Commentary: SH-BOOM!


POT CALLING KETTLE

Chapter Seven


"You—"

The world went up in white. Underfoot the ground shivered; the air snapped and crackled between them and with a great SH-BOOM the sky split in two. Instantly they were drenched and cold—or Sokka was drenched and cold. Squinting through the haze of the downpour at Toph, he thought she looked the part too.

"You," he said again, pointing. "You!"

"Me," she affirmed, and shrugged. The fabric of her tunic rose and fell with an audible squelch. "Damn," she observed, blinking sightlessly up into the rain, "this is intense, huh?" She lifted a hand next and wiggled her fingers as her palm filled with rainwater.

"You can't BEND?" He all but screamed it. He stomped across the sodden grass and seized her shoulders. Clutching at them, the fabric slipping under his grip, he squeezed the strong rounds and stammered, "But you—Toph, you never said anything—"

Her hands rose and folded over his. There were slick from the wet but firm too, the pads of her fingers hard and relentless. "Didn't I just say something?" she asked simply.

"But why not before?" He left off her shoulders and grabbed at her fingers instead. "Why not back when we were with the others? Wh—"

"It wasn't gonna do any good to mention it," interrupted Toph, "and Sugar Queen almost had it figured out anyway. In fact, I'll bet she knows." She squeezed his thumbs hard enough to make the bones grind. "And I never said I couldn't Bend," she corrected. "I said I couldn't remember how. There's a difference."

Sokka goggled at her. "There—there's not!"

"There is!" Wrenching free one hand, she slapped it against his chest. Even through the chill of the rain it stung, and her palm was warm besides. "There's a huge difference," she hissed. "There has to be. Don't you get that? There has to be."

Something in Toph's voice changed. Hardened. It put Sokka on the offensive immediately. "What do you mean?" he asked, exasperated. He waved an arm in the thick of the insistent ropy rain. "Toph, if you look at this rationally… I mean, not remembering something and not being able to do it, they're the same thing—"

"Don't." She hit him again. This time it wasn't a slap. It was a slam, and he staggered back a step under the force of it. She followed him, leering into his face. "Don't," she seethed. Raindrops pooled on her lips and flew from them in thin chains. "No. You're wrong."

"How am I—"

"Not remembering how to Bend means I can't do it right now. But don't say it like I can't Bend period, you asshole," Toph fumed. Her fingers found and clenched in his shirt. "Because if that's your logic, you know what else it means? It means I can't remember you. Period." She spat the word, and tacked on, "The end, Sokka." She gave him a shake for good measure. Locks of her hair broke free of her bun and fell down her cheeks, fluttering there like sodden dark pennants.

For a moment Sokka was quiet, stunned—and horrified. "I mean," he tried. Toph's features narrowed into a scowl. "I mean," he said again, "I just—"

She cocked her head, waiting. Her lower lip trembled.

"You can't Bend," he repeated, and finished as her eyes flooded with both anger and liquid that might have been rain, might have been something else, "temporarily."

She blinked. There was water on her face and on his too. The sources probably varied. "Yeah," she agreed, slow. "Yeah. Temporarily."

"Because you don't remember." Her fingers tightened a little. "You don't remember how," he went on. "But you will. You'll remember how to Bend and you'll remember Katara and Aang and Appa and—and me, even though you can't right now, you will and it'll be okay, it'll be okay, really—"

"Sokka."

"—I promise you will, Toph, Spirits I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything else because you're badass, you've always been badass and you'll continue to be badass and you'll remember you've just gotta remember—"

"Sokka." She shook him a second time, gently. "Hey. I got it."

"You'll—you'll fix it. No. We'll fix it," he insisted. His voice was small in the storm's swell, faint. He felt like he could cry.

"I know." She drew back a bit and scuffed her arm over her face, her eyes. "Apology accepted," she grunted. "Now." She released him and crouched next to the packs in the rain. Rifling through the first one she found, she drew free a coarse bit of fabric and snapped it. "Forget it," she said briskly, clearing her throat. "Seriously. Just—you know. Help me set up this tent and tarp."

"Sure." With a sniffle mostly disguised as a cough, Sokka moved to do just that. "Uhm," he ventured a moment later, "Toph?"

"Yeah?"

"This is a pair of pants."

"…well, shit."