She's 18, and he feels dirty for it.
She came with him to the Southern Water Tribe. It's more than he could've asked of her, but she came nonetheless.
That is Father for everyone. Wanting his last moments to be with Katara, where she loves the air around them. Where she will be most comfortable with him dying. Selfless as usual.
It's Father's selflessness that prompts Tenzin to want to end things with Pema. Darling, sweet, strong, infuriatingly compassionate Pema. He's 34. He's not getting much younger. It's asking her too much to let have her stay, stay with a man who will die long before her, who will bring unkind words upon her.
He has heard them. Whore. Power hungry. Her head is high, hair tossed behind her defiantly. Willing the world to continue as if she doesn't care. She does though, and that hurts him. If he loves her - which he does - the least he can do is set her free.
When Mother calls Tenzin in for one last goodbye, Pema squeezes his hand reassuringly.
"I love you," she whispers with a smile betraying how much she is falling apart for him. "Okay? We'll make it through together."
He manages the smallest of smiles back, a sad one. Because he knows that as soon as he exits the room again, he'll be less a father, and soon her. Her proclamation of love falls on deaf ears, in a way. He wants with every fabric of his being to hold her and tell her he'll never let her go, but it's not what's best for her.
His father is so selfless, and it's immature of Tenzin to not follow in the elder airbender's wise footsteps.
He pushes through the curtain into the igloo, the tips of his yellow garment scraping on the ice, snow accumulating. It seems wrong that his father is here last, but it seems right all at the same time. He's with the people he loves.
"Father," Tenzin acknowledges with a somber tilt of his head.
"Tenzin, m'boy," the once mighty Avatar replies, voice barely a rasp. Tenzin wills himself to look at his Father. He's not even a human anymore. His bones are just that, a framework barely disguised with skin hanging loosely, eyes sunken in, face gaunt. His gray eyes are a haunting of what they once were. What once sparkled with energy and amusement now only seek to remind Tenzin of what is coming to pass. "I'm glad you've come."
"I wouldn't miss seeing you one last time, Father," he chokes out. He can say it. He will say it. He can be strong. He will be. For Father at least.
Father's eyes drift closed, and he takes Tenzin's hand.
"I'm… I'm old…" he begins, and Tenzin wills himself not to show how numbingly frightened he is. Aang takes a deep breath, and Tenzin mentally readies himself for the words to come.
"Is she pregnant yet?"
Tenzin coughs, not expecting the words from the dying man.
"No. No… I'm going to end things. She's so young and deserves better-"
"Does she love you?"
"Yes," he answers. If he had any hesitation before, it's gone now with her untimely declaration.
"And you her?"
"Y-yes."
"That's all that matters," Father replies with a wheeze. "Nothing else matters, alright? Remember that."
Tenzin nods, and Aang hacks again.
"Send Katara in?"
"Y-yeah. Of course." Tenzin can't help a little hysterical laugh. "Here I'd thought you'd be loading me with your top life lesson or something."
Father's eyes crinkle into the last smile Tenzin knows he'll ever see from him. "I did."
The world's savior cries out now, at the world's mercy, most ironically, and Tenzin is pushed out as Katara hurries in.
Something collides into his body, and he looks down to see Pema's small form.
That's why he loves her. She doesn't ask if Aang is okay. She knows - he knows - he's not. She doesn't ask him how he's doing. She just hugs him, because she loves him and that's enough.
He stands there gingerly, wondering if it would ever work. His arms automatically circle around her, and it feels natural; it feels right.
That's what he needs. The wholehearted feeling of just, just… right.
Mother brushes past him, eyes full of such an emotion that he cannot possibly comprehend what she is feeling, and he knows it. Tenzin's hold on Pema tightens, his head leaning down to nestle in her neck, eyes squeezed shut.
Her hand settles on his head, and her gentle shushing and swaying gently are the only things allowing him to grieve silently.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders when the same look that flashed in his mother's eyes would come to flash in Pema's, but he pushes back the thought. They'll have to part ways someday exactly as his parents did, but not today. Definitely not today