Heat.
And arms.
Flesh.
And lips.
Gasps.
And more heat. She wondered if it would be enough to warm her.
Everyone-and she too-tended to forget that there was a heart beneath all the rock and metal, and she only recalled it when it grew cold in her chest.
The tavern wasn't meant to warm her, nor was the sake, but with each downed cup of the latter, the voice across the bar seemed to grow warmer and warmer, until she found herself embraced by its owner's hot arms, falling into her own bed. And her body burned with a new fire.
But when she awoke the next morning to feel no other heartbeat in her apartment but her own, she found that her heart was still cold.
And then there wasn't blood when there should've been.
And there was vomit when there shouldn't have been.
And all the Healers in the city said the same thing.
And she couldn't stop the hot tears from flowing down her cheeks.
But they couldn't warm her.
And they flowed down her cheeks as she found the only one whom she could seek.
"Toph, what is it?" His voice full of concern.
Her throat dry: "Sokka...I'm pregnant."
"Who…?"
She tucked her head low. "I didn't even know his name."
"Well, you're not alone. And the little Toph won't be either."
She couldn't find words for him.
He wrapped his arms around her. "They may not know their father, but they'll know Uncle Sokka pretty well."
And in his arms, her heart felt warm.