This is not sudden fiction like the others; it's much longer. But I'm very proud of it and the idea centers around a confession, so I decided to make it a chapter in the series.

I also wanted to post something serious again before I got to the outrageous Mai's Confession. You'll see what I mean soon enough.

I had a dream where I owned Avatar. And my brother was getting married to the voice actress who plays Ju Dee. It was only a dream.

Bumi's Confession

There was a house in Ba Sing Se, where a couple lived with their young daughter named Hope. They worked hard and miserably apart for the sake of their daughter, to provide her with the best education possible, to afford for her the proper attire of a dignified young Earth Kingdom lady for her to wear, to feed her three meals each day, and to bestow a meager allowance upon her. The former refugees spent eighteen hours each day wearing sweat as perfume and tears as eyeliner, only to be thanked by a welcome hour of weary smiles and easy breathing with the family. But they never despaired as they toiled. The avatar had returned, and their work was slowly crawling to a manageable amount. Hope's future was living up to her namesake.

This story is not about that family, but instead about another that was remarkably similar. The man and the woman, also foreigners to Ba Sing Se, were struggling to raise their infant daughter amidst each of their endless worldly duties. They were apart so often that they routinely felt like machines as they fulfilled their necessary roles, going through the motions only for the sake of the motions themselves. Their fuel was the prospect of seeing their daughter grow for a day or two before again waking up in a new city with a new set of tasks to last a new week. But their work was undoubtedly rewarding them, and either Katara or Aang were always able to remain home to look after her as their obligations finally began to slow slightly. They had just enough time to no longer be required to leave their daughter in the indefinite care of the wise old man who owned the teashop.

Today was one of the rare days Katara and Aang could spend together. Katara had been enjoying an unusual extended vacation by changing diapers, having pureed mush splattered on her clothes, writing in a baby book with by candle light, and sighing. She was supposed to be cleaning, too, but she still tripped over old scrolls, toys, and laundry. She still told herself she would clean it all before Aang returned, even though she knew perfectly well she never would.

Katara was cooking dinner, bouncing the crying infant on her shoulder as she stirred the pot with a long, wooden spoon. This was the atmosphere when Appa roared and six feet supporting ten tons fell magnificently to earth.

"Listen, darling!" Katara sang over the crying. "Daddy's home!" She put her lips to the wooden spoon and frowned. It wasn't time to set it aside yet, but she did anyway to meet Aang at the doorway. His half-open eyelids pulled his sleepy head towards the earth, but he had enough energy left to smile widely and greet Katara with a brief kiss.

Katara passed him the baby. "I have to keep stirring the pot," she explained, striding efficiently back to the kitchen.

Aang lifted his daughter high over his head and wearily smiled up at her. "Don't cry, honey!" he said, lowering her down to his shoulder. "Daddy's here, now! Let me see your happy face! I want to see that happy baby face!"

Aang tried to rub her nose against hers, but when her plump fingers pushed his face away he was forced to settle for a light kiss on the hand instead. He bounced her up and down on the way to the kitchen, humming a song Iroh said always worked to calm her down. It didn't work this time. Aang had little time to practice his singing while he was abroad.

"So how was Omashu?" asked Katara over the crying baby, her back to Aang.

"It was nice," said Aang, his voice bouncing with his body and the baby. "The new public transportation is going well."

"Good," said Katara. "Have they been able to integrate it more?"

Aang shushed his daughter: "There, there, darling. No, nothing's changed since last time I was there. Still, it's still a lot better than Ba Sing Se." Aang sighed. "I wish people didn't wall poor people off like that."

"People aren't as virtuous as the monks were."

"I know," said Aang sleepily. "I miss Gyatso. He would know what to do about all this poverty."

Katara lifted the wooden spoon to Aang's lips. "Here," she offered. "Tell me if it needs more salt."

Aang's tongue flicked out. He nodded. "I think it does," he said. He drew his daughter closer to the spoon. "What do you think, sweetie?"

The baby stopped crying long enough to wrap two pudgy fingers around the spoon and force it into her mouth. She started crying again and Aang laughed.

"Alright, I get it," grumbled Katara, turning back to the pot and dropping in a pinch of salt. "More salt it is."

Aang didn't stop smiling. "You're beautiful," he said.

Katara turned her head to glance back at him, her face garnished by a girlish blush. "I'm so happy you're back," she said.

"It's been too long," he said. "It always is." He leaned in for another short kiss. It was too short. It always was these days.

"So how's Bumi?" asked Katara, turning her attention back to the pot.

"He's okay," said Aang. "He's been better."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"He's getting old," said Aang.

"Oh. Is his back acting up again?"

"Yes," said Aang. "And also he's lost most of the hearing in his left ear."

"Oh," said Katara, turning to Aang to prove her sympathy with a facial expression.

"He's pretending to be the strong, invincible king he's always been, but really he's turning into a frail, old man faster than anyone knows."

"He told this to you?"

"He wouldn't tell anyone else," said Aang. "He wants to bring stability to Omashu during the Reconstruction, and remaining king would be the easiest way to do it. But in secret he's looking for an heir to the throne once times slow down a bit."

"Really?" said Katara, tasting the spoon. "Do you think Toph would be good for that? Here, taste it now."

Aang tasted, and offered a taste for his daughter, who pulled the spoon into her mouth a second time. She stopped crying and fell into a contented, limp mass of sleeping life on his shoulder.

Aang smiled. "I think that's the one." The pair sat down at the kitchen table, Aang lowering himself as gingerly as he could to keep his daughter in her quiet slumber.

"I think Toph would be a good ruler of Omashu," said Katara.

"Well, that's what Bumi wanted to talk to me about in the first place," said Aang. "He said Mai's already declined."

Katara shook her head, spacing out on a pattern on the tablecloth. "Bumi's always seemed so… eternal. I've never really imagined him being touched by age like that."

"I know," said Aang.

"It's like Gran-Gran," Katara continued. "She always seemed to ageless, but her sight's almost gone now and she needs help getting out of bed each day."

"Do you think I could see her one more time?" asked Aang. "Before something happens?"

"I'm sure," said Katara. Her eyes were glazed over, but it was more from fatigue than sadness, even though the presence of sadness was undeniable. "Everyone your age is getting older," she said finally.

Aang gave a short chuckle. "Except me," he said with an irresistible grin.

"No. You're getting older, too," said Katara. "No one lives forever."

Aang nodded. "Soon it will be time for the next generation."

"And then," said Katara, her voice wafting up lazily into the air, "the generation after that…"

They both looked at their sleeping daughter, drooling over her thumb and onto Aang's shoulder. And they were reminded once again of why they needed to endure the cold nights and empty weeks.

----------------------------------------------------

I really wanted to open my mind to the possibilities for this confession. I try to do that as routine anyway, but while writing this one I had the chance to try something different and challenging for me. Every time I felt myself slipping into a comfort zone I made a different decision than I usually do. I hope it paid off. Bumi deserves it. His wisdom is right on the money for writers. The best writers are mad geniuses.

As I'm editing this, I realize it could easily be the prologue to a long multi-chaptered epic, watching the daughter grow up. I like the idea, but it requires time and effort and pushes in a direction I usually don't like to read in fan fiction. Besides, I'd have to name the daughter, and I'm terrible with names. But if I get enough encouragement I might give it a shot.

Thanks for the continuing support!

-samtana