Disclaimer: Konietzko and DiMartino own A:TLA and its characters
Is it saving to let go? Or is it selfish to hold on?
Maybe it's both.
And as he pulls her hands away from her face so he can kiss her goodbye, the truth settles like surfs against the bank: Devotion is both a blessing and a curse. The iron bars that trap the guilty and the spaces in between.
But they're too blind to notice this now, tears blurring realization in layers of anguish.
They see it differently; the brush that draws their finish line against the dirt. She knows it to be bark. Thick and damp. Dripping with syrup that tastes like sour altruism. But, to him, it's a long palm leaf. A soft utensil to the Earth, speaking out of fear.
"It shouldn't be you." she says, shaking. "It shouldn't be us."
Her voice is broken. There are still so many words that sear her throat. A dense hot mass of "I love you", "I need you", "I'll miss you". But her lips are cold, dry. It's an inhospitable center that kills the 'I' and 'you'. It leaves them disjointed, existing in worlds of different sentences.
His steps speak silences into the room, loudly. The floor fails to register them. He is weightless though his heart calls rocks to its mass.
His eyes are shining grey when he says, "Katara, you know like I do - This . . . we'll never be happy like this."
She nods to herself because she knows now. They both know now. This world - built of bitter men and too-good-to-be-true horizons - doesn't care for them. Their names aren't written in constellations. Destiny has rolled out the map of their lives - unraveled the scroll with calloused hands, like it has done so many times before - and split their path, as cleanly as scissors, in two pitch-black directions. This is their conclusion on old paper. And they both know it.
But his heart still hurts - 'cognizance is not acceptance' - because what would it be to kiss her goodnight but not good morning? What would it say to pour oceans between them? What would it mean to 'let her go'?
Truly, it means everything. She is his future drafted in skin. She is an expansion of color. This variety that Aang has brought to his life - a drawing. The outline is done but the spaces remain empty. Incomplete. They call out to him, beckon his hand - the artist - to claim the voids for purpose.
But it's better this way, he thinks. Stopping now before regretting later. They're not children anymore. They understand the gears conducting their lives, how the teeth of one turn the other in opposite rotations. They only wish the grease wasn't so unforgiving. Because they just want to hold each other now. Let go of the world instead of letting go of each other.
These are their wishes for love, silver coins dropped in wells for possible futures; it is useless - the sunken ground is parched.
But, she's never asked for much. A mother with blue eyes. A spirit for her Avatar. These are only two. Negligible compared to the company of other wishes asked and received. So, it's not wrong to want him. Even when she knows she can't hold on in the end.
She won't hold on in the end. She can, but won't. Because he isn't hers like he is to the world. He is Earth-bound. And she would be selfish to breathe air in knowing of the breathless.
"Where will you go?" she asks, unsteady.
His words are sure but there's weakness, silent as surrender. "Zuko has asked for me in the Fire Nation. He's offered me a place to stay."
She stands from the bed and the door is an audience to their embrace. She throws her arms about his neck and condenses the space until there is none. His hands are felt tightly against her back.
He whispers, his voice a lost belonging. "I love you. So much, I love you."
She shudders and can feel the words sliding like silk through her hair, finding the trail home. They are an amber honey from his mouth, but its taste belongs to her. A blueprint specifically produced for her implementation. The Avatar's love. For Katara, only.
Her arms untangle and she cups his cheeks. Dry hands, but trembling. She glides her thumbs over the baby-fat that isn't there anymore and kisses him once. It's a sound kiss that will haunt both of them in screeches of crude longing. Their eyes are the only thing the other sees when her lips are gone from his.
She murmurs, searching his face. "Write to me, Aang. Everyday. Before you sleep, but after you feed Appa. Promise you'll write to me."
He drops his head to kiss her shoulder. "I will. I promise. Before night, but after supper - I promise."
She kisses him again, noses touching. Their lips hold lengthy conversations until there's no more breath to summon words. But as she kisses him, she knows he's fighting the stream. He's struggling to be strong for both of them and the door is still watching. It's waiting for him, offering a hand to turn and open itself into a paper-pencil universe. He can't ignore it.
A glider in one hand and the doorknob in the other, he frowns a smile.
This is truly goodbye.
A/N: This is horribly messy but the idea kept speaking to me. Even in class! It was so bad that I was writing sentences in my head... IN CLASS! So, I needed to - at least - write a one-shot and post it before someone takes it. I may have compromised Katara's character a little bit in this rushed state so I'll fix it if time opens up.