A/N: I can't explain this one beyond: It wrote itself.
He had to be strong, had to be brave. For his men, for his children. He was their leader. He had to be strong. He had to be…
But he wasn't strong. Not below the surface. That was an act, a façade, a mask. It was a lie. In the quiet of his tent with only his thoughts as company, he was weak, miserable. He had done nothing to save his wife, he couldn't have. But still he felt the guilt of her death looming over him, dooming him. His kids' faces, hurt, confused, wanting Dad, haunted his vision.
He wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted… something, anything. Release, freedom, peace.
He had to pull himself together! He wasn't broken! Not yet, not now. Couldn't be.
He had to be strong.
He was falling apart at the seams, hanging onto his sanity by a thread.
He had to pull himself together.
Tears, bitter and full of rage, stung his eyes. No. He couldn't cry. Not now, not ever. If he started, he would lose control. He would break, he would fall. His men would be lost. His children would shatter.
He had to be strong.
Arms wrapped around his shoulders. How long had Bato been there? He hadn't heard him enter, hadn't heard his call. A further sign of his weakness.
He had to be strong.
He couldn't cry.
Not now.
Not now.
Not now.
Not…
"It's not safe for you to do this to yourself."
What was Bato talking about? He was strong. He was the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, proud father of two beautiful children. He was brave, he was strong.
"You can't fool me, Hakoda."
No. He could. Everyone else fell for the act.
"It's okay to cry."
Crying would prove his weakness. He couldn't cry, he wouldn't cry. He refused.
He was strong.
He was strong.
He was…
Weak…
Broken…
Overdue, shuddering sobs broke the silence.