A/N: A little ficlet I dreamed up the other day, and since I have been unreliable on updating my other stories—I figured you amazing people deserved a little effort from me.

When You're Gone

On the day Bumi left the world, Aang cried.

He didn't cry because it wasn't Bumi's time to go. After all, the king was almost one-hundred and twenty years old. He had lived a full life, stocked to the brim full of adventure, achievements, love, failure, and mischief. He had lived to see the return of the Avatar, the end of the Great War, and the rebuilding of the world as it was meant to be.

Aang didn't cry because the old man hadn't lived life to the fullest. Bumi had been born a peasant, but his determined will, sharp, unusual mind, and earthbending prowess had brought him to the top. His fun-loving, passionate prankster attitude had, ironically, kept him sane in the face of the many trials he had lived through. His joy had never ceased, and that's what Aang had admired about him from the time they first met and became friends at eleven years old—over a century ago. After the Avatar had returned from his hundred-year hibernation, Bumi had still been there. His support was unrelenting, even when Aang's most trusted friends had expired with the age—the old earthbender had been a constant. He had been a mentor, a teacher, and most importantly, a friend.

Standing before the heavy earthen casket, Aang stared hard at the surface of the stone, feeling the tears prick viciously at the back of his eyes as he fought bravely to hold them back.

Bumi had never married. His oddball character had never attracted women, and he was content to leave it that way, devoted as he was to his learning and his true friends. As a result, he had never had children. As a result, he had no successor to Omashu's throne, and the position was left vacant until someone either stepped up or forcefully took power.

In his grief, Aang could hardly bring himself to think of these things. Bumi could never be replaced. Not in greatness, not in charisma, not in friendship—not now, not ever.

Aang blinked, releasing a shaky breath. How am I going to do this without you, Bumi?

There was a soft tug on his sleeve. The bleary-eyed airbender glanced at the small-statured girl beside him with surprise. He hadn't felt her approach.

"Toph," he deadpanned, swallowing carefully around the lump in his throat.

The earthbender crossed her arms over her chest, her jade eyes glinting. "You've been standing here for an hour, Twinkletoes. He can't get any deader," she joked half-heartedly.

"I know," the airbender replied, pressing his fingertips to his temple, his tightly-screwed eyes streaming with tears. That instant, Toph regretted her careless words.

"Hey," the earthbender pressed her fingertips into his shoulder, comforting him with her trademark aggressive affection. "He lived a good life. And now that he's gone, he wouldn't want you to waste yours pining for him."

Aang drew in a breath slowly, brushing the heel of his hand under each of his eyes. "I know," he repeated, softer this time. The tears that dampened his cheeks were still flowing, but there was a resigned lilt to his tone that told Toph she had made a breakthrough.

The earthbender stepped closer, taking her friend's hand gently and leading him toward the door. "Come on," she urged, "They're about to read his will. I don't want to miss my allotment of Omashu's purest, home-grown Genemite."

Aang couldn't help but let out a sniffle of laughter through his tears as he allowed the persistent earthbender to drag him along by the arm. "He always knew you loved that stuff."