Aang hesitated at the entrance to Katara's room. Inside the room someone moaned. Worried, Aang put his hand on the door, prepared to push it open. He paused as the sound was followed by a feminine giggle. Then a male voice joined in the laughter. Puzzled, Aang decided to continue with his mission, to knock on the door and speak to Katara. He balled his hand into a fist and, after a moment's pause to summon his courage, gave two quick raps.
He needed to apologize for his behavior, and not only for what he did after that awful play. He had also kissed her without permission on the day of their failed invasion. He had long entertained unfair expectations of their relationship. Now that he had defeated Ozai and no longer felt the immense pressure to end the war, he had space to recognize how his awkward advances had bothered his waterbending master. Aang desperately hoped it was not too late to salvage their friendship. Sokka had told him which room was Katara's, and now Aang could approach her to beg forgiveness without an audience.
After a few agonizing moments Zuko opened the door, bare-chested and mussed. The other boy was turned toward the room's interior and took a few seconds to properly face the doorway. Before turning toward Aang, the prince called over his shoulder to the room's other occupant "don't move! I'll get rid of whoever it is!" Another light feminine laugh drifted out of the room as Zuko focused an annoyed gaze on the person outside the doorway.
Narrowed eyes relaxed and his disturbed expression softened into a small smile as Zuko greeted the Avatar. "Hey, Aang. Is something wrong? What's happening?"
Aang felt a shock of understanding rip through him. Moaning and giggling and a near-naked Zuko in Katara's room needed no further explanation. He might not have any experience of the sort, but he wasn't an idiot. Apparently the awful play had guessed correctly at the relationship between Katara and Zuko. The ground fell away beneath Aang's feet and he could hardly draw a breath. All he could think of was escape. He managed to gasp out "Sorry. Sorry. Nothing. I'll just go now" before he stumbled backward a few steps, his usual grace deserting him.
And then he fled with all the uncanny fleetness airbending granted him.
Zuko stared after his vanished friend in bemusement before he shrugged and closed the door again. He figured Aang must have caught an inkling of what he'd interrupted and was too embarrassed to communicate whatever he'd come for. Poor kid. Sometimes Zuko allowed Aang's bending mastery and mature, composed manner to distract him from the kid's actual age. Which, come to think of it, he didn't even know. Was Aang 13 yet? The Avatar was definitely too young to be exposed to the sort of activities Zuko had planned for the evening. Zuko tried to ignore a surge of remorse at corrupting the younger boy.
Guilt evaporated as a feminine voice called "Zuko? I'm waiting for you." Zuko shook off thoughts of Aang and everything else as he hurried back to the beautiful girl waiting for him.
Aang felt the last of his composure begin to crack before he rounded the first corner. Though airbending ideally called for calm and a centered approach, these were entirely out of Aang's reach in the wake of his discovery. He nevertheless drew tendrils of air into a revolving sphere that he climbed onto with shaking legs, wanting only to get as far away from Zuko's palace as he could. Aang was insensible to the opulence of the gold-appointed corridors as he found the closest window and exited the building. Wind snatched his clothing as he sped away from the palace, into the city, and all the way down to the water's edge.
He released the air holding him aloft and crashed to the ground. A bright moon cast its silvery light across the waves, but Aang was immune to the night's beauty. Gasping and sobbing, he allowed misery to wash over him. Unbidden, images of Katara and Zuko together assaulted him. Aang wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop crying. He couldn't prevent himself from picturing her graceful hands touching Zuko, her bright smile directed at the prince, her body pressed against his. The pain spiked at each new imagining.
Hours or maybe eons later the tears wound down. Aang's head ached abominably and his stomach felt sour and on the verge of losing its contents. Sometimes crying was a relief and left a sense of peace when it stopped. But all Aang felt in the wake of his weeping was despair. He had won the battle of a lifetime, defeating a tyrant and bringing an end to a century-long war. But his satisfaction at the achievement seemed to have drained away with his tears, leaving a dull numbness. The rest of his life stretched out bleakly in front of him. His people were gone. Everyone he'd known in the first twelve years of his life was long dead, but for Bumi. The girl he loved with all his soul, with all the love of his lost people, thought of him as a little brother.
The airbender didn't know what to do, how to face any of his friends. He had not been subtle about his feelings toward Katara. Presumably, all his friends now knew about her and Zuko. Aang would be the subject of pity from everyone. Aching both emotionally and physically, Aang longed to escape. He had only his glider in the way of belongings to gather. He could grab it, call Appa and fly away, never to be seen again. He could return to the Southern Air Temple, live out his days in exile among the bones of his people, hoping that he would join them soon. As these thoughts flitted through his mind, he thought he might cry again in self-pity. But he had no tears left.
Aang vaguely recognized how ridiculously melodramatic his thoughts were. Not only were they histrionic, they were also unrealistic. He had promised to stand beside Zuko for the coronation, lending the authority of the Avatar to the proceedings. So he could not simply leave. There was also the horror of what happened the first time he ran away from his responsibilities to check his impulse to run.
On some level, Aang was surprised that he didn't feel anger toward either Katara or Zuko. He only felt heavy and sad. If there was any anger in his mess of emotions, it was entirely self-directed. He had been so stupid, expecting a beautiful girl to want more of him than friendship. He hadn't been deceived or betrayed. Katara finding joy with someone else was no betrayal. Neither she nor Zuko owed him anything, least of all denial of their true emotions just to appease a silly kid.
However, once his duty was discharged, he had to get away. Aang did not want to be without the company of those he'd come to love so dearly, but he knew he could not bear to witness more of the romance between Zuko and Katara. If he stayed, he risked tainting all of his friendships with his disappointment and heartache. But if he left tomorrow, perhaps he could return to them after he allowed enough time to pass that thinking of Katara no longer brought such immense pain.
He wished he had the Air Nomad elders to consult. He remembered some older boys discussing meditations and practices to alleviate suffering caused by thwarted love. But any specifics were beyond his recall. At the time, he'd been too young to think that unhappiness in romantic love could ever apply to him, though not too young to think of romantic love at all. Ruefully, he acknowledged that whatever rituals his people developed to heal heartbreak were now as lost to him as the exact mixture of pigments used to color his tattoos. Air Nomads were not proponents of 'if only' thinking, but Aang couldn't stop himself from imagining how much peace and healing he could have garnered from time spent among the wisest of his people. He longed even for sour old Lobsang with his permanent scowl of disapproval.
If only.
However, the wisdom and brilliance of the Air Nomads were gone beyond what meager bit he'd absorbed in his short time with them. And the world was sadly out of balance without their influence.
Aang stared morosely at the watery horizon, trying to guess what advice Gyatso would have had for him. As he gazed at the bright ripples of light on the night-dark sea, Aang found himself unconsciously shifting his weight and straightening into an upright seated posture. Long practice allowed him to easily slip into a meditative state, dismissing thought and grief alike. His eyes closed.
The ocean breeze slid over his bare scalp and dried the salt water from his cheeks. Aang felt the muscles in his shoulders unknot as he narrowed his focus to the air moving in and out of his lungs. His knees fell open towards the ground as his breathing slowed and the attendant relaxation loosened his hips and spine. Ruefully, Aang recognized that he had stored a whole lot of emotional suffering in the muscles of his entire body. He acknowledged the thought and dismissed it.
Once again he lost track of time. Breathed in. Breathed out.
When he opened his eyes, clouds had covered the moon and left complete darkness. Staring at nothing, Aang felt his second thunderbolt of the night as inspiration struck him, a way forward both for him and for the world. He could lose himself in this idea, sublimate his pain and work toward achieving balance, within himself and without. His sorrow and pain were undiminished, but he believed there would be an end to them eventually. Filled anew with purpose, Aang rose fluidly and took the first step of his new journey.
A/N: Please don't hate me. I hope this was not as painful to read as it was to write because my heart is smashed. Can you trust me to make this right eventually? Because I will. I promise this is the nadir of the story. Kataang is endgame for me, always. But there's a journey I want Aang to take before we get there.
