Stormy Nights
Weeks had past since the disappearance. That's what they were calling it now. It didn't seem to matter that it was Aang who was missing, as much as the fact that the Avatar was gone. Everyone in the Temple was worried, as were all of Aang's other friends around the world after being interrogated as to the boy's whereabouts (Although Bumi protested he didn't know, the palace had still been searched thoroughly).
Gyatso's days were long, seeing as how he wasn't allowed to travel with the search parties (he couldn't be trusted to bring Aang back to the Temple) and without Aang to mentor, he was left to wallow in memories.
There were the good memories, of cakes and smiles and games of air ball and pai shou, but there were also the bad memories (for some reason, all having to do with Aang finding out he was the Avatar) of the small boy near to tears as he begged for a break in training, and of disapproving monks covered in pastry, and sad late-night questions of why, Gyatso, why me?
But none of the memories dug into Gyatso as deep as the one he blamed himself for. The memory that took place on the night it had been storming, when Gyatso was slowly making his way back to Aang's quarters after receiving the bad news. Just as he was about to tell Aang he would never let the monks take him away, he found the room empty of everything but a letter, explaining Aang had already taken himself away.
With the storm blaring outside, Gyatso had rushed out to the stables, to find Appa missing, and his fears confirmed. One of his fellow monks found Gyatso there the next morning, a scroll tucked safely into his soaked robes, sitting in a puddle and staring out into the horizon. The scroll was taken to the abbot, who had thrown it down in anger (an emotion rarely displayed in the Temple) and the search parties were released.
But Gyatso knew it was hopeless, for he had been there that night, sitting out in the middle of the storm while the rest of the Temple slept, and he saw the bluish glow erupting from the Temple Sanctuary. He knew Aang had activated the Avatar State, and he knew why. The monks searched the Earth Kingdom, they checked the Poles and the every last forest and village in the Fire Nation, but they weren't searching in the right places.
Because although Gyatso wasn't there for Aang that night of the storm, he was there all the other nights, and he heard the mumbles and whispers about the water, and the rivers and pond and lakes and rain, and he heard the longing for the ocean.
Gyatso knew where Aang was, and he knew Aang was alive and moving on to his next element, but he wouldn't tell the others because the others wouldn't listen, and even though he knew these things he still slept with that old water logged scroll in Aang's quarters on nights when it stormed.
Because for Gyatso, the memories were thick and the sorrow was heavy and his days were long, but his nights were longer.
And out of all the children in the Temple (the children Gyatso thought were Aang's friends) only one had come up to him, crying, and asked where Aang was. Gyatso patted the boy's head and tapped him in the chest.
"Right here" Gyatso responded, finger on the boy's heart. "Right here."