This first chapter could 100% be read as a one-shot. If you aren't into the storyline, be my guest and only read Ch 1.
Author Notes: I was never satisfied with Toph's adult storyline, she was always happy to get into trouble and do illegal things so I don't imagine her being a cop. I wanted to explore a softer side of her, her emotions and feelings of depression. There is a brief mention of suicidal thoughts later on, but I'm not planning to expand on it too too much. I hope this isn't ooc and I hope you enjoy my first ever published fic. For some reason I love writing stories without even mentioning the main characters names. It adds a sense of melancholy imo. I do have an explicit chapter written and reserved for last(?), but depending on the feedback I may extend my story.
Toko is one of my favorite pairings and I wanted to give them a little love. I don't know how long this will be but I currently have 3 full chapters written. Pls don't write anything TOO harsh in the comments lol. I plan to upload this on ao3 later, I'm just waiting for my invitation.
Each chapter is named after songs that match the overall theme and tone. This chapter is named after Heaven or Las Vegas by Cocteau Twins.
It was weird for him to talk to her after all these years, 5 exactly. Although the last time they saw each other it was only for a few hours at Aang and Katara's wedding. He remembers dancing with her twice. If he knew she would be gone for so long he would have spent the whole night with her. His heart aches for a split second, remembering how she felt at the ceremony and reception. She confided in him, telling him she felt "so alone." However, she had goals. She figured it wouldn't hurt to go back to sands, dry deserts, mines, and tunnels honing her bending. She figured she could be unproductive and lonely at home or be productive and lonely elsewhere. No one expected it to last 5 years.
She just celebrated her 21st a few months ago and decided to come back. She had already seen Aang and Katara, Sokka and Suki; he was her last stop. He knows it's selfish for him to think that she's only here for him. He knows she wants to spend time with Uncle Iroh, too. She was hesitant to tell him when she would leave the palace, not knowing what her next step was. In return, he didn't ask. Now here they were, drinking warm rice wine in his chambers, cheeks flushed, and feeling like kids again. They're sitting cross legged and slouched over the low table across from each other, giggling over stories from when he traveled with their group. They never mentioned anything about him before he joined the Gaang, she decided he didn't deserve that.
She feels warm. So she says so and he agrees.
"You're hot anyway."
He laughs.
She's aware of her actions. She's aware of what she's saying. At least, that's what she's telling herself.
"I used to have a crush on you."
The statement hung in the air, not uncomfortable, just a silence. Almost as if the two of them agreed to let the words breathe.
"When?"
She quietly hums looking like she's trying to remember the phases of her infatuation, but he's not buying it.
"A little after I first met you."
She hopes that's good enough.
"How long did it last?"
Guess not.
"It's embarrassing."
She can feel her face heat up. He waits for her to speak. He waits just like he's waited for her for 5 years. She suddenly feels how old she is. It's a little sobering, especially when she remembers he's 4 years older. She feels his stare and decides to answer.
"...2 years."
"Hmm."
She's tipsy and not on her A-game, but she doesn't feel him react; no fast heartbeat, no shifting, no sharp intake of breath. She thinks he must be tired.
"It's not like we could have pursued each other at that time anyway."
He's being nice. They both know she wasn't on his radar, but she's fine with him being polite about this. It's been a while since she felt like she could drop the act. Her sarcasm and boisterous attitude was a defense mechanism. She's become tired of performing it. He quietly coughs and it snaps her back to the conversation.
"Who made you move on from me?"
She could have gotten upset at the question, but he's curious and not teasing her.
"When Haru had a mustache..." she drifts off, not wanting to finish that sentence.
He laughs and jokes with her, "But you can't even see it."
"I didn't say it was logical!" now she's laughing too, "Katara and Suki would make comments about how grown up he looked. I don't know. He was always nice and I just assumed it looked good on him."
"It was okay I guess."
"Like you could ever grow anything."
They're giggling again. She yawns. They both know his bed is big enough for her to stay here tonight. He remembers her being a kid and asking if she could sleep closer to him "for the residual heat." He wonders whether that was true or if her crush spurred her on. He figures it's probably both.
He watches her stand up and walk into the bathroom. He waits a few minutes and decides he should get ready for bed, too. Standing is a mildly difficult task and he can't remember the last time he had this much to drink. He finds her in the bathroom braiding half of her hair, the other half waiting for her fingers to plait it. He starts to fix his own for bed also, taking out his top knot and headpiece. Looking in the mirror at the both of them, he ponders what their lives would have been like if it weren't for the war making their paths cross. They're both nobility. And if Iroh were the Fire Lord, would her family show up to the Fire Nation's celebrations, dances, and feasts? Would he go to the Earth Nation's? He reminds himself that she would still be blind, but he probably wouldn't have his scar.
He looks back at her hair, which is shorter than he remembered it. Falling just below her shoulders. The half he could see was choppy, cut with a sword, perhaps. His hair is much longer now. So much about him has changed. He wonders if she knows that. If she knows he has to wear glasses due to his eyesight getting worse on his left side. If she knows he's balding around his scar. If she can smell that he took up a semi-regular habit of smoking tobacco and herb. He concludes she doesn't and continues to stare at her, drinking her in. She feels him waiting again and breaks the silence.
"I lost my headband while crossing the desert. It had only been 6 months into my travels. It's okay though, my hair stopped being a priority anyway."
He can't tell if it actually is okay. His answer is to help her braid the other side, something his mom taught him. Her hair has dust and dirt throughout. He suddenly wished he drew her a hot bath, but they're too tired now. She can clean up in the morning. After doing the most minimal maintenance, they walked back into the bedroom. She immediately undresses, shedding her tunic and wide pants revealing athletic style shorts and a camisole. She sits on the bed, unwrapping the dirty cloth strips from her feet and ankles. He pauses when he gets to his side and watches her. She's rough, dirty, muscular, and her movements are so purposeful. As he's changing he wonders if he's getting soft.
They settled into bed. He could hear her calluses tugging at the satin. The rough edges of her hands and feet were snagging threads and he wrinkled his face in annoyance. His earlier thought is true. He is getting soft. She sighed and sunk back into her pillow. Her head turns to look at him and her eyes slowly open. He knows she can't see, but her stare bores into him anyway. He reaches out and grabs her hand. His fingertips are tough from training, but much smoother than hers. They squeeze and their hands retreat, their way of saying "goodnight."