BROKEN BRANCHES

Knock, knock! Anybody home? Yes, yes, I'm aware of how insanely long it's been since I posted anything here. Sorry, mates, but that's life for you.

Fortunately, I got a bit of a spark now. You may not have noticed, but I've become quite intrigued by the animated Avatar series. I have all three seasons of The Last Airbender on DVD, and now I intend to collect the entire Legend of Korra series. (I already have "Air" and I'm requesting "Spirits" from Santa.) I was quite impressed with the finale yesterday. Oh, it wasn't totally flawless, to be sure; there were some things I wish we could have seen, but, unfortunately, there's only so much they can fit in one episode. Everything else is either clarified in a comic or left to the audience's imagination.

I, for one, wanted to see at least a little more of Baatar Jr. with his family. Say what you will about the young man, but his estrangement with his family was one of the things that had me so hooked. I really wanted to see how this "prodigal son" story would play out. My heart just about leaped at the scene with his mother, when he finally saw the error of his ways and made a heartfelt apology. It would have been nice to see some reaction from his dad, brothers, and sister. I know they've got a long way to go before things are truly set right, but still, yeah.

So I decided to take matters into my own hands. This marks my first fan story with chapters since...ever!

For those of you who have yet to watch the show, read at your own risk.

Characters © Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

PART 1: FATHER AND SON

Baatar Jr. stood outside his father's office. Though the door was closed, he knew his father was in there, as he always was this time of day. Besides, there was no mistaking the sounds coming from the other side.

Baatar closed his eyes, took a slow breath and just as slowly let it out. Though he considered himself a cool, levelheaded person, at least most of the time, right now his legs felt ready to give way beneath him and his stomach made him feel like something from breakfast disagreed with him.

You're only kidding yourself, that little voice wouldn't stop nagging. He'll never believe you. He'll never listen. You're just wasting your time—and his.

Baatar shook his head.

His mother might have welcomed him back with open arms, as was to be expected of mothers, but his father was a different story. Even now, his father's last words rang in his ears as clearly as if they had been spoken only a minute ago:

"I'm so disappointed in you, Junior."

As quiet and aloof as those words had been, Baatar would almost have rather heard his father shout in his face that he hated him, that he no longer considered him his son, that the very thought of him now made him sick.

And it would have been the honest-to-Raava truth, too, Baatar thought dismally, his shoulders sagging a little more.

He had disgraced his parents in about the worst way imaginable, all but hauled the good Beifong name through the mud.

Kuvira must have had Vaatu's Tongue when she first told him of her plans for the Earth Empire, and he had been stupid enough to go right along with her, to believe from the start that the two of them were in the right. Now that Baatar truly thought of it, he realized he hadn't done this for the sake of the Earth Empire, but instead for his own selfish desires—out of pure spite toward his parents.

Here, he'd thought, was his chance to make something useful of himself without his parents' interference.

All his other siblings got to choose what to do with their lives. Huan had his art. Opal had her newfound airbending. Wei and Wing had the makings of excellent athletes. And he had been stuck being his father's assistant. Not that the work itself didn't have its rewards—but his father eclipsed him in just about everything, including his name. Everyone only knew him and accepted him because of his father. He always had to make a good impression and could never afford mistakes. It reached the point where he would have sold his soul in a heartbeat just to get out of the confines of Zaofu.

Now that he had finally seen for himself that he was wrong, that he had been nothing more than a Pai Sho tile in Kuvira's hands, he'd had no other option but to run away, kill himself, or come crawling back to his family.

He still couldn't get over the way his mother stayed by his side and cared for him after Kuvira almost obliterated him along with Korra and the others. He could still see Suyin hovering over his cot, hear the sheer warmth in her voice as she told him, "Just rest, son. I'm here."

He still couldn't believe Suyin would talk to him at all after he told her to her face that Kuvira was the only person he considered "family." Just thinking about the way he'd hurt his mom, the one person who loved him and knew him better than anyone else in the world, made him flinch on the spot.

How much more had he hurt his dad, whom he had ordered to be taken and locked up like a criminal?

What must Dad think of me now? What else can he feel toward me anymore but pure disgust?

The young man almost turned away from the door, but he forced himself to stand his ground. Sucking in another deep breath, determined to do this before his courage failed him (and he seriously doubted he would ever find that courage again), he lifted his fist and gave a decent knock.

He expected no answer, but the door opened almost immediately.

His father, appearing well and lively in spite of his ordeal, gave quite a start at the sight of him. The surprise was short-lived, however, and genuine softness filled the elder's face and voice.

"Hello, son."

A plethora of words tumbled through the younger Baatar's mind, but all he could get out of his mouth was a very subdued, "Hi, Dad."

For a long time, neither of the men spoke.

They just gazed into one another's faces, the young Baatar wishing that his dad would say something, anything. He tried to speak himself; he had rehearsed his speech countless times, and yet he couldn't get his voice to cooperate.

Finally, the elder Baatar stepped forward, his eyes shining in a strange way behind his glasses. Before Baatar Jr. could react, his father had him in his arms, clinging to his boy like he had no intention of letting go.

That did it.

The young Baatar's entire composure turned to soup. Now his legs really couldn't hold him anymore; he might have ended up flat on the floor had his father not been there. His own arms found their way around his father's body, and he squeezed with every ounce of strength he could muster. He screwed up his face and just cried and cried, as he hadn't since he was a baby.

"Sorry, Dad," he could barely get out between sobs. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I'm so sorry. Dad, I'm so sorry."

He must have apologized this way twenty times or so in a row; no one bothered to keep count.

And all Baatar Sr. had to say in response was, "I know, son. I am, too."