Title: Strength in Falling
Author: i-embrace-ocd
Synopsis of the Collection:
These oneshots have been written to capture a few moments in the Tokka relationship where a better understanding of the characters can be gained. Sometimes the themes stray from this original focus point, but hopefully those'll be interesting enough to keep you entertained all the same. All other ships are kept to an absolute minimum and are easily overlooked, though this rule may be broken with one or perhaps two oneshots. Hopefully, however, I'll be able to stick to what I've got. I'll update weekly.
This collection is mostly to help me when I've got writer's block, to advance my talents as a writer, and to allow me to branch out a little with a few ideas I've had. I suggest you at least read the first one to evaluate whether or not this is your cup of tea, though I'm the writer, so I would say that. Oh, and by the way – the number beside each oneshot's title is related to the order of the ideas. This one, for example, was the eighteenth idea I came up with.
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Oneshot 18: Raindrops
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Toph loves the rain.
Most people are surprised to learn such a brilliant thing; most, in fact, insist that surely the constant patter of raindrops in her vision is annoying, but she always denies this. She is annoyed by the incessant vibrations caused by a crowd of feet, but raindrops and people – they're two totally, completely different things.
With people, there are lies and injustices and the most horrible evils; this fact is only reinforced by the war, which is a testament to the terrible things of which people are capable. Not all people are bad, of course, but not a single one is completely and utterly good. No, people are imperfect, impure. Stained by the sinful evils that they commit everyday.
Raindrops – raindrops are perfect. They have no heartbeat, have no breath; they are not conscious, and they can't do anything wrong. They can't cause pain – pain like Toph knows, pain like that which spreads through her body with every heartbeat she feels; they can't lie, they can't steal, they can't do anything wrong. And Spirits, rain is beautiful, because it paints a picture of the world around Toph. She hates water, normally – but rain is an exception.
Of course, all of that is fine and good. There's the fact that rain washes away some of the horrors of humanity; there's the idea that when it rains, the Spirits are crying, and that's a terrible, beautiful thing, to be bathed in the Spirits' tears. So many things about the rain are touching; Toph loves it, truly, but all of these reasons follow her main motive for her feelings.
Toph really loves the rain because it shields her tears.
With the rain often comes the howl of the wind, which veils her sobs beautifully; also with rain comes the desire to be inside, so while the world is huddled up in their homes or shelters or wherever they may be, away from the dreadful weather, Toph is left alone in the rain and may act as she pleases, because she is alone.
At least, she was alone, once. It rarely rains in the Fire Nation, but when it does, she rejoices; she will steal away from the Avatar's group for a few precious moments and bask in the comfort that is discomfort, enjoy the freedom of expressing her feelings with tears of grief: sorrow for her parents, for her running away, for the world's dependence on them (Spirits, what pressure), for the Fire Nation, for the hateful, horrible world. Her pain is washed away by the beautiful, comforting rain, by her dreadful, consoling tears. She always feels new afterward, feels like she is ready to live again; she is guarded about her feelings, is always so careful and safe about it, showing only what is truly necessary. She is only twelve, and the barrier she's set for herself is broken a few times, but for the most part she keeps her feelings pent up inside of her for the soothing experience of a single, wonderful release.
In truth, Toph hates crying; but she can't help it, and when Sokka began to follow her (apparently he didn't think she knew about it), she felt safe. She doesn't believe that he knows of her tears. He has grievances of his own; whereas she lets her feelings flow out of her in the rain, however, Sokka uses the cover and protection of night. Toph will stay up sometimes and hear him talk to the moon, and at first she thought he was crazy, but she learned. She always does.
So Sokka isn't crazy, and some nights he weeps, softly and just enough so that Toph could barely hear. But she does, and he always wiped his eyes so that never does a tear fall to the ground lest Toph sense it and know that he is weak.
She is weak, too, though, and has no right to hold against him a burden that they both must bear. She knows this, and she feels glad that she is not the only one who wants to hide away her pain and wait until it is safe to expose her feelings to the environment, and nothing and no one else. She knows she is not alone anyway, but Aang finds strength difficult and has so much pressure and has known so much pain that he often finds it hard to handle everything. Katara helps these times; she, too, is strong, but she isn't afraid to show her feelings, either. Toph wonders that perhaps sometimes Katara is ashamed; only sometimes, though, because Katara has known much as well and knows that to reveal emotion is not only weakness, but also strength in itself. Toph is not accustomed to this sort of thinking, and she finds weakness and dishonor and failure in tears.
She knows that he watches her, though, and even if he doesn't know that she cries (but oh, he does – she has no idea, but he knows), she knows that he is conscious of the sadness that envelops her with the rain. That is something she can't help, and so she doesn't dwell on it; but to share her pain is a little comforting, too. In the midst of their burdens and pain and sorrow there is him, and he, just like her, is searching for comfort and compensation in their shattered, broken world.
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Sokka loves the rain.
Most people decide that it is because even if he is not a waterbender, he is still Water Tribe, and love of water is only natural; no more thought is put into it, and people go about their businesses, moving on to other things. He is glad that no one tries to seek his true reason for this affection, for he is terrible at keeping things to himself and knows that his motives can be easily revealed, despite how well he might think he is concealing them.
He started out hating rain, really. They rarely got it in the Southern Water Tribe because it was always so cold and the only precipitation was blizzard after blizzard. Once they moved on to other parts of the world, however – rain was foreign, rain was annoying and wet and cold, though they weren't necessarily unaccustomed to these particularly things. As their exploits continued, however, he realized how much good it does.
Rain means life. Rain makes the world new again; rain has to power to make life rise among death. Sokka knows that rain quells fire, the enemy element. It washes away the blood of battle. It washes away everything – even things it cannot touch. He has no idea how this is, or how it came to be; however, he is willing to put aside the science of things just this once because it does sort of make sense, a little.
He only learned that information, though, when he followed her one rainy evening. She hadn't walked far, and he hadn't stayed close; but of course she knew he was there, and he could nevertheless see what she was doing, because it was absolutely nothing. At least, that was what he thought at first – then he realized that she was crying (because he could hear the sharp intakes of breath as she attempted to stifle the noise), and he wondered why she was crying. His mind dwelled on her motives for some time until he came to a conclusion; one that he would never confirm by asking her, but that he knew was true all the same.
Toph cried because of the pain. It was the same sort of pain that plagued him after the sun descended from the sky and the world's ceiling was black; it was the same brand as that which haunted him under the soft moonlight. Not the exact same pain itself, but so close that the line dividing them was too thin to almost see. Of course, at the same time their pains were utterly different; one and the same, but so insanely apart that how anyone might classify them together might be a mystery. They are both pain, though – that is the main thing. Always, always – it is the pain that draws their sorrow together, and he feels closer to her every time he watches her cry, no matter how wrong his mind knows that he is for intruding and spying; for his heart tells him that he is not in the wrong, but in the right by defining a connection between two beings that are otherwise unbearably dissimilar.
Sokka had always been one to follow his mind, but lately the heart has begun to fight back into its reign of his actions, and this instance is no exception. He watches her, and he finds a kindred spirit within her – and he wants to be closer to her, wants to know her pain, and wants her to know his. He loves the rain, because it has brought desires that he otherwise might never have known; the desire to find a level of understanding with another human being, the desire to share the pain of another truly – these things are new to him.
He knows Toph is just like him, and he knows that he is not alone in his weakness, in how he lacks. He knows that she falls short of the mark, too, in her own way – though this idea is unimaginable to him, for she always seems so stable and capable. This show of emotion appeals to him because it exhibits her humanity, and he loves that, too. They both fail; they're both weak, though respectively and in different ways; they both have significant parts in the Avatar's bringing peace to the world; and, finally, they've both suffered enough to find a comfortable familiarity in each other, and that in itself is something that Sokka would have never thought of – would have never dreamed of, not in a thousand years of thinking – had it not been for the rain.
He doesn't know that she stays up sometimes and listens to his misery, though he suspects as much. He never asks her about that, either; there are so many things that he will never ask, never mention, and so many things that he will probably never have the ability to. The war's end is on the horizon; what will happen after that is a mystery, and no one, least of all he, cares to think of it. There will be duties and comfort and strife, for there always is; and there will be burdens and pressure and a silver lining, because each of these things is perpetually there, though people are not always completely aware of them.
He is sure of one thing, though. No matter how much the wind howls and the thunder roars, no matter how many times lightning splits the sky and the world is ravaged by disaster, he knows that each time tears fall from the sky – the tears of the Spirits, as some legends say, or the tears of the Earth itself, or wherever they come from – he just knows that every single time a raindrop falls to Earth, he will think of her, of every painful and beautiful and in-between moment spent with her. The rain brings growth to her, the very Earth, for that is her element and that is who she is; the rain is her own outlet, her private moment all in itself for her to feel the pain that builds up behind her wall of strength.
He will think of her when it rains, no matter the outcome of the war; he will, and he knows it. The rain will fall no matter what happens, and so will his thoughts center with her; for they do live in a beaten, broken world, and they are both beaten, broken people - but he believes that if they can each pick up the broken pieces of the other, they can make each other whole again.