~Convergence~

Have you ever watched something from the outside, feeling as though you'd know exactly what'd happen?

The actions of two or more individuals; a young girl running out into the street after a rubber ball as a man argues with his wife in their Satomobile, and you're just a bystander—you don't know for sure whether the worst would happen, but you can see something coming; an accident, a wheelchair, a possible heroic rescue. It's not predestination, not fate; just a potential path of action setting out before a pair of individuals who are possibly intended to collide. Instead of a fork in their road, it forms a species of convergence; their individual lines of choices lining up and suddenly changing everything.

It was in the winter of this past year that I witnessed one cataclysmic convergence, and it started with a question about tea.

…

"Hey—Commander, I hope I'm not imposing too much, but…" Asami stumbled through her thoughts, twiddling her thumbs under her lowered eyes. She already felt embarrassed asking the question she had on her mind, but she didn't know who else to talk to.

"What's the matter, Asami?" Bumi raised a curious brow, placing the notes of damages to his brother's home back on a nearby table. "Koala-otter got'cha tongue?"

Her face instantaneously flushed, as though overcome with a fever. "I—it's nothing, I just… Are you aware of the General's favorite variety of tea?" The young woman nervously brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I… I assumed you two were well acquainted, and I didn't know who else to ask."

With a light chuckle, the Commander couldn't help but wonder about the young woman's intentions. "Jasmine, I believe—why do you ask?"

"I…. someone told me his birthday is coming up soon, and I thought it'd be nice to give him something practical," Asami raised a gloved hand to rub the back of her neck. "I—it could've been bad information, but—"

"No, you were correct, his birthday is in December." Bumi shrugged nonchalantly. "Right around the winter solstice festival, in fact. When the General was a little boy, he was always disappointed that he only got presents once a year—even if it was quite a bit of nice things."

"Okay—that's good," Asami lowered her eyes once more, then broke out into a kindhearted smile. "I really appreciate your help, Commander. Can we… can we keep it a secret that I asked, however?"

"Of course," Bumi smiled. "Wouldn't want to give the princey-boy any spoilers."

As the young woman departed from the cabin of his ship hastily, the veteran Commander leaned back in his leather bureau chair. How strange—the young woman confiding in him, barely more than an acquaintance. Yet, he would be the kind of person to hold such intimate knowledge of the young General's habits and mannerisms, the kind of person who'd have an idea of the prince's favorite variety of tea.

"Odd," He muttered to himself, then threw his leather military boots up on the surface of the desk. "Quite odd indeed."

Another girl had once asked him what to get a different young fellow he was close with—Bumi hadn't regretted his answer then either, even if the pair wasn't still together.

Then again, those two had barely been children—no more than in their early teens. People tended to change; or more accurately, people remained the same.

The commander saw it mathematically. Geometry—which was his only strong subject in light of his occupation-theorized that there's two kinds of lines: parallel and perpendicular. Sometimes, individuals mimicked the shapes of the world; running against each other perfectly yet never destined to meet, or colliding for one instant, a short, brief implosion of two people who were just too different.

He figured the latter was more poetic, desirable, romantic—but not all lines were straight.

Some lines curved like the surface of the planet, some fates intertwined, some people were entirely capable of converging and remaining part of one eternal array of infinite numbers.

Sometimes these lines just needed a small tweak; a small adjustment to the variables to insure that intersection, to make a minor change the course of the path.

"I just can't make the same mistakes I did as a kid," Bumi shook his head, glancing to a childhood photo on his desk of his sister, younger brother, and one of their childhood friends—Republic City's current Chief of Police. "Don't want anyone to wind up with a broken heart this time."

…

"She—What?" Iroh gasped, nearly dropping his chopsticks into his bowl of wonton soup. The young prince had agreed to go to lunch with his old friend, the Commander.

"You should ask her on a date," Bumi slurped up a large glomp of his noodles. "Really—I promise, she's interested in you."

"That's preposterous," Iroh shook his head. "I doubt she even has time for such a thing with her company."

"Iroh—I wouldn't lie to you, I promise." Bumi furrowed his brow. "Agni, I changed your diapers for ya, kid—I'd hope you woulda trusted me by now. I already told you—she actually asked me what you'd want for your birthday. I'd imagine that's a clear indication that she's interested."

"Well, what did you tell her?"

"That'd ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" A coy smile drew across the commander's face. "Just ask her, princey-boy. It wouldn't hurt for you to leave the fleet for once, at the very least."

…

At least as far as I can tell—he actually did.

I didn't hear much more about the subject from that young general, nor did I ask. But something changed. He began to smile more around the crew, he began to leave harborside in the evenings to go and do things in the city. I didn't feel the need to ask—I didn't want to pressure, be nosy, or throw in any "I-told-ya-so's", no matter how much I would've liked to do so.

And then, he asked if the fleet could travel south for this year's winter solstice festival—something about the Avatar and her friends heading that way for the week of the event.

Our conversation had been a month ago; we're about to dock in a harbor of the South Pole in a few hours.

…

The commander passed by a congregation of booths under a canopy of lanterns, noticing a distinct, familiar pair of different red jackets out of the corner of his eye. He quickly purchased a Sea Prune kebab, handing the booth attendant a pair of Yuans.

The older military man kept his distance, but began to munch on his snack as he watched.

The young woman in the darker burgundy coat handed the young man a small decorated package—he almost believed he could read the words "happy birthday" escape her lips.

The taller young man received the trinket with a pleasant smile, gently placing his arms over her shoulders, and pulled her into his chest warmly.

Small, white flakes of snow shimmered as the fell beneath the lantern canopy, disappearing into the icy ground as they drew out of the flames' ranges. Through the gradually incoming arctic precipitation, the commander had to focus his eyes to read the young man in a strong crimson jacket's response: "Thank you."

A gentle, knowing grin drew across his face, forcing the wrinkling dimples of his cheeks to make themselves apparent as Bumi turned back to the booth attendant to order another kebab.

"I think I'll have another—if you don't mind."

…