A short flicker of what I imagine will happen at the start of book 3. All Author Notes can be found in my profile.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, terms, and affiliates of Avatar: The Last Airbender are not mine, but belong to the respective creators, Mike DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko, and their licensor, Nickelodeon.
Dark. He was cast into this abyss, void of energy and thought. Though, despite the absence of light, he was warm and although comprehension was nonexistent, he somehow knew that beyond this obscurity, he was not alone
There is awake and there is slumber, but not all is black and white. Aang remained in the middle, occasionally drifting in and out of awareness of the physical world and the disorienting swirl of his dreams. Both would intermingle, threading and weaving together until truth and illusion became one: indistinguishable and whole. Memories were faded rays of dusty light in his mind, leaving him nothing to grasp when he reached out an uncertain hand. He could not get over the incredible emptiness that was inside him. He had lost, though what, he did not know.
A tangible warmth, something that he had come to depend on for consistent comfort, surrounded him, nurtured him, coaxed him out of the abyss, helped him find the escape. And then his eyes would open, and there would be blue--always blue. The undeniable validity was nothing short of agonizing to his sensitive mind, yet so concrete and brilliantly real that he would savor the moment, tucking the image away, until the insistent tug of unconsciousness pulled him away once more.
"Katara…"
She ignored him. Sokka gave her a hard look, willing her to turn around, to face this mess and the grave reality they had been thrown into. She stayed impervious, continuing to watch over the boy lying at her side. Sokka let his shoulders drop, a weary sigh escaping his lips. He squeezed his sister's shoulder affectionately, and though she was unresponsive to his touch he needed her to know that he would always support her. Not able to stand the sight of Aang much longer, he left the tent.
She heard the tent flap open and close, heard the angered steps, the quickened heartbeat. Moments later her ears perked to the dull thud of a boomerang wedging itself into a tree trunk. And again…again.
Toph dug her heel into the parched ground beneath her, agitated. It had been like this for the past week. Kneeling, she splayed an open hand on the ground below her, sightless eyes squinting in concentration. She could make out Katara's heart almost immediately, and then, slowly, she would hear the undeniable beating of Aang's heart. It was quiet, weak, but still it continued to pump in a steady measure.
Unbidden, her nose began to burn, her eyes stinging with tears. Standing abruptly, Toph walked away from the weak heart, away from the rhythmic thud, and the quiet anguish that pressed against her lungs like a steel vice.
Aang's hands befit him. They were warm, soft, kind. Even now, holding his hand with both of hers, she could sense the underlying strength and skill they harbored.
Katara looked at his hand cradled in her own, resting in her lap. She followed the blue line tattooed into his arm, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his pale lips, his closed eyes.
The sight of him lying there, fragile and motionless when he was once so strong and lively made her heart heavy, her breath labored, her sight blurred. He was slowly slipping away from her, and day-by-day, she would forget pieces of him. The sound of his laughter, the gray of his eyes, the way her name fell on his lips.
Lifting his hand, she pressed his palm to her wet cheek, her breath hitching unevenly in a silent sob.
His hand was still warm.
End.