Between the Lines
The one thing Aang never has to worry about is the one thing about which he worries most.
Nothing made Aang aware of how much he worried quite like the people around him. He'd always known that, being the Avatar, he would spend an unnatural amount of time worrying about the world, and that being Aang, the time he spent worrying would also be spent trying to right whatever had been wronged while convincing those around him that he had never worried in the first place. Worrying was always his second reaction to every dangerous or unpleasant situation, but it was the only reaction that came without fail.
He never worried for himself, of course. He had been afraid, at first, of death and pain, but somewhere between opening his eyes and defeating the Fire Lord, the fear had vanished. He would have balked if any other twelve-year old had told him they were unafraid to die (when life was already so short and the world was full of things to do and see), but death was nothing new to him. Every life ended. He'd simply been given the gift of having his begin again.
It wasn't his death he feared, and it wasn't for himself that he worried. It was for Katara, and for Sokka and Toph, and Zuko.
And even as things got better – as peace settled and war and chaos fled and some semblance of order returned to the world – it seemed Aang only had more to worry about. Zuko was moody and distant, keeping his thoughts to himself. Sometimes Sokka drank too much, and for all he loved Suki he didn't always act it. More and more often, Toph looked tired. It seemed she slept little more than she saw her parents – and that was hardly ever any more.
Only Katara gave him no cause to worry, and he worried over her more than he worried over the entire world.
She was always the one to set his mind at ease, and to assure him that his choices had been well made. She was a safe haven from a world that changed too quickly and demanded too much. She provided comfort and understanding and encouragement while he discovered that the only thing more difficult than attaining peace was keeping it. She listened to him, and she talked to him and she proved, again and again, that she loved him more than anything and that she was willing to live the kind of life required of anyone close to the Avatar.
She was just as good a wife as she was a friend. She kept each campsite as neat and tidy as she kept their little house – when they were home. She delegated chores and made sure things ran smoothly. She did most of the cooking when they were alone, and more than half the cleaning. She kept all their clothes mended and their supplies (as well as their pantries) well stocked. She made sure they had extra blankets for winter travel, and light clothes for summer. She took on all the duties associated with the traditional role of a wife, and everything she did she did with a smile.
"You never expected me to," she'd replied when he'd asked why she so willingly played the dutiful wife. She'd given him that strange, secretive smile he'd only ever seen on the face of a woman when she was thinking about the man she loved.
Of course he would have gladly taken on all the housework in exchange for her confidence. She shared most everything with him, but there were little things she kept to herself, for no other reason than they caused him to worry.
When she had to air out the entire house after long weeks away, she went to bed with an aching back and never once complained. She organized dinners and wrote letters and planned trips until she was too frazzled to even form a coherent thought. She kept her small discomforts and displeasures to herself to ease the burden he had to carry. She didn't seem to realize he worried all the more for her silence.
Katara had been quiet all through dinner, but he knew it wasn't her back. She shifted, when her back hurt, but now she sat still as stone in her chair. Sokka talked more than enough for the both of them, while trying to shove a spoon of carrot mash into the mouth of his firstborn, who was too preoccupied with throwing the same mashed carrot at his mother, who was having a very difficult time between eating and balancing her new baby on her lap. One boy was shrieking as only a child can, the other squalling in much the same manner.
"Are you sure you don't want to hold him?" Suki asked hopefully, nudging Toph with her elbow – the only bit of her she could spare.
Toph's sullenly blank stare stayed on the tabletop, and Aang heard her mutter, "I hate kids," before she smiled much too brightly and shook her head, replying, "No thanks. I'm afraid I might drop him."
"Katara can hold him," Sokka volunteered. "She's not eating anyways. And you need to."
Katara glanced up at the mention of her name, and then smiled at her sister-in-law. Suki handed the baby off with a tired sigh and a grateful grin.
"Enjoy the silence while it lasts," she said, after chewing and swallowing a large mouthful of boiled squash. "You won't have a moment's peace when you finally have kids, though honestly, I'm surprised we're not all knee-deep in little airbenders by now."
"Not everyone gets knocked up on their wedding night," Toph said, though once again no one heard but Aang. He choked on his milk, then nearly knocked his plate into his lap as Katara shoved the baby into his arms and rose from the table faster than anyone sitting could blink. She cleared her place, and hurried toward the kitchen with her dishes.
In the uncomfortable silence that followed (even the children grew quiet) Sokka said loudly, jokingly, "Talk about a pregnant pause," and Katara dropped her plate.
Then Aang knew what her silence meant.
AN: An older piece, long forgotten and recently found.