticky from the salt and the heat, but it didn’t matter. “I promise you it’ll be okay.”

“I just want this to be nice.” He sighed.

Izumi took gathered his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “It is nice.” She assured. “This is really nice.”

Bumi’s face broke into a crooked grin. “I love you.” He said in her native language, giving the princess a peck on the cheek.

“I know.” Izumi grinned, pulling him closer.

For the first time, all of the kids in his family, minus Su, would be on vacation together, without their parents. And it had been his idea. Sure, he’d visited Kya in the South for a weekend here and there, and Tenzin would meet him for tea when he docked occasionally, but this was the first real, intentional trip they would ever be on together, just them. It was a big deal, a turning point, a foundation for what the rest of their adult lives would be like. In a matter of months, Tenzin and Lin would be graduating, they wouldn’t have to go where their parents told them to. Kya was already off on her own, living up to their nomadic roots as she bounced around the globe, but for whatever reason he still felt more sure about his time with her than his brother. In a second, Tenzin and Lin would be able to do what they wanted when they wanted, and if Bumi was being honest he wasn’t quite sure where he fit into that equation.

“You know,” a voice called out from the doorway, irritation seeping into every word. “You two have a room.”

Bumi and Izumi broke apart, reflexively. After spending years of their relationship in secret, from both their family and then even longer from the world, old habits were hard to kick. “I thought you were swimming.” He frowned. “You’re tracking water in the house.”

“Oh no,” His sister gasped. “Whatever will I do.” Kya draped a hand over her head in mock-affliction. She’d arrived last night by boat, opting to come straight from the North Pole where she’d been studying to the island. Their parents had been less than pleased that she would not be stopping in Republic City, but at this point it was clear that no one could tell Kya to do much of anything she didn’t want. Her time in the North had changed her, not just in the paling of her skin and the new tattoo, but in other ways that Bumi wasn’t quite sure how to broach. She was just a little tighter, a little sharper, but not in the undaunted way she was when she was a teenager. This felt deeper, somehow.

“How was the water?” Izumi asked, brushing past their comments as she started to refold the forgotten blankets. Bumi too returned to his chores, starting on the lunch he’d discarded for pacing on their deck.

“Amazing.” Kya gushed, taking a seat at the kitchen island. “So wait, they’re still not here yet?”

Bumi shook his head, gripping the pot with more force than needed. “Don’t get me started.” He sighed.

“They’re never late.” Kya exclaimed, bringing one leg up to her chest. 

“They’re young and in love,” Izumi mused, taking a seat beside her. “You both need to give them some slack.”

Kya rolled her eyes. Lin and Tenzin had started dating two summers ago. They weren’t like Bumi and Izumi, they didn’t date in secret or worry too much about their parents or do any of the rather dramatic things they had at the start of their relationship. Tenzin had been somewhat hopeless and Lin had been a little intense, but after an awkward school dance, a sappy first date, and getting caught making out in their uncle’s borrowed car, they found their way to something steady. It was adorable, healthy, and unbelievably tragic. They all knew how it would end, and no one could bring themselves to say it. Bumi had faith, more faith than many, that they could make it work. That love would conquer all. But he was a romantic, and he didn’t look before he leaped. Tenzin was a lot like Izumi, but Lin was Bumi’s exact opposite. It’s why she was his favorite.

It wasn’t until half past three that the familiar grumblings of a sky bison filled the air. Bumi and Izumi were halfway through a particularly competitive game of pai sho which was nearly knocked over as they both scrambled to meet their final guests on the sand.

Lin jumped off first and right into Izumi’s eager arms. The metal bender had grown to be the spitting image of her mother, plus about three inches. She was strong, stronger than any of them at this point, and wore her hair in a traditionally Water Tribe braid that his mother likely did. It was a style that Kya used to wear, and it was the closest Lin would ever come to admitting she looked up to his sister.

After strong hugs and a hair tousling of her hair that threatened to send Bumi back in time, he realized his brother had yet to come off of the bison. Undeterred, Bumi scampered up Oogi’s side and joined Tenzin at the saddle.

“You were late.” Bumi said. It was not the welcome he was envisioning, but it seemed to spill out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“I know.” Tenzin nodded, passively. He started unloading his pack and Lin’s without another word. Bumi blinked.

“Was the sky falling?” He asked, forcing the somewhat pathetic panic from his voice.

“No.” Tenzin shook his head. His gray eyes were glued to the knot he was methodically unwinding. Bumi sat back and bit the inside of his cheek. His brother had a way of closing down that was so eerily similar to their father it was almost distracting. He seemed so far from the anxious boy who used to follow him around the island.

“Okay.” Bumi said, at last, making room for the packs to slide down Oogi’s tale. Tenzin leaped off and landed silently.

Tenzin turned, finally, meeting his eyes with a sort of apathetic warning. “What’s the big deal?” He asked.

Before Bumi could respond, Kya, who had found her way back into the ocean, had all but clobbered their younger brother, swinging both sopping wet arms around his shoulders. In the last few years, they’d all grown to be about the same height, give or take an inch. Though they’d evened out, their father was still, frustratingly, the tallest.

Oh just relax!” Kya started, speaking in their mother’s first language. She’d hooked Bumi’s shoulder in too now, yanking them both in close. After just a day under the Fire Nation sun, Bumi had a small sunburn, much to his chagrin, which was not loving her unbridled strength.  Just come be present in this moment with me.” She instructed, closing her eyes and shifting them towards the horizon. Bumi could feel Tenzin rolling his eyes. “Feel the sun, spirits you don’t get sun like this in the North.”

“She spends one year in the poles and acts like she’s never been to the beach.” Tenzin muttered, shaking free from her grasp.

“She’s one with the snow now, we’ve lost her.” Bumi smiled, earning a smirk from his brother and a shove from his sister.

In the house, Tenzin was far warmer to his reception, letting Izumi wrap her arms around him and hug him tight. Bumi watched on with a complicated frustration. The two of them had always had a special bond, an understanding, Izumi had called it. Out of everyone, their lives were the only two already planned out, prewritten. Bumi, Kya, Lin, and Su could run amuck their entire lives and only sully their family’s image, but if Izumi and Tenzin didn’t stay on course the collapse could be catastrophic. Tenzin gave her grace, and in turn, she gave him patience.

Izumi clapped her hands together, gathering everyone’s attention. “Okay, first things first. Rooms.” She explained, leading their crew down the hall. “Bumi and I are in our usual suite, Kya’s in my old room, and Tenzin and Lin I have you here with the queen bed, is that okay?”

Bumi stifled a laugh as he watched Tenzin turned pink. “Oh-yeah I mean-” He sputtered, looking everywhere but his girlfriend. “I- that’s great.” The nervous boy he’d watched grow up was still in there.

“Fine.” Lin said, unfazed.


It didn’t take long for the remaining members of their group to find their bathing suits and head down to the beach. The ocean on Ember Island had a particular pull on each of them that made it feel almost impossible to spend more than a few minutes indoors at a time. Izumi had brought books for each of them, which Lin and Kya quickly began devouring, woven between one another on their towels. With the girls, it seemed, distance never damaged their closeness.

Tenzin walked a ways down the beach to practice some forms without kicking sand into anyone’s faces, leaving Bumi to watch on from the sea. In the last few years, with his growth spurt and the broadening of his shoulders, it seemed Tenzin was growing more and more in to their father. If f it weren’t for his slightly darker complexion, passersby would have begun to mistake him for his predecessor. Bumi understood the similarity, especially as Tenzin moved through forms they’d both watched their dad do more times than they could count, but he was not their father’s mirror. Tenzin moved differently, landed differently, like he was making a slightly different decision at every turn.

As Bumi started to get out of the water, Tenzin was standing on his hands, sweeping both legs so low they almost touched the ground before spinning right back up and over again. Bumi was frozen, transfixed by the ease, the weightlessness with which Tenzin contorted his body. From up close, he could see how his tattoos moved with him, like they were energetic, alive. They ebbed and flowed as he did, racing along the chi paths that coated his arms, legs, and head. They had taken some getting used to at first, for everyone. It had been such a big deal, something his brother had so desperately wanted, that no one had given much thought about what big a change that could be, especially their father. But now, seeing them a few years down the line, healed and in action, Bumi understood.

“How’s the water?” Tenzin asked, standing back up to gaze out across the horizon. Whether people liked it or not, they were all Katara’s children, called to the water by far more than it’s pretty view.

“Great.” He smiled, squeezing the water from his hair.  “That was a cool move.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Tenzin said, somewhat taken aback. He scratched his shoulder absentmindedly, any guard he’d put up cracking in his surprise. “Suki and I sort of came up with it. It’s not official or anything like that.” He muttered, deflecting the praise.

“Even cooler then.” Bumi decided. Beads of water were dripping off of him, making an impression in the sand where he stood.

“I guess.” Tenzin shrugged. They started back to the rest of the group in a stilted silence that was masked easily by the sound of the waves. When they arrived, Tenzin laid out his towel beside Lin and opened his novel without another word. Bumi frowned, stifling the ache in his chest, and let it be.

The rest of the day passed easily, like most would on Ember Island, filled with volley ball games, sand castle making, and so much swimming that in the days to come they'd wake up with salt in their beds from tracking it in on their bodies.

Just before sunset, as the cool breeze started to come in and their crew began to pack up their things, Bumi shot up from his spot, remembering something crucial they’d forgotten.

“We haven’t jumped off the cliff!” Bumi proclaimed, clutching his chest in grandiose horror.


“Oh right.” Izumi said, realization dawning as she shook the kicked-up sand off of her glasses. “We can do it tomorrow, babe.”

“We have to do it tonight, it’s the tradition!” Bumi whined. He was being erratic, too much as his teachers used to say, but ending their first day of their first vacation any other way felt cruel, like a final nail in the coffin of`their closeness. It was extreme, an ill placed weight to hang on a silly ritual, but it felt like something to cling to. Ember Island did something to him, to each of them, and this felt like part of it. “The summer can’t start without it!”

“It’s throughly spring.” Tenzin pointed out, tucking his towel into the crook of his arm.

“Oh hush, you know what I mean.” Bumi said, waving him off. “I think it could be fun.”

There was a beat of silence, a moment of hesitation that squeezed Bumi’s heart so hard he thought it could burst, before his sister cleared her throat. “Okay fine, yeah.” Kya said, crossing her arms. Her eyes flitted from the scar on his chest to his eyes before saying more, the way she’d always get just a little uneasy seeing the wound she stitched back together out in the open. “I’m in if you’re in.”

After Kya, the others agreed, with varying levels of intrigue, starting the steep walk up to the jumping point. It was technically a volcano, active in Kyoshi’s time, but in their family it was colloquially known as the jumping cliff. Zuko always said it sounded nicer in his language, which was true, but Bumi thought he could’ve come up something better. Regardless, every summer without fail, their parents would jump off the cliff and into the ocean. When Bumi and Izumi came of age, they jumped too, and so on and so forth. It rung in the season in Bumi’s favorite way, big and bold and loudly. It was something scary, something brave, something powerful to do to show the season you were ready for its best.

Once they got to the top, the sun was setting at the horizon line, coating everything in a brilliant shade of orange. Lin peered off the rock and out into the dark waters below. “Isn’t this the place where you broke your arm?” She asked.

Bumi’s eyes narrowed. “That was a long time ago.”

“So,” Izumi asked, stretching her legs for optimal flipping. “Who wants to go first?”

“Oh this is all you princess.” Bumi smiled, making a swooping gesture to the edge. 

“Only if you insist.” Izumi smirked. After taking a few steps back, the princess bolted towards the edge, jumping off gracefully into a backflip with minimal splash. Bumi whooped her whole way down.

“I’m next!” Kya called, sparing no time to return to her element. She was off the side with just a few steps, meeting the water in a wave that splashed all the way back up the cliffside.

Lin followed, giving Tenzin’s arm a tap before she started. “C’mon hot stuff let’s do this.” She grinned, getting a running start. Tenzin smiled too, bigger than he had since he’d landed, and took off after her. In an instant, they were both in the air, hand in hand, as they performed a fairly convoluted flip.

And then Bumi was left at the top. And everything felt so painfully stiff again. He had no one to blame but himself, of course. He still felt guilty, being the first person to leave. Maybe deep down he knew that this was his fault, that he’d shown them what to do, taught the baby birds to fly away because he was always the first to leap. Maybe he felt bad for his parents. Maybe this was just selfish.

“You coming Boom?” Kya called, snapping him out of his trance. He could picture them all down there, splashing each other and bopping with the waves just as they would when they were little. This was where they were now. There was no going back. This was it. And sure, he’d had to make them, but they still jumped off the cliff with him. And maybe that was okay.

Bumi laughed in return. “Thought you’d never ask.” And off he went.


Evenings on Ember Island took place around the fire. There were heavy pours and heavier topics and moments that you wanted to bottle forever. Bumi’s heart used to ache for those meals on the beach the same way he yearned for the Winter Solstice in the South and the first day of spring on Kyoshi. They were apart of him, those long nights tucked into his mother’s lap as they spoke in hushed tones about things he wasn’t supposed to hear. It was his lifesblood, and tonight would be no different.

“I feel like this isn’t nearly enough wine.” Kya tutted, bringing bags down to the fire pit. Lin and Tenzin had been tasked with gathering logs, while Bumi and Izumi were on the grill and Kya’s role was griping, apparently. “Izumi are there more somewhere else?

“There’s like four bottles there.” Izumi reasoned.

“But we’re five people and we’re here for like three nights.” Kya argued, turning to her brother with a wine bottle pointedly. “Bumi! What gives? This was supposed to be like you’re whole thing.”

“I knew I forgot something.” Bumi frowned. Twenty-four had been kinder to him than his teens. As the years passed by, he found himself growing less and less drawn to the compulsion that once felt like it held him together. Suffice to say, alcohol had not been on his mind when he’d gone shopping. “Okay I’ll run into town. Tez want to come with me?” He asked, nudging the teen with his foot as he started to construct a fire pit.

Tenzin swatted away his hand. “It’s not that much to carry,” he reasoned. “I’d rather stay and help, you can do it.”

“Just come with me.” Bumi pushed, nudging him again.

“Not all of us can blend in.” Tenzin said, definitively, raising his voice just slightly. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, the way their father would. “I can’t exactly go buy alcohol without attracting attention. Go yourself.”

“Okay.” Bumi started, sharing a look with Izumi. His heart had all but dropped. “Fine.”

Before he could turn to leave, Lin cleared her throat. “I’ll go with you.” She said, dusting off her pants.

Bumi looked to his brother, who had a fairly dejected look, and back to Lin, who was unfazed. “Great.” He said, starting away before any more retaliation could follow.

They started down the quiet path in silence, knowing that soon they’d be met with a vibrant cacophony that shrouded every tourist town.The only store selling bottles of alcohol that was still open was on the other side of town, meaning that Lin and Bumi had a long stroll ahead of them. Bumi didn’t mind walking through the plaza. Between the bars and the tourists, was always so full of energy it was practically calling to you to stay and have a dance- which Bumi would, on more than one occasion. But tonight they had a mission.   

“I heard about the promotion.” Lin pipped up, first. “Lieutenant Commander. You should be really proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Buggy. Really.” Bumi said softly, pulling out an old nickname. In just a few short months, he would become the youngest Lieutenant Commander in the history of the United Forces. He’d fought, tooth and nail for this position. He’d earned it by himself for himself. He’d finally done it. And his parents would be there to watch for the first time. Lin smirked. “But you- I haven’t seen you in months- what are you up to? Any big summer plans?”

“I mean,” she started, stepping up onto the sidewalk as they switched from their dirt path and into the city. Her sandals clacked against the old pavement, mixing seamlessly into the sounds of live music and rockus meals spilling out of open air restaurants. It wasn’t always like this, it used to a sad, quiet place with sad, quiet people, but their parents had changed that. “First it’s graduation, then training for the academy entrance exam, then boot camp if I get in, and then starting classes the fall.”

Bumi clicked his tongue, trying hard not to get distracted by everything unfolding around him. It was really the only thing he missed on the boat. The people. He was a city boy at heart.

“How planned.” He chided.

“Well you know me.” Lin sighed.

“I do.” Bumi nodded. “So Tenzin must be excited that you’re staying in the city. Not that he should be the reason, or anything.” Much to Bumi’s chagrin, Tenzin had kept the details of his relationship with Lin decidedly private.

“Yeah, he is.” Lin practically beamed in a sappy, young sort of way that made you want to make sure it could last forever. 

The two of them weaved through the crowd on the main road, before opting to take a less populated street, which Sokka used to insist was a shortcut, to get to the store. Inside, Bumi bought an egregious amount of wine while Lin wandered around the store trying hard to look like she’d done this before. Bumi resisted the urge to ask her to pay for it, just to see her face. 

With a bag in each hand, they started back out on their quest. In the streets, the nightly festivities were throughly under way, making a clean walk through the plaza almost impossible. Not that Bumi was complaining, he’d force them all to come dancing later this week whether they wanted to or not.

“Bugs.” Bumi sighed, slowing his gait. They were back on the short cut, clinking and bopping as the road became less and less robust. Their dirt path was just a stones throw away, and soon they’d all be back in it. “Is something wrong? Just- I don’t know he feels…” Bumi fumbled, jostling the bag under his arm. “Something just seems off.”

Lin’s face faltered.“It’s not just you.” She mumbled, just above a whisper. “But it’s not about you, either.” They were just outside of town now, the lights from the plaza glowing just behind them, and the winding path to the beach in front. The sounds of the waves crashing on the beach mixed with the lantern flies buzzing around their heads, filling the stillness as they stood. “There’s been a lot of talk… with all of our parents but also just everyone about Tenzin.  About the fact that he’s graduating in a couple of weeks and the fact that he’s going to be eighteen…” Lin shifted the bag to her hip, squeezing it harder than she needed to. “It’s just stressing everyone out.”

“Right.” Bumi frowned.

“Sokka says that it was like this when he was introduced, but obviously I don’t remember that.” Lin continued, almost spitefully. A small shiver danced up Bumi’s spine. He remembered it. Not all of it, but the bits and pieces were enough to paint the picture. His parents didn’t sleep that entire autumn. That season also housed the first time he ran away. Lin cleared her throat, trying and failing to mask a small hitch in her voice. “Anyways it’s just hard. This is the time where we’re supposed to be making our own choices for the very first time and he’s… he can’t. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“He should talk to Izumi.” Bumi said, almost chuckling. It was easier here, under the protection of the Ember Island grove, on their little path. It was easier for their great big lives to feel small, to feel livable.

“I’m sorry it’s been so tough, Bug.” He sighed, wrapping a free arm around her shoulders. Lin leaned in, for just a moment.

“He’ll be okay.” Lin said, wiping her face and stepping away from their embrace. “We should head back.”

Bumi didn’t push, he didn’t clarify that he was lamenting for her, not his brother, because of all that this meant for all that they’d built. But Lin wasn’t ready for that, and who was he to deny her this summer? Time had never been kind to his family, and it would seem, that she’d become too close not to meet the same fate.


After a boisterous dinner and an even more spirited after party around the fire, Izumi and Lin decided to call it a night somewhat simultaneously. Izumi claimed to already be feeling a headache and Lin argued that she didn’t want to be responsible for the bottles left a strewn across their corner of the beach, but they had met each others eyes with a far too knowing look to be coincidence. His siblings though had been too caught up in finding constellations to catch it.

Instead of following his girlfriend inside, Bumi poured himself another glass and sat back in the sand beside his brother. They were laying in the same order they used to lay on Appa, Bumi, the baby, and Kya by the supplies. He’d been their protector once, the literal buffer between them and the sky.

Just a few feet away from them, the fire had died down to embers, but he could still smell the smoke. “So Tez,” Bumi started, settling in the sand with a wicked grin. “Are you going to tell mom and dad about the booze like last time?” Kya snorted.

“Are you going to tell mom and dad that you’re married?” Tenzin scoffed.

“That can’t keep being your come back.” Bumi frowned, taking a sip that went half in his mouth and half onto the sand. The summer they were both twenty-two, he and Izumi had decided to do the bonding ceremony of his father’s people. It had been just the two of them, in his father’s temple at sunrise. It was perfect. Bumi had initially sworn off telling anyone, but as soon as he was alone with his siblings he spouted it out with such a big stupid grin on his face. He couldn’t help himself.

“I feel like as long as you’re secretly married it totally can be.” Tenzin retorted. They were each still staring right up, counting constellations, but Bumi could practically feel the smirk on his face. “Also I’ve found four.” He added, smugly.

“Hey!” Bumi gasped. “What on earth happened to you? You’re so bitter!”

“He’s been ruined by teenhood.” Kya chided, giggling. Bumi wondered, breifly, if perhaps the last bottle had been a bad idea. “Absolutely corrupted.”

“Kya stop there’s no getting through to him.” Bumi sat up, reaching a hand out dramatically to fake-comfort his sister. “He’s mean now.” 

“That’s what they say.” Tenzin nodded, deciding to play along. “And I won’t tell them. But don’t test me.” He warned. Bumi waved his hands, backing off as he settled back down. They sat in silence for a few moments, only pipping up when they’d found another constellation.

“I found five. And also I’m moving.” Kya declared, after a while. Both Tenzin and Bumi shot up, leaning on their hands as they turned in succession.

“Again?” Tenzin gawked, kicking sand in the air as he shifted.

“Don’t say again like that.” Kya frowned. “Yes, I’m going to join a health clinic in Anada City. It’s near Taku.”

“Wait… that’s where June lives, isn’t it?” Bumi said, the realization dawning on him. “You’re chasing a girl!” He exclaimed. Kya and June had met at the academy in the North, had a somewhat fraught love affair which ended when June took a post in Taku, back in the United Republic where Kya swore she’d never put down more roots than she already had. Until now.

“No.” Kya said, turning up her nose. She started waving her arms, hand-talking in the way she would when she was lying. Bumi smirked. “I’m applying all the skills I learned in those crazy schools to actually help people.”

“You’re chasing a girl.” He giggled again. Kya was about to refute, or at least push him, but before she could their younger brother sat up.

“Wait…” He put up a hand, silencing them both. Tenzin turned to Kya and looked at her, head on, in a way he hadn’t since they’d all arrived. “So you’re coming back?” He asked. His voice was far from hopeful, but it was younger than it had sounded in a while.

“I’m coming back.” Kya nodded, squeezing his arm. “Why, you miss me little brother?” She teased, in their mother’s language.

“Nope.” Tenzin said, firmly, though if they had called Lin back out Bumi would wager she’d beg to differ. “I just need to prepare. The house is finally quiet.”

“By quiet you mean quiet enough for you and Lin-” Kya sneered.

“So June is gonna meet mom and dad then, huh?” Tenzin asked, not giving her the satisfaction of getting flustered. Bumi was impressed.

“Not necessarily.” Kya argued.

“I mean if you’re living in the same county, they’ll definitely meet, little bird.” Bumi deduced, sympathetically. “But they’ll love her. She’s great.”

Kya groaned, cradling her head in her hands. “It’s not her I’m worried about.” She lamented through her fingers. Tenzin snickered.

“What?” Bumi clutched his chest, dramatically. “You’re worried about introducing a normal person to our family? I’m shocked and appalled!” Kya and Tenzin both broke into a fit of laughter, their matching crooked grins taking over their whole faces, to their brother’s immense pleasure.

“So wait.” Tenzin started suddenly, needing no time to catch his breath. “If you’ll be there,” he said,  pointing to his sister, “And if Bumi’s coming back for Lieutenant Commander certification and training… We’ll all be in Republic City this summer. For a month at least.”

“Wow.” Kya whistled, long and low, as it settled.

“When’s the last time all three of us were there?” Bumi wondered aloud, suddenly embarrassed that he couldn’t remember. “It wasn’t last year’s Independence Day, was it?”

“I was North.” Kya frowned, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Lin’s metal bending demo?”

“I was at sea.” Bumi sighed, wracking his brain. Republic City housed so much of him, so much of his growth and his failures and all that made him who he is. It’s where so many of his childhood memories live, and the only place where all of them include both of his siblings. He’d been back, of course, and so had Kya, but their visits home didn’t often line up. She would come to him, or him to her, or their family would all meet in the Fire Nation or the South Pole, but it wasn’t often that they’d all meet back at home. It was hard to remember that there was a time when it felt like everything.

“It was my tattoo ceremony.” Tenzin pipped up. He was laying back down now, his eyes on the stars. Bumi and Kya shared a look. If he wanted to, he could completely disappear.

“Really?” Kya pressed, sobering with uncomfortability.

“It couldn’t have been that long ago.” Bumi wondered aloud.

“It was.” Tenzin confirmed, scratching his head, absentmindedly. “Kya you’d just graduated and Bumi was on leave. It was just before my fifteenth birthday.” He spoke with something beyond apathy, like every word was laced with indifference, every sentence ending in quiet acceptance.

“Huh.” Bumi sighed. And there it was. Bumi and Kya had to leave to become who each of them needed to be, and Tenzin had to stay to become who the world needed. They had to go, and he knew that. He still felt abandoned, though. And they knew that too. “Well just have to make the most of it, then.” Bumi added, nodding reassuringly to his sister before they both laid back down.

Between them, Tenzin sighed longer and louder than most people could.

“We always do.”


Bumi thought he’d done it. That his stones had been smoothed out so well, so beautifully, that they could decorate the entry table of the Ember Island elite. They would all be home this summer. They’d share one more summer of family dinners and weekend sparring sessions on the island and nights in the city that he loved so dearly. They’d be home. They would come back to each other. He’d fixed it.

Izumi was waiting up for him, of course, meeting him with the most lovely, comfortable embrace and an enthusiastic ear. They talked, as they often would, about their future and their second wedding and if their children would have his eyes or hers, before slipping off into one of the least fitful sleeps that he’d had in longer than he’d care to admit.

Knock knock

It lasted only three hours. Bumi was many things, but he was not a deep sleeper, and with one soft noise at his door, he was upright and out of bed. Thankfully, Izumi was almost his opposite, practically weighed down by the lack of energy from a sunless sky.

Bumi stumbled out of bed and to his door, half-way through a yawn when his brother came into view. Tenzin was in his sleep shorts, but they were riddled with sand meaning he’d been up for a while His eyebrows were so far up his head in anxiety that his arrow was getting distorted. The sliding glass door was still open just a crack, and the cool breeze was more than welcome. Bumi blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Tenzin was practically buzzing with energy, but it wasn’t eager or even angry, it was just there.

“I’m going to ask Lin to marry me.” Tenzin said. He spoke in a hushed tone, clasping and unclasping his hands together.

Bumi blinked. He carefully shut his bedroom door and joined his brother in the hallway. “Okay.” He started, taking it all in.

“And she’s going to say no.” Tenzin added. His voice was clear, definitive, like he’d never been more sure. Detachment was something he’d mastered, though Bumi was not sure who’d taught him.

“Is this what’s been bugging you?” Bumi asked, it all clicking together. Tenzin was chewing on the inside of his cheek, nodding just a little too quickly.

“Maybe.” He muttered.

“She might not.” Bumi offered. It felt futile, but there was little to say.

Tenzin made a sound akin to a dry laugh. “I know her.” He argued, switching to their father’s language.  I love her. She’s going to say no.”

“Maybe she’ll say yes.” Bumi countered again. He wanted to believe in love. Believe in the fact that they could make it work. That the fate that fell on his brother wouldn’t cost him more than it needed to.

“She doesn’t want kids.” Tenzin explained. His hands were shaking now, just slightly.

“You don’t know that.” Bumi argued. He was wide awake now.

“Sure I do.” Tenzin sighed, running a tired hand over his head. “Kya doesn’t want kids. People don’t want kids, it’s fine. I just…” Tenzin cursed in their mother’s language under his breath. “I can’t not want kids.”

“That’s not true.” Bumi spoke too quickly. It was the wrong thing to say. It was painful to admit this part. That his brother was bound to so many things. Rooted to one future, the future that would bring balance at last. It was almost impossible to make peace with the fact that the same thing that hurt their parents would hurt him. That the pain didn’t end here.

Tenzin slowed, meeting his eyes with a far less indifferent acceptance. “Friend.” He begged. “Please don’t.”

“Okay.” Bumi waved a hand, understanding. “Okay. Yes, you need to have kids. But… now? You could be together longer you-” he sputtered, growing far louder than he should. Bumi felt pinpricks forming in his eyes. He sighed. “You don’t need to do this right now.” He felt like he was begging for borrowed time that Tenzin seemed to already be aware they were out of.

“Mom and dad got married at eighteen.” He refuted, crossing his arms. Bumi scoffed.

“Do you want to be mom and dad?” He dared.

Tenzin looked away.

“No.” He said, quietly. For a moment, the waves and the breeze were all that Bumi could hear, all that he could feel. A part of him knew that was Tenzin, knew that how it was how he tried to calm down, how he calmed others down too, but they’d never talk about that part. About the extent of his balance bringing.

“So why now?” Bumi encouraged, searching his brother’s face for an explanation.

“I need to check boxes, Bumi.” Tenzin massaged the bridge of his nose. “I need to start checking boxes. And I knew that, you know. I knew that!” He shifted his weight, growing more exasperated. The world grew louder. “I know that that’s what this is and it’s all fine but I just… I just…”

“What?” Bumi asked. Tenzin stopped moving and took a hitched breath.

“I love her.”

Tenzin met his brother’s eyes with such a desperation he could practically feel. All the walls were down. It was just the two of them now. And Bumi would have traded places in an instant if it meant he could erase that look from his face. Instead, he opened his arms, and let his brother spill into them.

Aside from the few times danger had found its way to their doorstep, when forces threatened to take away their parents, or each other, on rarer occasions, Tenzin wasn’t someone who cried. Even then, even when he was small, it was only a few tears, tucked away quickly and hastily forgotten. Aang had once explained that air benders were supposed to be good at regulating their emotions, that it was a sign that they were in line with the wind, that they were in control. Bumi didn’t quite see it like that, but what either of them thought didn’t matter. He hadn’t seen his brother cry in a long time. And never like this.

Bumi’s hold tightened as wracked sobs flooded from his brother’s shaking frame.

“She’s going to hate me for this.” Tenzin muttered aloud, wiping tears from flushed cheeks. He’d taken a step back, clutching his elbows like they were all that was holding him up. Bumi waited for him to catch his breath. “She’s been my best friend for my entire life and…” He clutched harder, breaking back down. Bumi was there to catch him. “She’s going to hate me.”

“Oh buddy.” Bumi sighed, cradling his head. They stood together, interwoven and steadfast, as it all came out.

After a few moments, which could have been seconds or could have been hours, Bumi heard a creak at the end of the hall. Tenzin was too distracted to notice two glowing blue eyes approaching them with a nervous curiosity. Bumi wasn’t sure what to tell their sister, how to communicate all of the love and the loss, but as soon as his eyes met hers, it felt like she understood.

Kya reached out a hand to rub Tenzin’s back gently, which was all he needed to spring into her arms. She swayed slightly, letting the gnawing energy that was settled in each of them shake out as they held each other. Over his shoulder, Kya locked eyes with Bumi and beckoned him back into the embrace. Bumi wrapped both hands around them, letting Tenzin settle in the middle, protected on either side as he let himself fall apart.

The next few months would not be kind to their brother, nor would the next few years. They hadn’t been kind to any of them really, but the beauty of younger siblings is that it all feels much rawer when they go through it themselves. It was in this moment that Bumi knew that he’d come back for them. After all was said and done. No matter what that needed to look like. He’d spent so much time wondering if they needed him anymore, that he’d forgotten how much he wanted them.

Whatever happened in the morning, or in a month, or in a year, Bumi would be there. And he would keep being there.

 

The End. Again. 

Notes:

heyyyy. so wow yeah. while im not the grandest tenzin x lin fan, i think that their love story is so tragic. it's what gets lost in the war, what's lost in the quest for balance. there are casualties. their love is one of them.

also i just love ruminating on like okay, I don't love all of LOK's depictions of bumi kya and tenzin and their dynamic, but how could we get here? what happened that this is the result? and whether or not I "honor" the end, the middle is super interesting i think.

i think that they'll be okay, that Bumi and Kya and Tenzin and Lin and Izumi and Su find their way. and i also think it's really, really hard.

please be kind to yourself and others,

all my love,

Azalea

ps the song is by mitski

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