Author's Notes: Just an explosion of my brain on paper. This is AU and present tense, so beware. The title is a line from the song Stolen by Dashboard Confessional, which makes me think of Toph every time I hear it.
A great big thanks to Invaderk for beta'ing once again. Thank you!
Please review!
Alisa
Just Him and Her
Clear Liquor and Cloudy Eyes
Cocktail dress.
It's the first thing he notices. That, and the fact that she's arm wrestling a man twice her size (and winning).
She pins his arm and raucous laughter fills the bar—men slap her bare back and lift her arm up in the air in victory, never mind the perfect view down her dress it gives them. She laughs along with them, a lilt in her voice he recognizes. She quickly challenges them and they back down good-naturedly (or as good-naturedly as men can). They disperse now that their fun is over, and she's alone—he quickly makes his move.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, slipping into the chair across from her with ease.
"Martini," she says, sounding aloof and uninterested—he smiles at her, a gesture she can't see.
He orders her drink for her, and she frowns at him. "You sound familiar," she says (he almost wants to laugh). "Do I know you?"
"We might've met before," he answers vaguely, and wonders if her dress was intended to be so revealing.
"What's your name?" she asks, sounding only half as aloof now.
"Ah—Tao," he replies. "What about you?"
"Toph," she replies, then adds with a coy smirk, "but you can call me the Blind Bandit."
He laughs appreciatively, because he knows that's what she wants him to do. The waitress appears (curvy, more so than the girl across from him) and she places the martini in front of Toph. The first thing she does it take the olive out and pop it in her mouth.
They sit in silence for a moment as she chews and he observes. The pale blue silk dress really does look good on her—accentuates what little shape she does have and shows off her thin frame. Her hair is laboriously curled and falls down her back in a shiny wave. The light make-up on her face looks rightfully out of place, and he wonders who did the make-up for a blind girl.
"So, what d'you want, Tao?" she asks. Blind eyes lowered to the table, she takes her cup and downs half of it in one gulp.
"Can't a man buy a pretty woman a drink anymore?" he questions teasingly, and when she only raises her eyebrows, he amends with, "I wanted to know why you're wearing a bridesmaid's dress, that's all."
She tuts. "I was in a wedding, genius."
"I figured as much, thank you," he shoots back. "Shouldn't you be at the reception?"
"I am."
"What kind of idiot do you take me for? This is a bar!"
"Heh." She gives him a smirk. "Brilliant, you are. You got some kind of degree or somethin'?"
"Oh, ha ha," he deadpans.
She giggles and brings her drink to her lips. "Now," she says, leaning over the table, "either you want something or you're here for an arm wrestle. Which is it?"
He has a hard time diverting his eyes from that tempting neckline. "I—" he begins dryly, then swallows and goes on, "I wanted to ask you out."
She leans back in her chair and nearly teeters it. "No can do, Tao."
(What he was waiting for.)
"Why not?" he questions, trying not to sound too eager.
"You seem like a good guy," she says, draining her glass, "but I don't like you."
"What? You got a boyfriend or somethin'?" he says accusingly, even though he already knows the answer.
She gives a sharp laugh in response.
"You're married?" he guesses. "Prefer the ladies instead?"
She laughs outright at that and he's glad she can't sense his smile.
"Then what?" he says, forcing desperation into his voice to hide his amusement.
She taps her empty glass with the olive toothpick as if bored with him. "I just don't like you," she states matter-of-factly.
"There has to be another reason," he insists.
She flicks a loose curl over her shoulder. "I'll tell you a story, Tao," she says. "You ever been to the South? They do things different there. The bride, she's from there, and she's got this brother. And let me tell you, he is a complete idiot." She giggles, as if telling a private joke. "But—he's a cool guy. Funny, smart, a complete failure at sarcasm, the whole ten yards. And this guy, he just—he gets me, y'know? I can say something and he just knows, 'cause I don't even hafta say anything and he already knows. 'Cause I can do stuff an' he never doesn't get it 'cause he gets me. But sometimes—yeah, a lot of the time, he's just stupid."
She picks up her glass, finds it empty, and puts it down.
"Um… was there a story in there?" he asks, raising eyebrows amusedly.
"And that is why you can't go out with me," she announces, flashing him a victorious smile.
"'Cause you love this guy?" he asks, trying to sound casual and not prying.
"Yea—no." Her brows furrow. "No. I don't love him."
"It sure sounds like you do," he points out.
She blinks. "You really think so?" Then she shrugs. "I dunno. I've never been in love before." The toothpick wanders into her mouth.
"Well, it sounds like you're in love to me," he says, motioning for a waitress to refill her drink.
She gives a snort that's none too delicate. "What, and you're some love expert? You can tell just by being with a person if they're in love?" she quips.
"I may not be an expert," he says, his voice taking on a softer quality, "but I have been in love. I know what it's like."
"Oh, do tell, Doctor Love," she pronounces with a smirk, resting her chin in her cupped hands in what could be mistaken for rapt attention.
"Well…," he begins slowly, unsure how to approach such a broad subject as love with someone so hard to read, "do you like being with him?"
"Do I like being with him?" she repeats, as if contemplating the idea for the first time. "Huh… yeah, I guess. More than my other friends, at least."
"Uh… at least that's a start," he mutters. "So, are you closer to him that any of your other friends?"
The waitress appears with her drink, which she gladly accepts, taking a sip. "He's my best friend," she states, setting the martini down. "I dunno if he thinks that about me, but, yeah, he's definitely my best friend."
"Hmm…. Have you ever—um—thought about kissing him?" he asks quickly.
She plucks the olive from her drink and answers, "Once, a long time ago. Then I accidentally kissed his girlfriend."
He has to stifle his snort. "Really?"
She nods. "She left the next day."
He cocks his head to the side. "I'm not sure if that was a good thing for you or not," he muses, observing her.
"He spent the next few weeks pining," she says blandly, popping the olive in her mouth and taking her time munching on it.
"Bad for you, then," he replies, wincing. "Did he really pine?"
She swallows and deadpans, "Like a fool in love." A wicked grin appears on her face, almost reaching her sightless eyes. "But it was worth it, for the teasing he got from us. He was always blushing, uncomfortable around us, you know."
"But you weren't—jealous or her?" he asks, only half his mind on the fact that he's picking up her glass. "She must've spent a lot of time with him, after all, and he is your best friend."
"I don't remember, it was years ago," she says sharply, suddenly defensive. Her arms cross over her chest and she leans back in her seat. "Besides, I don't get jealous. If he wants to go flirt with a girl he's spent a total of a week with, well, fine. That's just fine by me."
"Alright, no need to get defensive," he interjects quickly.
"I'm not getting defensive," she counters loudly, but she's pouting and surly and certainly seems defensive.
"Of course not," he says, careful not to leak any sarcasm into his voice. He takes a sip of her martini, half out of habit and half out of thirst. "Well," he says, "are you convinced you're in love yet?"
"Nope," she answers, then adds sharply, "Gimme my drink back, twit."
"Ah." He sets the drink down embarrassedly and she takes it up. "Ah—um—do you, ever…" He gropes for a question, a good one, and has a hard time coming up with anything.
"Do I ever what?" she questions.
"Do you ever…," he says slowly, and then quickly continues, "miss him when he's gone?"
She takes a long, slow sip from her glass. "Yeah," she finally answers. "I do—I do miss him. Especially when he's not with me."
He raises his eyebrows. She's had more to drink than he first thought, if she's answering like this.
"Does your heart ever speed up if he touches you or holds your hand?" he asks. His hands are itching to demonstrate and he stuffs them in his pockets to avoid temptation.
"Why?" she says, holding her chin in her hands. "Isn't it supposed to do that?"
He can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not.
"Only if you like him," he clarifies. "You know, more than a friend. Like you're in love."
"You know," she says, words almost slurring as she reaches for her glass and downs it all, "maybe you're right. Maybe I am."
"Maybe you are what?" he prompts, palms sweaty on the inside of his tuxedo pants' pockets.
"Maybe I am in love with him," she mutters, then adds, "Even if he is stupid sometimes." She pauses to giggle. "Wouldn't that be funny? Me, in love, with him?" She laughs at him from across the table.
"I don't think it's very funny," he says coolly. "But I do think you should tell him."
She stops her giggling abruptly. "Tell him? Oh, no, no, no. That would be—stupid, that would be stupid of me, to tell him. He likes other girls, smarter ones, prettier ones, girlier ones," she rambles off, shaking her head so that her curls bounce on her shoulders.
"How d'you know that?" he challenges sharply. "How d'you know he likes other girls? How d'you know he doesn't think you're the smartest and prettiest of them all?"
"He doesn't look at me," she says, a tinge of resentment almost evident in her voice. "I'm smart and pretty and I'm the greatest Earthbender in the world, you know, but he's always liked other girls."
"How d'you know he doesn't look at you? You're blind!"
She shoots him with an icy glare that's deadly accurate. "I know."
"Well—have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't look at you because he doesn't know if you look back or not?" he questions, voice edging a dangerous desperation.
She scoffs. "Of course I don't look at him—I'm blind."
He draws his hands from his pockets and rubs his face with them. "Perhaps he doesn't know if you reciprocate his feelings," he says slowly, just so she'll catch every word and be able to process it.
"Oh." Then she scoffs again. "I said he's stupid, but not that stupid," she proclaims.
"Well, maybe it would make him feel better if you told him you love him," he suggests quickly.
She looks uninterested and aloof again as she replies, "Maybe."
"And maybe it would be a good idea to tell him right now," he hints at plainly.
"Right, right," she says, clearing her throat loudly, then announces quite sarcastically, "Sokka, wherever you are, I just thought I ought to let you know that I love you an' all. Just in case you were wondering."
"Toph…," he moans, "be serious!"
"What? It's not like he's sitting right next to me!" she exclaims, throwing her arms out to empty air on either side of her as proof. "See? No Sokka!"
"What about right in front of you?"
She cocks an eyebrow at him. "You drink too much or somethin'? Your name's Tao, remember? Not Sokka."
He gives a grunt of frustration. "I am Sokka, Toph! I am Sokka!"
She begins to laugh, then quickly stifles it. She squints at him, as if it would help her somehow.
"I am Sokka," he says again, slowly, earnestly. He slips a hand over hers and those wide blind eyes get even wider.
Then they flash with something and the next thing he knows, he's on the floor and spots are dancing in front of his eyes and she's towering over him, furious and sparking with anger.
"You idiot!" she screeches. "What d'you think you're doing, taking advantage of me like that?! I oughtta pound your head in! What were you thinking? I can't believe how shallow you can be! You know what? I challenge you to an Agni Kai!"
He's on his feet by now, examining the already-forming bruise. "Agni Kai is a Fire Nation thing. Why would you challenge me to one?" he questions conversationally, as if she hadn't just hit him square in the face.
"Because you're so stupid!" she shrieks, giving him a hearty shove. People are beginning to stare, he realizes too late.
"Toph…"
"C'mon, I wanna fight!"
"Toph, I'm not gonna fight you," he insists, placing a hand on each shoulder.
She shrugs them off. "Why not, Meathead? Afraid of getting your ass kicked by a little blind girl?"
"Toph," he says sternly, and he feels like he's scolding a little girl instead of the woman he loves. "I am not fighting you."
Suddenly she's in his face, fierce and fuming. "Why would you do this to me? Why would you trick me like this?"
"Because—" (He's acutely aware of all the eyes on the two of them and can't help but lower his voice slightly.) "Because I think I—" The words die in his throat and all that comes out is a half-choked sound.
"You hate me, don't you," she says dully, not a question at all. She backs up, folds her arms protectively.
With a fierce determination that he can't quite pinpoint of origins of, he takes her by the shoulders and then she's squealing in his mouth and stars flash across his line of vision because she's hit him square in the jaw again.
"What're you doing!" she shrieks, voice nearly an octave higher than normal, and certainly flustered.
"I was trying to kiss you," he snaps irritably, massaging his jaw gingerly. "What'd you go and punch me so hard for?"
"You surprised me!" she snaps back, voice returned to normal and much harder. She crosses her arms and juts out her hip, muttering something like trying to kiss me under her breath.
"Yes, I was trying to kiss you," he grunts, pushing himself to his feet. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't punch me this time."
"This time—?" she says. "What—mmmph!"
It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but it left them both breathless.
"Ah," she says quietly, before grabbing the silk tie around his neck and yanking him down where she can reach him. She kisses him rather forcefully and rather sloppily, but he doesn't mind. What he does mind, however, is the glares he can feel on his back from other bar-goers.
"Uh, Toph," he mumbles between kisses, "can we—not here—"
"Right." She drops down on slipper-covered feet. "Right. Someplace else. Someplace with beer."
He grips her elbow and pulls. "You're drunk enough as it is, we're not going to some place with more alcohol."
She smirks wolfishly. "Not for me. You're not nearly drunk enough."
"Toph—"
But she's already dragging him out of the bar and down the street and into the night air. Trailing behind her, he can't help but admire his sister's taste in clothes. That little dress really is something, but it's nothing compared to the girl in it, and really, he's just fine with that, too.