Letters from the Falling Sky
Summary: "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.
Author's Note: This is so late. A thousand curses and then two thousand apologies. Applying for colleges is both time consuming and difficult.
Anyway, putting scorpiored112's personal problems aside, this chapter is not the last one! There will be more after it.So don't remove anything from your lists!
Side note: "Orabi" is pronounced "oh-RA-bee" and it's an actual name, taken from this old Egyptian movie. I figured that we needed to include Katara's past possible love life, if Aang has Fa Ling and all. And yay! A clever reviewer of mine actually took a liking to Fa Ling—I love that!
Watch for the "reflection" image in this chapter.
Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy...
-scorpiored112
.10.
The shoreline broke into a frozen marsh where the South Pole's harbors and docks were situated. The marsh itself was dark and full of mud, stones, patches of snow, boulders, and—especially—small pools of spirit water. It was here that Katara often came to collect the village's healing supply, and it was here—adjacent to the docks—that an Earth Kingdom sailer had tried to woo her.
It was two years after Kya Lynn's birth and so Katara's figure had somewhat recessed into the attractive little thing it used to be. The sailor's name was Orabi and he often followed Katara to the spirit water source to start small talk. Instantly, Katara took a liking to him and told him, on more than one occasion, that his constant following and polite nature reminded her of an old friend. Orabi seemed so familiar that she found herself confiding her problems to him—many times without even thinking about it.
Though he was older than her, Orabi was still considerably young. His hair was dark and long and pulled into a pin at the top of his head. His complexion always appeared paler than it should have been. Sometimes, his face would slacken while he talked to Katara, and other times he would quietly grind his teeth and pull at his left ear.
Katara was oblivious at first.
But she noticed—slowly but surely—that Orabi was starting to walk closer to her than usual. His face slackened a little too often. He had also acquired the tendency to avoid Katara's eyes when she spoke to him and looked at—or rather, stared at—her breasts and hips. She pretended not to notice. Orabi was her only source of confidence away from the village, and she wasn't willing to lose him to lust just yet.
They had known each other for a good three months when Orabi asked quietly, "Katara, would you like to see the inside of my ship?"
And Katara, simply because she had noticed the more-than-friendly changes in him, and because she had grown weary of boys who grew obsessed with her, replied politely as they sat on the main dock, "Thank you, Orabi. But I think I'll pass."
"Please?" he begged, touching her hand. "I've told you so much about it already. You have to come see it."
"I think I'm fine just sitting here with you."
"But, Katara—"
"Orabi," she laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you want me in there for some other reason."
He exclaimed, "Well—I..." and absentmindedly sent his hand to his left ear. "I just want to show it to you, that's all." He tugged at his earlobe and smiled, as if in thought. Then he nudged Katara's side. "Come on, Water Tribe girl."
This was her nickname. Yes, Orabi always seemed so, so familiar. Water Tribe girl and forever girl were close—close enough, Katara thought subconsciously, to not differentiate between them.
"No thanks." She confessed finally, "I don't think I want to go."
"But—"
"But what?"
His face predictably slackened, which in turn caused Katara to slip her fingers out from underneath his large, rough hand. It was getting darker outside and the waves were hitting the dock with considerable force. Katara diverted her gaze to Orabi's ship, far in the background, and then focused on his face. It wouldn't hurt, she thought finally, if she were to humor him. After all, she felt immeasurably guilty—as though she had to go—and so when Orabi caught her stare again, she said, "I guess a few minutes wouldn't hurt."
His face lit up. "You're going to love it," he promised, and easily pulled her to her feet with him.
In all honesty, she had known it was a bad idea to begin with. Orabi was young and stronger than her and it was obvious that his little "come see inside my ship" plan was just some trick for them to be alone. Even now, Katara doesn't know why she followed him. She knows that she wasn't that stupid. Part of her thinks that Aang and Orabi's similar characteristics won her over. Part of her knows that she had always missed Aang and that Orabi was her way of dealing with it. Still another part admits that she was still human and still a woman and still rather confused—still considerably upset.
When inside the ship, her sailor carefully led her down a set of ladders, holding her close, to a long and narrow corridor that had a number of doors to either side. One door had a polished metallic plate on the window that read, "Shu Orabi: Earth Kingdom."
"There are people from all over the world on this ship," he explained briefly as he fumbled with the keys. "Most are from the Earth Kingdom, but we have people from the Fire Nation, too—and even the Northern Water Tribe."
He smiled and gestured for her to walk in first. Orabi's room was surprisingly well kept. His bed was furnished with gray and green sheets and his desk was littered with scrolls and letters from home.
"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly, lifting a brow.
"It's clean," she answered, once again out of politeness. "You must like mirrors."
"There are only three in here."
"I know. They just make the room look bigger."
"I guess I do like mirrors," he said distractedly, observing the mirror behind Katara that faithfully reflected her backside. "I know this sounds kind of weird," he laughed, "but a mirror can never really lie, you know what I mean?" He crossed his arms. "If there's one thing I hate, Katara, it's a liar."
An awkward silence ensued. Katara took a seat at Orabi's desk and observed the letters. He watched her, captivated, and lit a cigarette.
"Do you have a sweetheart back home, Orabi?" she asked mischievously.
"I don't think I do. Unless you know something I don't know. Ha!"
Katara picked up a scroll and observed it. "Fa Ling?" she asked.
"Just some girl I knew back home," he answered monotonously with a shrug. "Nothing serious. We were friends."
She smiled. "Who are the rest of these letters from?"
"My younger sisters and brothers and nephews and such," Orabi stated. He seemed inattentive to their conversation and then, for some reason, he began pacing. "My nephew just learned how to read. Now he's sending me letters."
"That's so sweet."
Another silence. Katara looked at her shoes. Orabi began grinding his teeth. His eyes glazed over. He grunted suddenly, "That chair probably isn't very comfortable, Katara."
"It's alright."
He breathed in heavily and ground his teeth some more. "Why don't you come sit on my bed?" he asked, pushing his fist into the comforter to demonstrate. "It's better than the chair." He held his open palm to her. Katara made a face.
She clarified, standing up, "I think I'm fine. I should be leaving soon anyway, Orabi." She paused. "Come on. You can walk me home."
And that is when the realization was uncovered, because when Katara stood and grasped the door handle, her eyes widened and her face flushed. It was locked.
"I don't want you to leave," he explained, taking a step closer to her. "Come sit on my bed, Katara."
"Orabi—"
It happened too fast. It happened too simply. And perhaps at that moment, she didn't want herself to leave, either. She had wanted Orabi. Not to make love to her, but more so to assure her that everything was going to be fine. That it was okay if she was a liar. And she couldn't deny the fact that Orabi was handsome, and it had been so long since someone had pressed against her and touched her face.
He held her arms at her sides. She did as she was told and sat on his bed. Then her lips parted and she began to think as she watched him bend over her.
And it wasn't her—no, it wasn't her—who so willingly leaned back on the mattress. It wasn't Katara who sighed his name when he felt the sash across her waist and lifted it, "Orabi?" like a question. Desperately—dependently, as if in admittance to him. And no—no, no, no—it wasn't her who let Shu Orabi lick the clearing of her neck and bare shoulder and finally pierce his tongue into her mouth, as she murmured over and over, "Orabi?"—sighing, breathing, moaning as softly as she could—all of it. Not her. Not Katara—not this shallow and helpless.
But it was Orabi's force and filth more than Katara's want that awakened her in a situation that could be deemed this imaginative and this stupid. She didn't love Orabi. She never would, no matter what. She was his Water Tribe girl, not his forever girl. And her daughter from another man, only two years old—the same one that Orabi didn't know about—was waiting her in the village.
She pressed her hands to his chest and pushed him away gently, half-lifting him. Orabi looked cockily at the distinct wetness and color on Katara's face.
And she caught her breath.
She stared at his slackened, effortless smile.
Then she slapped him as viciously as she thought possible.
The spirit water that she had collected earlier that evening with him was effectively used to escape. When Shu Orabi looked back underneath him, turning his offended visage slowly, he saw that Katara had disappeared. There was a large hole cut through his door, and an even larger hole in the side of his ship.
It had happened too fast. And too simply. And perhaps at that moment, he regretted being so impulsive. But he couldn't say that he did regret it. Five seconds with Katara had meant the world to him, even if it had ended too soon.
He inquired about her whereabouts in the village, mostly to apologize and start over. But the answers were all the same.
"You don't mean Kya Lynn's mother, do you?"
"Oh—she's the top healer—with the two-year-old, next to the healing lodge."
"You're talking about the Avatar's girl."
Unknowingly, Orabi came to hate Katara and the Avatar that he had never met. Katara never saw him again. He would always remember that she had lied to him about being single. For some reason, he had always seen Katara as some innocent virgin living in a secluded village. Orabi's filthy nature had been reflected back into him. He took all the mirrors in his room down and tried to forget that Katara ever happened.
And the hurt Katara felt at losing him translated into something deeper. She had only wanted to humor him because he reminded her so much of Aang. But Orabi—Shu Orabi, from the Earth Kingdom, who hated liars, and had a green and gray bed—the actual handsome, living Orabi...he was forgotten. He was just another suitor, another lover, another man that Katara had attracted and then disappointed. There had always been a lot of them.
Her only pride was that she hadn't kissed him back in that tiny room on his ship. She had never kissed anyone since Aang. And that was nice enough for her, she thought. It was her form of faithfulness.
Besides, it had been two years ago.
Katara liked to think that she was still a stupid child at twenty-two years.
She liked to think that her brain was more developed at twenty-four.
Two years after Orabi, in the middle of the night, as Toph and Sokka and Kya Lynn were fast asleep, she visited the same snowy marsh to think. She found her boulder and sat on it and looked at her reflection in the spirit water pool beneath. She placed her hands on her knees and made a face. Just four years ago, a looming belly would have prevented this tranquility. Lynnie's unborn weight would have gotten in the way. Aang's child. Who looked just like him.
Aang—who she had tried to be faithful to. Who probably frolicked with his fan girls every night. Who had probably forgotten about her until her letter had gotten to him.
Katara wondered, as she sat there, why she was waiting for him, and how she knew he was coming tonight.
It was still dark. The sky was illuminated with stars. The moon, half there, half not, hanging dimly above the marsh, was also reflected in the water. Katara sighed and wiped her eyes. She was so tired of this. So tired of not knowing what Aang was doing and where he was. So tired and disgusted with herself—for giving birth to a mistake and then killing her grandmother. So tired of being labeled as the village accident who ran with the Avatar and came back with a baby.
On the marsh now, Katara looked at her reflection—stared at it, hard—and then frowned. For the first time in two years, she thought about Orabi. She sent a hand to her left ear and pulled at it, the way he used to.
"It was to get back at Aang," she said suddenly to no one, filling the empty marsh with her voice. "That's why I let him touch me. That must be why."
Her voice shook. She hated the way it sounded. What was she doing here—waiting for Aang this late? And the marsh, of all places! The dimmest and muddiest part of the South Pole.
"It wasn't because they resembled each other at all," she added, laughing a little crazily to herself. "It was for revenge! All of it—because I hated him. For giving me Kya Lynn and leaving. That bastard. It was for revenge."
She picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them, one by one, into the spirit water, contorting her reflection. Her movements quickened. She threw all the pebbles at once, yet again shattering the serenity of the shoreline. She picked up another handful and threw it, mumbling a brief, "Hmph," with each swing. The pool was deep and swallowed the pebbles without giving anything back.
"Or it was because I loved him—they were just like each other. Except for the age! Orabi was taller. Aang's face never slackened."
Katara stopped and noticed that her hands were muddied. Her reflection smoothed out over the ripples in the water and stared back up at her, like some unknown stranger. Some filthy, ridiculous girl.
That was when she saw him.
It wasn't him, at first—in all honestly, it was just a reflection of him. And Katara was tired, and the pool had recently been disrupted by rocks and pebbles and dirt. And she had been talking to herself just seconds ago. So when she saw Aang's face in the water, right next to her own, she said quietly to it, "I must be seeing things."
The reflection said nothing.
"I'm going mad," Katara added, wiping her hands on the side of the boulder. "I wasn't faithful to you, Aang. I tried to be. I didn't kiss him back." She paused and bit her lip. "But it doesn't matter. You're not here. You don't even exist."
Katara's hair fell over her face as a gust of wind flew over the marsh. It carried a familiar scent with it, one that she had grown accustomed to some ten years ago. Burnt wood and tree bark and fruit.
Aang's reflection put its head down. Katara felt a hand on her shoulder.
They didn't move. His hand was warm and shaky. Another hand pulled the offended hair away from her face.
"I didn't kiss him back," the healer repeated, eyes fixed on the pool. "I wasn't faithful—but I swear to you, Aang...I tried to be. I wanted to be...I—I didn't kiss him back."
"Katara," the reflection mouthed, only she heard it from behind her, and then the hands were on both of her shoulders and before she knew it, she had turned around.
Aang stood limply, leaning his weight on one leg. It looked as though he was not only terribly fatigued, but also sick. He was smiling, Katara noticed—sadly, somewhat, but also hopefully. And his hair had grown out some. And his hands were at his sides because Katara had turned around. And he looked beaten and pale and childish. And there were distinct wet lines down his cheeks from those same silver eyes that had hardened in the four years he had been away.
They wanted to hug each other. She wanted to touch his face to see if he was real. He wanted to kiss her as deeply as he could. But there was something about the marsh that killed all thought of action. They remained still.
Katara looked at him in disbelief. Breathlessly. Wordlessly. She took him in all at once and tried to remember what she had said to herself earlier. And the turn of events, for some reason, forced color into her cheeks. She was embarrassed—a little tired—excited—unsure—and...and mostly...
Guilty, she thought. Most of all, guilty and surprised.
Aang opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. He blinked and wiped his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and straightened the bag that he held slung across his shoulder. He said miserably, his voice cracking, "I never wanted to leave you, Katara."
Katara didn't answer. She looked at him—again in disbelief—and parted her lips in thought.
He put his bag down and knelt on both knees so that they were eye level. He sat a good two feet away and placed his open palms on his legs.
Aang touched the back of his neck. "I didn't know you were..." He stopped and searched her face. "You were pregnant—when you left, I mean...I—well, I didn't know and I—didn't mean to do it to you, Katara...I swear to God...I didn't know that it would just...happen...so fast like that, and Katara—I...I..."
His hands tried to speak for him. They gestured nervously with shaking fingers and trembling wrists.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, refusing to look away from her. "I'm so, so, so sorry, Katara. I know it's not enough. It's not enough but...but I—I loved you and I...I love you now—I always did...I always will and I—I'm sorry."
Katara didn't answer. It felt as though they were both walking in a dream. His words came out but nothing was absorbed. Even the earth around them seemed to be teeming with some sort of unknown life, swelling and rising with Aang's breath.
"I know I left you," he confessed sleepily. "I know I gave up...I just need you to forgive me. That's all. You don't have to love me back, Katara...honestly, you don't." He added in a painful tone, "That part doesn't matter. I don't think you ever did."
She said immediately, "That's not true," and stood up and began walking towards the shoreline.
"Where are you going?" he asked crossly, straggling to his feet.
She murmured over her shoulder, "I don't know."
Aang ran to her. She walked slowly and flatly and refused to look at him.
"Katara," he started in distress, "why aren't you saying anything?"
"I don't know."
They had found a boulder closer to the frozen beach. This time when she sat down, Aang sat next to her and touched her hand.
This pause broke some sort of barrier between them. But seconds afterward, Katara pried her hand away and pulled her knees to her chest. She looked out over the water and then glanced at the Avatar seated next to her, straight-backed and confused and troubled.
"If you hate me," Aang said softly, looking at the hand that had just escaped, "then why did you want me to come back?"
Katara shrugged and diverted her gaze. "I don't know," she said again.
"Well, I don't know either, Katara."
It was exactly as she had told Toph earlier. Seeing Aang again was uncomfortable, but most of all, it was unspeakably difficult. Katara didn't know what to say and Aang's preparedness only distracted her—she wondered if he had heard her soliloquy with his reflection at all.
"Aang," she started gently, contemplating, "I don't hate you."
Aang attempted to smile, but realized that he was still rather queasy from the flight and the meeting and so the result was an awkward, clumsy grimace.
Katara tried not to laugh at his expense. "This is hard to explain but...I know that it wasn't your fault."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean my dad and Suki." She continued quietly, "Don't ask me how I found out. But the resistance was never after you. It was after them."
She didn't see it, but Aang felt washed over in silent relief. "Really?"
"Yes...really." She paused. "And I don't hate you, Aang," she said again, savoring the sound of his name and touching his hand thoughtfully. "I never did."
Aang answered with acute directness, "I love you."
She felt heat rise up to her face. Four years, and the Avatar still had the ability to make her blush. She looked the other way, but Aang was clever. And suddenly Katara knew where this was going.
"Do you love me, Katara?"
It was such a blind and stupid thing to say. And maybe he didn't realize it, but those were the same words he had used in the hotel room four years ago, as Toph listened in from the opposite wall. Katara noticed the reference but said nothing. She watched him lean towards her and squeeze her hand.
"You're still so pretty," he added predictably. He touched her chin and turned it towards him.
"Aang."
"You haven't changed at all," he whispered with a smile. "I must look like a mess...but God, you're gorgeous, Katara...you're still so attractive—so beautiful—I would have never even thought—"
"Aang!"
He took her hand against her will and kissed it. "You're amazing—you're still amazing—I love you, I love you, I love you, Katara."
She mumbled his name bashfully, with an awkward, girlish laugh and a quick look around the marsh. She bit her lip. This was moving too quickly. They were still in the marsh and she had always hated Aang's flirting—it was his charm that had allowed her to give into him in the first place.
"I want to kiss you," he said, more to himself. He watched her wedge her lip into her teeth. And the dream feeling was still there, and Katara was having trouble avoiding him, and in all honesty, Aang knew how to be a womanizer. And a flatterer.
He came close enough so that their lips were inches apart. But then he didn't move.
"What are you doing?" she whispered abruptly when she noticed his stillness. Aang opened his eyes and noticed—amused—that Katara had been waiting for his impact. Her eyes—just as icy and as glazed-over as he had remembered them to be—stared up at him with distinct confusion and distinguishable want. And the notion of Katara wanting him sent shivers down his frame. But he held firm.
"Aang," she repeated. "What are you doing?"
When he spoke, their lips brushed against each other. "Can I kiss you?"
"But you..." She hesitated and closed her eyes. "You don't have to ask me."
"Yes. I do."
"You don't."
"I want your permission before I do something stupid," he said, holding her chin. "I was impulsive last time." He paused, still inches away from her face, and breathed in heavily, allowing her scent to fill him. "I don't want that to ever happen again."
"That was different."
"I don't want to lose you, Katara."
Then something inside the healer snapped.
It had been breaking—she knew—slowly. Ever since Aang had appeared just moments ago, she was having trouble believing it. And now it was as if he had just come—just appeared suddenly out of the clouds and landed on the shoreline.
When she did snap, there in the marsh on that flat boulder, she grabbed Aang's face and kissed him as deeply as she could, resulting in a "Hmph?!" of surprise from Aang and a "Hmph!" of assurance from his lover.
Both settled into a unanimous "Hmph..."
He tasted just as he had four years ago. Burnt wood and tree bark and fruit. Katara tasted like snow and salt. He leaned into her and held her waist gently with one hand, her face cupped perfectly in the other. And the barrier, surprisingly enough, was broken by Aang himself, who somehow felt assured that Katara had forgiven him. His tongue rolled into her mouth and forced her eyes to open lazily in amazement. The sensation felt so new and so different from before. It was perhaps then Katara understood that absence honestly did make the heart grow fonder.
He did not ask her about her faithfulness to him. She did not ask if he frolicked with his fan girls every night. They both completely forgot about Kya Lynn—which displayed poor parenting skills, but also deep love for one another that couldn't be penetrated by mundane responsibilities.
In retrospect, it was a very good thing that the marsh had always remained secluded. It was also good that it remained warm, even without coats and the other bearings of clothed travelers. And the mud was comfortable, and the spirit water was romantic, and the clouds were the only witnesses.
And it was here—on the marsh—that the letters were forgotten and the deaths were put aside. It was here Katara breathed Aang's name for the first time in what had felt like forever.