Haven't written anything ATLA-related in a while. Here's some sad Kataang because Meehighmeelo remixed them a wedding song. Other stories are chugging along at a snail's pace. Really, I'm just out of practice with writing and having a difficult time sitting down for a proper story session.
This is a one-shot. Following will give you nothing but disappointment.
Reviews are nice.
-B
Katara was fourteen when she met the boy from the iceberg. She was sixty-eight when she had to say 'goodbye'.
His name was Aang. He had a laugh like air. His whole body was like the air. Floaty, light, constantly changing direction and dodging any blow.
Except, apparently, one to his health.
The doctors had told them it was just a cold. A cold that filled his lungs with fluid until he couldn't breathe. How Katara wished he would let her just bend the fluids out of him.
Instead she washed him and covered his failing body in sheets of linen.
"Come here." He said.
She wept into the muscle of where his shoulder met his neck. He refused to let her shave the coarse hair off his head.
"If I'm gonna die, I wanna know if I have male pattern baldness."
Her sobs turned to laughter. She did love the sensation of his hair. So thick and scratchy. Her face heated as she thought of the memory of it brushing against her thighs.
They made love one last time before he died. It was slow, both because of their tenderness and Aang's inability to do anything strenuous in his condition. Afterward, they lay in the dark with their eyes to the ceiling. As if the force of their stare could open up the wood to show the nebulas above.
"You will have to look after the next Avatar, too, I'm afraid." He said.
"I will have to do no such thing."
"Sorry, Katara. Could you please look after the next Avatar? The White Lotus mean well, but I'm not sure I trust their methods."
"That's better. And... I don't know, maybe? Aang. I don't want to think about losing you just yet."
"Not talking about it doesn't make me dying go away. It just makes you unprepared for the things that follow after."
He was infuriating. She kicked the covers off and searched for her slip. Burning hot, she groped the covers for any trace of wearable fabric. A hand stopped hers.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't push you like that." It was a white lie.
"No, you're sorry I got angry."
"I don't like to make you angry."
"Yet, you're so good at it."
Aang gathered her up in his arms and exhaled noisily into her hair.
"Please just think about it. I... I know it won't really be me, but if some friendships are strong enough to transcend lifetimes, I'd really like to be your friend again."
Aang died three nights later. She was holding his hand. He sat up very suddenly and thanked her for going penguin sledding with him. Then the room was bathed in blue light from the statue outside. All over the city, people dropped to their knees and beat at their chests because the Avatar was dead.
Korra was one of the few babies in the Southern Water Tribe to not be delivered by Katara.
Korra was not Aang. Her eyes did not twinkle with mischief or an awe of nature. She did not have the same soft curve to her mouth or thin, bony shoulders.
Korra was a tiny titan filled with fury and attitude. She had sharp eyes like a predator and a haughty pout. She moved like a wrecking ball and demanded the attention of all around her.
Well, that she and Aang had in common.
"Master Katara, look!" She was seven and had already perfected her octopus technique.
"That's nice."
"You're not looking."
"That's nice."
"But, I'm not doing it right now!"
Katara had to excuse herself to laugh-sob into a glove for a few moments. While she was gone Korra had made killer snowmen and was fighting them off.