Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender. All characters and events are a trademark of the creators and of Nickelodeon.
"I love you." Her statement was bold and simple, straight to the point and accurate. He stared at her. "What?" she questioned him, staring directly at her lover. "I love you."
He could easily put his finger on his first date with her, how uncomfortably awkward it had been, how her usual tough demeanor was suddenly quiet and shy, how many times he had to turn away to resist picking her up off her feet and kissing her. . .
"So. . . ." she said, in an attempt to make conversation. She was leaning back on her seat so it was nearly tipped over.
"So. . . ." he finished lamely for her. "How's life?"
"Fine," she answered simply. "Erm, the food here's great, huh?" Indeed, they were sitting in a restaurant in the city, surrounded by curious passerby who wanted to know more about the Avatar's friends. They were inside of a small building where there was only one waitress and a full house. The food was burnt to a crisp because it was the cook's apprentice who was doing all of the work and because all of the ingredients were not present.
"Yeah."
Without warning, she leaned farther back into her chair, crashing into the floor in a startled heap. He started laughing, a shine in his eyes never quite seen before. She stood up swiftly, her face slightly pink, but her mouth turned up in a small smile.
"Tomorrow?"
"Definitely."
The fall had been their ice-breaker, though unknown to him she had planned it all along. They had been dating ever since.
He sighed uneasily, wondering if it were possible to relive that moment again and again. . .
His initial reaction to her bold statement was to run, but he was shocked to find his heart beating wildly and his eyes staring longingly at her. Was it really happening like that? That easily? The only thing he knew was that his mouth was open, answering simply, "I love you, too."
He could easily recall their wedding had been a small one where only their friends and parents were invited. They were married outdoors near the woods because of her love of the earth and of his warrior blood, and more happy tears were shed that night that ever before. Trees were decorated with paper designs, and the food was of the richest quality her parents could buy. When he had seen her in her long white dress, breaking apart from her total tomboy-ish attitude for him, he probably would have cried. He had never loved anyone more.
On the week after their honeymoon, one of the most passionate, romantic nights of their lives, they were already living on their own in a small house in a small city in the Earth Kingdom. Their lives were perfect, happy and loving, fun and passionate, and. . . after a trip to the doctor, they had an unborn baby in the womb of a future mother.
Indeed, their lives were perfect.
Oh, what he would give to achieve that perfection again. . .
Laughing gaily, she collided with him, sending him spiraling toward the ground. Her lips found their way to his mouth. She was on top of him, her small body seeming to take up only half of his own. He smiled through the kiss and rolled over so that he was the leader on the top. He certainly felt like the leader on top of the world.
He could still remember how she used to waddle, a funny sight, really, the young girl hobbling about, small as she was, and if her eyes had been seeing, unable to see her feet. She would eagerly drop down onto the chair, exhausted, as though going across a small room, the smallest in their house, was long and difficult work. So tiny, she was, it occasionally looked like the baby was larger than her. He would tell her this, and she would glare as he laughed. She would shakily stand up and smash her foot down, the suddenly he'd find her as the one laughing and him the one glaring. . . from inside what looked and felt like a rock coffin.
"You look. . . nice," he commented slowly, carefully.
She seemed to know he was lying. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well. . . You're so small, the baby kind of looks. . . The baby looks like he's bigger than you?" he said hopelessly, stifling a grin and suppressing laughter. It did not avail. He fell off of his chair, the loud laughter erupting from his chest echoing through the hallways as he rolled around on the ground, his wife's glare piercing through him.
She smirked, causing him to jerk upright. She stood up unsteadily, then sent her left foot crashing through the group, her hand cutting a horizontal line through the air.
He suddenly found himself inside a large stone container. Her smile was large and showed her pleasure at his suffering, "What was that?" she asked sweetly.
Now there was no waddling. No hobbling across rooms. No chances of never getting out of a rock coffin alive. . .
His lips parted slightly, opening only for her use. He could feel her grin as she slid her tongue through his mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist. His heart was racing wildly, nothing keeping him back. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. He could hear it too.
He could remember the strange urgency in her voice one night. It was dark, not unusual for her, though, and there was a heavy pattering of rain against the thing windows. She staggered toward him into the room, her frail body leaning helplessly against the door frame. Her face never seemed more pale, deathly even, and her milky green eyes were focused eerily and directly at him, scaring him almost. Her lips parted, "Water. . . Broke. . . ."
Those two words were enough to make him jump up, worried for not just one life, but two. He demanded her attention, "What's wrong?" his voice seemed to crack as soon as he fully understood. Panic and fear were etched on his face and in his voice, undoubtedly, but she was in far too much pain to notice. She swooned, suddenly losing her grip on the door threshold, falling, collapsing, forward, down. . . Into his arms, for he had sprinted to get to her.
He held her in his arms like he had on their wedding night, only he wasn't overjoyed, he was over-worried. He hugged her close to his chest, one-hundred percent sure she could feel his heart beating rapidly. Her eyes were closed, and she was conscious, but just barely. Her closed eyes became the motivation of his running.
He stampeded out the door of their house, the heavy rain beating against his face, all like dozens of knives whipping and lashing out at him. She lay cuddled up, curled up, in his arms, the rain soaking her down from her ebony hair to her flimsy stretch shirt covering her enlarged stomach.
Faster, he kept urging himself, lifting his feet and pumping them forward. Faster. He was quickly losing the feeling in his arms, barely conscious of the numbing, dulling sensation coursing its way through his veins. She was a still small and light young woman, but her bulging belly added much more to her usual weight. If it weren't for his many years of warrior strength and training, he probably would have dropped her by that point.
She moaned, "I can. . . do this myself. . . Lemme get up. . . ."
Keep going, he instructed himself again, not believing a word she had struggled to say. The darkness already distorted his vision, but soon the horrid rain was lashing at his eyes as well. There was so much pain, but he had to keep going. He had been ready to collapse when he saw the light of the building he was aiming for. He kissed her tenderly on the pale white forehead, ignoring her slight twitch as it happened, then sprinted forward, giving himself the extra burst of energy and speed necessary to make it to the healing doctors.
She looked ready to scream, but held it back as he ran, knowing that they would be in safety soon. She snuggled closer to him.
Even now, as it rained, he could feel the harsh winds against his body and yet the softness of her cuddle as well. . .
Fingers fumbled with uncooperative buttons, lips reaching toward every place they could reach, skin tingling with warmth, heat everywhere. Clothes were scattered all over the ground in a matter of minutes, eager eyes, one pair anyway, looking up and down. Never were they happier.
He could still feel the boring eyes of the other people in the waiting room, the prickling red running up and down his neck, same as it had been when he had run into the doors of the building wet, tired, and dirty, hugging a small and pregnant woman against his chest. After an awkward, uncomfortable silence, he remembered his reason for being there.
"Excuse me," he called out uneasily toward a young woman by a desk. "Can I have some help? I think my wife's ready to deliver. . . ."
The woman stepped out, her loose and long white dress flowing around her waist. "Sir. Yes, you. . . Follow me. Take your wife into this room. Yes, right here."
As he walked to follow the woman, he felt his wife struggle. "Let me. . . Stand up. . . ." Her body stiffened, then she bit her lip as though holding back a wail.
"No," he whispered to her, denying his wife of what she wanted yet willingly obeying the nurse and placing the small soon-to-be-mother on the small cot like she were a breakable porcelain doll.
Her body suddenly seemed comfortable, and she screamed. It was a loud, ear-splitting sound, calling the attention of every nurse and person in the building. Her small hands clutched at her stomach frantically as her wailing grew louder.
He hated to hear and see her scream, it hurt him like a sword in the heart. "Shhh," he whispered. "They're coming to help you."
Her breathing came in deep, ragged gasps, her voice barely audible as she murmured an okay.
Doctors and nurses filed quickly into the room, and he remembered being ushered out hastily as they started to prepare her for the delivery. He paced around the hallway nervously, never hearing the screaming cease to an end. Fearing for her life, he burst back through the door.
Surprisingly, so much had already been done while he was out in the hall for about a minute. A man was standing next to her and instructing her with certain breathing exercises—in, out, in, out, in. . . Her forehead was dotted with sweat, causing her already wet hair to stick to her face in odd clumps. Crowded by other people to help with her delivery, she had never looked smaller.
Her skirt was hiked up to around her waist, undergarments brought down, large stomach heaving, screaming still coming through with each breath. . .
Now, he had only seen a baby being delivered once, and as Hope had been born, he had fainted. But there he was, loyal as ever, the husband of a future mother, and he almost fainted again. He took a deep breath as though her were the one in her position, thankfully he wasn't, and firmly clasped her hand into his, hoping in gave her confidence as well as reassurance.
He would love to relive that moment again and again, even if it meant that he would have to faint during every one of those trips. . .
A climax was reached, a scream was wretched, and suddenly, silence. Both lay on top of each other, deep breaths entering and exiting their bodies as they smiled. She rolled over and looked him, surprisingly, directly in the eye. "Another go?"
She gritted her teeth to hold back a scream and used all of her strength to try and push the baby out of her. It was hard and difficult, and the pain was excruciating. She wanted to stop.
"Push!" a doctor yelled. She squeezed her husband's hand tighter, unknowingly sucking the feeling out of his hand.
Push.
She released as much of her strength as possible, nearly gnawing through her bottom lip when she held back a scream. She felt flesh tear, blood pour. . .
Push.
Her skin was slowly losing more and more color, her body using up more strength to rid itself of the small child.
Push.
Her screaming started coming less and less frequently as she let out some more energy.
Push.
Where was that bright white light coming from? More strength. . . More blood. . .
"Come on! One more! She's half-way out!" a nurse screamed. Her husband tightened his grip on her hand.
Push.
Her head tilted upward. More. . . More energy. . .
Push.
Her blood was pouring. . . It was kind of. . . relaxing. . .
Push.
Her eyes closed.
He grinned, a happy sort of grin someone would get after winning a prize or, in his position, making love. He pulled her face closer to his own, kissing her on the forehead, then on her nose, then on her lips. She giggled and wrapped her arms around him, ready to start all over again.
Alas, a beautiful and loud cry was emitted from a young babe that night, such a cry that it echoed throughout the room, the building, possibly the city. He felt a small smile escape his lips when it finally dawned on him that the child was half of his own genes, a part of his own doing, his creation. Pure bliss soaked through his soul and he smiled. Happiness sang in his mind and heart, and he wanted to jump up and dance, kiss everyone on the cheek and hug every last man and woman on earth. He listened to the young child's cry, a healthy one, and smiled once again.
The baby was being wiped off with wet towels and water, the blood easily coming off with the help of all the doctors in the room. Feeling a little disappointed that he didn't get the chance to hold the child yet, he turned toward his wife, surprised that she hadn't so much as uttered a word.
His upturned mouth twisted down into an ugly scowl as he stared at his love, cold and unmoving.
He rushed over to her, placing his hand on her lips, his ear to her heart, her hands to his face. She was limp, motionless, gone. . .
One lone tear slipped out of his eye as a loud, strangled cry escaped his lips. The men and women surrounding the newborn all turned around to face him, their eyes following his gaze, widening, then rushing over to comfort him.
The feeling of worry and dread never seemed to have left him since his arrival at the hospital, and now he knew why. She was gone.
"Here, why don't you hold your daughter?" someone asked.
"She was so small, it was bound to happen. . . ." a pathetic excuse came.
"Please, why don't you come here?" another one questioned.
No one could seem to come up with comforting things to say, and even if they had, it wouldn't have worked anyway.
He was frozen.
Their vows to each other were re-recited that night, when they made love again and again. Kisses were simple gestures, words being more powerful.
Eternities seemed to pass, though he couldn't tell, all he knew was that he couldn't survive without her. They were soul mates, true lovers, he needed her to live. She was his air, his blood, his soul. He would be a useless wreck. He was a useless wreck.
He clutched nervously at her hand, the newborn infant with the doctors for health testing. Her small lily white hand was cold, enclosed in his large tan and warm ones. "Please. . . ." he whispered hoarsely, tears close to freedom. "Come one. . . You're tough and strong-willed and independent. . . You can make it. . . Please. . . ." he choked. "I can't live without you. . . ."
She didn't move.
Ages passed again, and he refused to leave her side, even when it had been announced official, when it became obvious, that she was never going to open her unseeing eyes again. He would never leave her side. He wanted to be with her, needed to be with her. She was his energy, his reason to live. Without her, he found no reason to continue.
Occasionally in the dead silence of the night, he would hear her voice, her beautiful voice, whisper, "I love you." Just hearing the statement would reduce him to weeping even longer at her bedside.
The doctors didn't understand, all they did was constantly repeat how he should leave to take care of his child, how he should prepare a funeral for his wife, how they needed the room back. . .
Eventually, though, he was demanded to leave. Tears still burned his eyes as he held his wife and child. He carried his wife as he had on the night of her delivery as well as on their wedding night, bridal-style. The baby was in a small carriage with a handle to push. The family, now broken, was finally admitted out of the hospital. It had been nearly three weeks.
Oh how he longed to hold her again. . .
"Would it be so wrong if I proposed to you now?" he whispered into her ear. She shivered at his cool breath but smiled and nodded eagerly, encouraging him to continue, the light of the moon shining in her hair and in her eyes. "Will you marry me?"
Her smile was brighter than that of the moon. "Yes."
"Daddy?" a young voice peeped out, tugging at his blue-green shirt. He was currently situated in a chair by a large window in the living room. Heavy thunder boomed and bright lighting stroke through the sky as he stared out the window, watching the rain fall as he remained stoic. It was the eve of his daughter's birthday, her third birthday.
"Daddy?" she squeaked out again.
He turned away from the window as the lightning stroke across the black sky. "Yes?"
She smiled. The young girl looked like a miniature version on her mother, from her unruly short black hair down to her apparent lack of height. She had her mother's nose, her mother's lips, her mother's skin color, her mother's everything, basically. The one thing that would have disturbed him the most would have been if her eyes were the exact same green shade and if she were an earthbender, which thankfully weren't existent. She had the same shaped eyes as her mother, though. The only thing she seemed to have inherited from her father was the color of her eyes, the deep oceanic blue color.
"Watch doin'?" she asked sweetly, jumping up to see past him and look out the window.
He thought carefully, putting a playfully exaggerated expression on his face. "Thinking," he finally answered.
His daughter laughed, the replicated laugh of her mother. He cringed, causing her to stop laughing and draw back a little. He still wasn't over her.
He felt guilty and hastily apologized, running his hand through his unkempt brown hair. "Why don't you go to your room and sleep early tonight?" he suggested with fake enthusiasm. "Then you'll be able to wake up extra early for your birthday tomorrow."
She giggled excitedly and nodded, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Squealing, the young child skipped off to her bedroom.
The thunder boomed loudly as he turned back to his place by the window, watching as the rain slowed down to a drizzle.
Sighing, he said aloud, "I'm still not over her." And he never would be. He could never let go of his love, never blow her off like yesterday's news. She would always remain with him, tightly woven into his heart.
Sure, he felt guilty. He couldn't properly take care of his daughter because of her strong resemblance to her mother. His daughter. HIS DAUGHTER! His own flesh and blood!
His sister and Aang constantly told him to get over her, that time was supposed to heal a broken heart, that she wouldn't want him acting in that way, but he didn't care. He was mourning, and he had every right to do so, even if it had been three years.
They also told him not to blame her.
But for many reasons he still would blame her. If she had never been born, his wife would still be alive. She would have been the one he could talk to, the one he could laugh with, the one he knew he could love. It was sad, it was wrong, and it was true.
His love for his wife was too strong.
When they had been with him at the funeral, neither of them seemed to have cried as much as he did, for he hated to see her put down underground in a box. He knew she would have preferred just being dumped there, but he didn't have the heart to do so. All he wanted to do was to have her alive and with him again.
Sokka could never love his daughter fully because of his undeniable longing for the deceased Toph.
The moon seemed to shine brighter on the two after their second time, and they both rested contentedly in each other's arms as the moon started to dim out and the sun started to rise. It was a new dawn, a new day, a new beginning.
Yes, I do realize that there are a lot of holes in the story, a lot of grammar issues, and a lot of confusion. I apologize if you didn't understand it, but the story was painted so clearly in my mind it was crazy. All I know is that it's late and I wanted to get this up before tomorrow (Dunno why, I just did.) so I didn't properly check it. If you notice anything wrong, have any questions, or anything like that, let me know. This is my first Avatar fanfic so I'll be needing criticism (just not in a mean way).
-Sophia
P.S. Oh yeah, and the story was written in that format for a reason, I was just hoping it was easier to understand and all. . . I hope you liked it. I do. 'Twas fun to write.