Tattoo

Chapter Three: History

He was trying hard not to wake either of them, but Katara hadn't slept much at all that night. Now, she was wide awake and watching him. Aang sat quietly at the entrance of the tent, barely illuminated in a sliver of faint light. With one leg bent underneath him he hunched over, carefully examining the untucked hem of his yellow shirt.

"Aang?"

"Ow!" He jerked suddenly, startled by her voice. He shook his hand rapidly and hissed in pain. Katara wriggled out of her sleeping bag and crawled to his side.

"Sorry, Aang. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you alright?"

Dropping the sewing needle, he held his hand out to the light. A small drop of blood balanced on the tip of his finger, and he rubbed at it with his thumb. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing, see?" The blood had smeared onto both fingers. He reached outside, and wiped his hand over the wet grass, flicking away the water.

As he moved the tent's flap, Katara felt a chill from outside. She waved her hands in front of her face, uselessly pushing around more humid air. Although the tent was big enough for all three of them, the space was cramped and comfortless. After a few hours the heat became nearly unbearable. Usually they would forget the tent and opt to sleep in the open air, but rainy nights made that impossible.

"It's way too hot in here," Katara said, standing. She stepped outside and lifted the flap, securing it to the side of the tent. As she reseated herself beside Aang, Katara shivered slightly. The cool air was such a change from the sweltering tent, and her body had yet to adjust.

"That's a lot better," Aang mumbled softly, and for a long while they were both silent.

Above them, the sky was only half alive. The crescent moon hung lazily in one corner, and a hazy, bluish hue adorned the other. It was just before dawn, the moment that bridged night and day, and the woods around them were strangely dormant. Too late for night creatures to move about, too early for birds to sing. The only sound was Sokka's breathing, heavy and steady.

She found it hard to imagine that only hours earlier rain had hammered the tarp in incessant rhythm, leaks had soaked their faces and blankets, and life had been miserable.

"I'm sorry, Katara," Aang said suddenly. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be stuck out here in-"

"You don't have anything to be sorry about, Aang," she interrupted. "People like that…They're ignorant. You can't let them get to you." Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were meaningless. That's easy to say, she thought, and she knew Aang was thinking the same thing.

Unbidden, the memory rushed back to her, and Katara felt a swell of anger. What reason did that woman have to be so cruel? No room? How absurd – her inn had been nearly empty! In her mind, Katara could see Aang's face, downcast and humiliated, as Sokka helped him hobble out the door, back into the rain. If only that woman knew how Aang had nearly gotten himself killed, fighting off men who hopelessly outnumbered him. How he fought to end a war that he blamed on himself. The least he deserved was a bed to sleep in.

Looking back, she shouldn't have been surprised. The look on that woman's face…It wasn't the first time Katara had seen it. And, though none of them ever mentioned it, she was sure that Aang and Sokka had also noticed it before. She remembered the old fisherman's words. You turned your back on the world. Aang wore his mark for the world to see; people knew who he was, and there were those who hated him for being the Avatar. Howcould hehandle it, when even the people he wanted to help were against him?

She turned to Aang. "What are you doing up, anyway?" She wouldn't bother asking questions he didn't have the answers to.

"I couldn't sleep, so," he tugged at the hem of his shirt, "I was trying to fix this tear. It's not very good, though. I mean, you could probably do it better. And safer." He flashed her a smile carefully picking up the sewing needle. Katara squinted get a good look at his needlework. The two sides of the tear were sewn together tightly with dark thread and uneven stitches.

"It's fine," Katara reassured. "But, next time, do it inside out. That way the seam won't show." She watched as Aang flipped the end of his shirt over, revealing a nearly invisible mend. As he inspected it, Katara's eyes trailed from the seam in Aang's shirt to the one running down the back of his neck, disappearing into his collar. A solid blue arrow made of thousands of tiny pinpricks that, she guessed, must have hurt a lot more than the one on his finger.

A thousand in one. Ever since they had met, Katara had noticed things about him that were distinctly different, and uniquely Aang. They were small things – idiosyncrasies that played out in his speech, in his posture, in his walk, in his smile. Often, she wondered whether they were simply the quirks of a twelve-year-old boy, or vestiges of a people from a hundred years ago.

She thought back to when they had first left the South Pole, when Aang had taken them to the Southern Air Temple. She could picture the Sanctuary clearly in her mind – the thousands of stone statues, elaborately detailed and spiraling high into the dark ceiling. There was Aang, small among the endless rows. It feels like I know them, he had said.

She glanced at Aang, quietly lost in his thoughts. His gaze had shifted skyward, towards a slowly paling horizon. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. The remnants of a lost race, millenia of history wrapped in tattered clothes and bandages and blue ink. A thousand in one. How many times had he been hated? How many times had he been persecuted, hurt, alone?

How many times had he survived?

"It's never going to get easier," she said suddenly. Aang turned to her. For a moment he looked puzzled, then he nodded, solemnly.

"I know."

"But you're not going to give up. We won't let you."

This time he smiled. "I know."

Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar and can't think of a clever way to say it.

Note: My thanks to Lady Serenity Moon Child and 1bzwriter for the reviews of Chapter Two!