OF CAVES AND QUILTS
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The edges of the faded quilt were frayed; worn by a lifetime's worth of makeshift tents and trains, games of tug-of-war and picnics beneath tall trees- padding for enemy trenches, where battalions of barefooted soldiers waited, giggling, for their make-believe deaths.
It served as a sled for a memorable snowy afternoon, a cradle for cloth dollies and the cloak for an unfortunate dog-turned-superhero. There were tiny, pinkish stains where the quilt's owner had wiped raspberry juice upon it, and slight singe marks at a corner that no one would confess to putting there.
Later, as the owner of the quilt grew, memories came anew. A form, curled beneath the familiar patchwork, smiling in memory of a first kiss. Multicolored swatches covering the slumbering outlines of two bodies, entwined contentedly within the realms of cotton. Feeling the barrage of four tiny hands and feet as a brother romped with his sister.
Too early, the quilt had been passed on. Of course, the quilt was there to envelop its new owner as she sat huddled in her oversized bed, there to soak up the ocean of tears shed and there to warm cold toes when it had grown too late for the girl to notice.
Now it was her cave of solitude, she had decided. In the late afternoon, she had spread it over several chairs and the iron bedposts and had retreated from Sokka's teasing jibes. Thankfully, he had been picked for a sleepover, so her solitude was uninterrupted after that.
Katara swiveled her head upwards, watching the fading light from the enormous windows filter through the thick fabric. The patches directly above her head were a rich emerald, and her tanned cheeks were dappled with the tinted glow- ethereal and fascinating.
It shifted slightly as the blanket rustled.
"Katara?"
The young girl jumped as a small voice whispered from somewhere above her.
"Zuko?"
The fabric dipped minutely from the pressure of a small finger, wiggling thoughtlessly through a miniscule tear.
"…yep."
"Why are you here?"
"Your grandma let me in. Uncle's downstairs talking to her now." His voice was rigid, and there was something different about it. Something shaky and unfamiliar.
Silence. Zuko's breathing was heavy and uneven in the pause.
"…wanna come in?" A thin hand pushed back a cave wall and Zuko crawled in, slightly awkwardly, seating himself opposite her as the wall flopped back into place. He folded his long legs and hugged them to his chest, studying the toes of his socks.
"I didn't know you were coming over," Katara said brightly, grinning at him. "Are you guys gonna stay for dinner?"
Zuko stared at her, and exhaled deeply.
"Um, pro-probably," he managed, throat constricting. His eyes narrowed and Katara realized at that moment that he was trying very hard not to cry.
She sat up sharply, the top of her head brushing the cave wall and the smile wiped from her face.
"What's wrong, Zuko?" she asked, in as gentle a voice as she could manage. She scooted closer to him, peering in concern into his watery eyes. It took him several minutes, and when he finally spoke it was in a whisper- most uncharacteristic for her loudmouthed friend.
"My mom's gone," he breathed, and began to cry in earnest. Little sobs wracked his lean frame, and he sunk his forehead into his knees. It was surprising- Zuko, the perfect little boy, had never shed a tear, not even the previous spring when he had fallen several feet from a tree and had broken his arm as he tried to brace his impact.
Katara's blue eyes widened, and she slid across the buckling hardwood. Short arms snaked around older boy and squeezed tight. They didn't move for what felt like hours, though may have been minutes, or merely seconds, as time was very hard to judge in situations like this.
"S-she woke m-me up and…" the boy gulped, sniffling loudly and wetly. Katara reached into her pocket and handed him a clean handkerchief, something she had kept ready for similar situations of her own. He took it, blowing his nose (Katara turned away as tactfully as an eight-year-old could) and continued, still shaking.
"…um, she…said something weird and left, and-and s-she wasn't t-there at breakfast. D…dad said that she did something really bad and…" his face screwed up again, and the next words came out as a sob. Katara felt her own eyes prickling, and her lips quivered.
"And that s-she's never coming back."
Hours passed. The sun faded, and Kanna had snuck in to close the flowery curtains and switch on the lamps. The girl, for the first time in months, spoke of her mother, and the boy tried to smile sadly at the memories. It came out as more of a grimace, but Katara couldn't blame him in the slightest. Their mothers had been close friends, despite the obvious class barriers, and Zuko noted silently the omission of Ursa from the recollections. They ate dinner in the cave, side by side, wiping eyes and noses in depressing companionship and understanding, bathed in the greenish glow of the dimmed lamplight through the patches.
That night, the quilt had another memory to add to its folds. Another loss, more tears, more comforting to do. As time passed, perhaps it would see the return of play forts, new kisses, tanned skin beneath pale and tiny grabbing fingers, but for now it would wait. And watch. And comfort.
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Author's note: Is it just me, or did this seem a little rushed? I'd love to know how I could do better/what you guys thought.
Katara is eight here, and Zuko is ten, just in case you were wondering.
Oh, and I'm not just going to be writing modern AU, but the idea came to me randomly and I had to put it down.