"Mama, look at what I made for you!" Lin thrust her drawing at her mother with a proud smile.
Toph sighed, forcing a smile. "I'm sure it's beautiful, Lin, but you know Mama can't see it." If Lin were anyone else but her daughter, Toph would have thrown her hands up in exasperation and demanded to know how many times she had to remind her that she was blind. But being a mother required patience. Understanding. It required Toph to be a little less like Toph, to curb her Toph-ness.
Toph felt her daughter's heart rate slow, signaling her disappointment. "Oh, right." A pause, then, "Will you ever be able to see, Mama?"
"I don't think so, Lin." Toph's parents were so distraught at having a blind daughter that they hid her from the world for the first twelve years of her life. If there were a cure for her blindness, surely they would have found it.
"Oh," Lin said again, returning to her drawing materials.
Toph had never regretted not being able to see until Lin entered her life. As long as her bending allowed her to "see" in combat, she was satisfied. She didn't need to see people if she could smell, hear, and feel them in the vibrations of the Earth. But she needed to see Lin, and everything connected to her, including her drawings.
They must be beautiful, thought Toph. After all, Lin was beautiful. Toph knew she was, not only because her friends insisted that she was, but because her heartbeat was beautiful. It felt beautiful, anyway: quick, energetic, three beats to Toph's one. It was calmer when she slept, though. Then there was the sound of her laugh, like smooth pebbles clinking against one another, or stones skipping across water. And her warm breaths, sporadic when she laughed, but otherwise steady. She had smelled of milk when she was younger, but now she smelled of ink and paint from the hours she spent drawing. And how soft and delicate her skin felt against Toph's cheek, when as a toddler she had placed her hand there in an attempt to direct Toph's gaze, not understanding that she had none to direct.
Yes, Lin was beautiful, in a way that no one ever had been or would be, as far as Toph was concerned.
Most beautiful of all was the sound of Lin's first timid footsteps, which had since become more confident, despite being lighter and more graceful than Toph's. Never had Toph listened more intently or pressed her feet more deeply into the earth than when Lin took her first steps. She recalled the minutes she had spent tracing Lin's tiny (soon-to-be large, as she'd inherited her mother's feet) footprints in the dirt, trying to envision her feet and the legs, torso, arms, and head that attached to them. Unfortunately, Toph's imaginative skill was not quite that impressive.
Suddenly, as she recalled Lin's first steps, Toph had an idea. She grinned. "Lin?" she called.
"Yes, Mama?"
"Since I can't see your paper drawings, do you think you could draw me a picture in the dirt?" She held out her hand for her daughter, waiting.
Toph felt Lin's heartbeat quicken its pace as she ran to her mother's side and gleefully grabbed hold of her hand. "Of course, Mama."
As Toph led her daughter outside, she tried to anticipate what she would draw for her. Would it be a landscape, with sunshine, trees, and flowers? A self-portrait? A badger mole, modeled after the stuffed one that Toph had given Lin to protect her against night terrors when Toph patrolled late?
Still absorbed in speculation, Toph let herself be dragged to a spot underneath a tree in the yard. When she heard the thump and felt the pull on her arm that indicated that Lin was sitting, Toph sat, too.
When Toph heard a twig scratching in the dirt, she waited, listening. Enjoying the sound. Lin's heartbeat slowed and steadied as she settled into her drawing, concentrating.
"It's finished," Lin said when finally she lifted the stick from the dirt.
Excitedly, but with measured care and slowness, Toph trailed her fingers over Lin's creation - with Lin's guidance, of course. One shallow, uneven line at a time, an image emerged of a stick-figure Toph standing atop a mountain, a boulder lifted high over her head. Beneath the mountain stood Lin, gaping at her mother, as if in awe of her.
Toph had never cared how she looked. She had once told Katara that one of the perks of being blind was not having to concern herself with appearances, which, she later realized, also meant not having to compare herself to other women. Admittedly, there were times when Toph had wondered if she was pretty - it was only natural to be curious about what she couldn't see - but she didn't agonize over the question the way that some women did. Aside from showering every morning and securing her unruly bangs with a headband, Toph performed no maintenance on herself.
Now, Toph was grateful for the first glimpse of herself that Lin's drawing had allowed her. Her daughter saw her the way she had always hoped she looked: not beautiful, but strong. No, that wasn't right. Toph was beautiful because she was strong.
"Do you like it, Mama?"
Toph reached for her daughter's hand. "It's beautiful, Lin." Just like we are.
A/N: Corny and predictable as it may be, I enjoyed writing this fanfic, and if you enjoyed reading it, I hope you'll honor me with your feedback! Constructive criticism is both welcome and appreciated, especially since I have so many other ATLA fics planned in the future.