Letters from the Falling Sky
Summary: "Katara felt helpless. Aang didn't know he had a daughter." Things more complex than the war had finally torn them apart. In isolation, they take out their brushes, regret the past, and write. Kataang, Tokka. Rated M.
Author's Note: I'm actually very fond of this chapter. It's not too depressing but it's not a happy sing-along either. It's like a contented balance of the two!
Bei Fong is Toph's last name and Gao Ling is the city where she was raised. I'm not completely positive on the spelling, but it seems pretty close.
Now I know that Tokka isn't exactly cannon, and sadly, I'm also very well aware of my lack of Tokka-writing skillz. I never like the way it sounds when I write it. But I can promise you that I did my best. It's approximately 11:54 p.m. right now and I've spent the last two hours writing and typing and making faces at the computer screen.
I continue to thank my loyal reviewers. You all honestly inspire me—I read your comments with a goofy smile pasted right under my nose!
-scorpiored112
.3.
The sound of his boots against cobblestone reminded him briefly of the groundwork on Kyoshi Island. But there were many things that reminded him of Kyoshi—many things that reminded him of Suki, for that matter—and they came up often enough for Sokka to learn to ignore them.
Of all the places to think of Suki, he thought as he looked up to the Bei Fong estate. It was bigger and much fancier than he had remembered it. Why had he come here? Without notice, without a letter of warning, without anything? Something inside had merely told him that—out of the four of them—he needed to talk to Toph again.
But Sokka knew there was something else. A feeling that there was something wrong—out of place. It was too strong for him to ignore. Strong enough to take him all the way down from the North Pole to the center of the Earth Kingdom.
Sokka stopped walking. He was finally here.
The outer gate was crafted of dark, wrought iron, and had the design of Bei Fong flying boar on every available space. Sokka pulled at a coarse rope, signaling a heavy steel bell to ring. A servant appeared almost instantly and inspected him.
"Good afternoon," the warrior stated after a short pause, bowing. "I'm here to see Toph Bei Fong."
The servant, who Sokka guessed was a good fifty years old, began the tedious task of opening the front gates. "You wouldn't happen be the doctor, would you?" he asked with a hefty breath. The fence opened up and Sokka took a few steps in before the man stopped him with an open palm.
"Are you?" he asked again.
"No," Sokka admitted. "I'm not a doctor."
"I didn't think so," the elderly man muttered. "The Bei Fong's don't want any company. They are waiting for the arrival of a doctor from Ba Sing Sei. Now, if you don't mind—"
"Hey, hold on there!" Sokka exclaimed, pushing the man's hand away. "I may not be a doctor, but Toph knows who I am. I'm here to see her."
The man repeated stubbornly, "They don't want any company."
"I'm not company," Sokka replied. "I have a good reason for being here. I could have lied and said I was a doctor, but I didn't. Now let me through."
A tense, anxious silence settled afterward. Sokka watched as the servant inspected him more closely. After a thorough investigation, he wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disbelief. He stated knowingly, "You're that Sokka boy."
"I'm not some boy," the warrior returned. "I'd appreciate a little respect from a servant." He pointed to the man's chest with two fingers and looked him in the eyes. "I'm going in, and I'll be sure to give Toph the message that you're just about as rude as you are old."
"Please," the man started, laughing. "I know what you've done to Lady Bei Fong. Everyone here knows."
Sokka's arm dropped.
"She's told us about your little argument. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't be acting so cocky. She's not going to be too pleased to see you." He saw Sokka's facial expression slump down, and then added, with a wicked smirk and a fake bow, "Go ahead in, master! The Bei Fong's are expecting you."
Sokka straightened himself, obviously shaken, and pushed past the man quickly. He was no longer an impulsive child with bad intentions. He knew now that servants were bitter, and liked to spread rumors and gossip around like old ladies. The man's response had only bothered him—but, in all honesty, had done little beyond that.
Why would they need a doctor? he asked himself as he entered their walkway. He hoped it didn't have anything to do with Toph. But somehow, he could feel that it did. It was the same notion that had brought him down here in the first place.
Various younger servants were about the estate, chattering and moving and working. They eyed Sokka suspiciously and turned their faces and talked some more. A group of young maidservants finally said, loud enough so he could hear, "It's that one Sokka boy Lady Bei Fong was so fond of—he's come back!"
He turned to look at them. When they saw him approaching, the trio of maids blushed, settling down, and tried to look busy with their work.
"Excuse me, ladies," he started, using that old charm he had been gifted with since birth. "I couldn't help but notice that you seem to know who I am, and why I'm here."
They glanced uncomfortably at each other.
He grinned at them and winked. "Since you happen to know more about this little ordeal than I do…then, by any chance, do any of you know where my old friend Toph is, currently?"
The youngest one, a girl of about fifteen years, looked up at Sokka with admiring eyes and—captured by the wink he had shared with them earlier—blurted, before the others could stop her, "That room there, Mr. Sokka, sir—with the beige door—at the end of the hallway—knock twice!"
He nodded to the red-faced maid in appreciation and continued on his way. The three of them stared at his back, mouths open, eyes wide, with the most humorous look on their faces. Sokka seemed to have that power over young women, and though it pleased him, it also happened to come in handy every once in a while.
Finally out of earshot, he stood facing the beige door and took a deep breath. He lifted his fist and rapped his knuckles against the wood twice.
No response.
He knocked again, this time a little more urgently. But still, nothing came from the other side of the door.
Sokka was beginning to feel a swell of nervousness rise into his chest. But he couldn't run away now—coming this far meant going all the way. So he cleared his throat and knocked against the door six times and stated, "Toph? Toph, it's me. It's Sokka."
"I know who it is," a raspy voice answered.
Sokka jumped back. Whoever was behind the door certainly didn't sound like Toph. It sounded like some bothered child—a high, shrill, almost innocent tone that contrasted everything he knew about the blind metalbender.
He muttered, "Oh," because he did not know what else to say.
There was no reply to this. He shifted his weight on his feet and stared blankly into the door. This wasn't going as well as he had planned.
"Uh—can I…can I come in?"
Nothing.
"Toph?"
"Idiot," the raspy voice stated brashly.
He blinked and pushed the door open, taking this answer as a yes.
He found his former companion lying on a low mattress, her feet facing the door, her eyes half shut, with a thin white blanket over her body. He gasped because, even though he hated to admit it, she looked beautiful even in this helpless state. Actually, especially in this helpless state.
Sokka moved a few steps closer and tried to get a better view of her face. She was alone, and the room itself was dark and smelled of feminine sweat and used matches. Toph's long ebony hair was tied up weakly with an ivory stick. Her fogged eyes stared bleakly at the wall and her paled hands—almost the color of the mattress—were the only thing on top of the sheet.
Her face was flushed, lips parted, strands of hair out of the bun and over her face. She looked distressed. Sokka kneeled down next to her pillow and bit his lip.
The doctor was for her, he thought disgustedly.
Toph was sick—very sick, at that—and it was extremely obvious that he had picked the wrong time to pop in without warning.
"How'd you know it was me?" he asked the side of her head, unsure of what to do. The swell of nervousness poured out of him in the form of perspiration. He wiped his forehead hurriedly. This was horrible. Toph was dying and here he was—a bad memory. A bad friend. A lousy, pompous boy who had just now realized what a poor condition his closest friend was in.
"Your steps," she answered after a deep swallow. "Can't talk much," she added.
"I guess I'll talk, then."
He saw the corners of her mouth twitch. Even if he hadn't seen her for four years, he knew what she would have said. "Yeah, Sokka—of course you'll do all the talking! It's all you ever do, anyway."
"Goodness, Toph…I had no idea you were…"
"Sick." It sounded as though she had eaten a stack of sandpaper.
Sokka looked about the room frantically. "You need water."
He saw her pointer finger tremble. He realized dimly that she could barely move. "Won't help," she said flatly.
His head fell. He looked awkwardly at his knees. There was no reason for him to feel this guilty, and yet he couldn't help it. Seeing Toph this way after so long made his stomach turn itself into knots.
"Talk?" she asked.
"I'll talk," he answered quickly. "Don't talk anymore. It's hurting you." The muscles over her throat moved up and down. "Dear God," he murmured, looking at her face again. "Dear God…"
"Anemia," she said, talking against his orders. "Blood problem."
There was a lack of iron in her system. It was like having a form of malnutrition. But Katara had also had anemia for a short while, Sokka recalled, when they were still kids, and it hadn't been this bad. Toph's condition, he knew now, was serious. He murmured, because he needed to, "Toph—I'm…I'm sorry."
"Not your fault."
She heard him silence a sob. She felt him shuffle around next to her. Then the heat of his breath was right next to her cheek, and he was whispering.
"This is all my fault," he started, his voice cracking. "I knew something was wrong…I had to come down here and check. You're sick! I've never seen you this way before. Dear God!" He slapped a hand against his chest. "I feel like someone just…just stabbed me in the back or something. All this time I didn't talk to you, you were down here…you were sick."
"Not too bad," the girl answered, true to her sturdy nature. She breathed in clumsily.
"Don't talk anymore—please. It's hurting you. It's not worth it. Just listen to me."
"Listening," she grunted.
Seeing Toph like this had destroyed every vision of their reunion he had came up with. She was pale and sick and could barely move or talk. She was in need of medicine and a doctor and various other forms of attention that he was not able to give. He couldn't help it. When he spoke, tears fell from his eyes.
"God, Toph—I should have never yelled at you. I should have never given you all that shit about Suki and my dad…"
Her lips squeezed shut. It was the most movement he had seen out of her in the few moments he had been in here.
"You weren't jealous of me and Suki—you weren't jealous of the wedding. And I knew you weren't…but when she died…I don't know what was wrong with me. I just needed to place the blame—and look where it got us…I'm such an idiot…I'm such a damn idiot."
He was surprised that he was being so open, but the fact that Toph could barely answer helped move his confession along.
"Not too bad," she repeated in the same raspy tone, but he could see the wetness against her own eyelids, and he felt at peace, because even if she was sick, she had at least understood him.
He stopped talking. He was close enough to see her blink her tears away.
"Still next to me?" she asked him.
Sokka nodded even though he knew she couldn't see it. "Yeah, I'm right here. I'm not going to leave."
And suddenly it happened.
The weak frame of girl moved up slowly. Her paled arm reached for his head. After some inexperienced fumbling she found his cheek, and cupped it in her hand and felt his face.
"You…were crying," she managed, feeling the cool moisture against the skin of her fingers.
She felt him encase his own hand over hers. "I'm so sorry," he murmured.
Toph tried to sit up. With Sokka's help, she fixated herself over the mattress, her back curved in a sitting position. He could tell that she was exerting a good amount of effort to hold her weight, and it touched him to see that she hadn't changed—with or without the illness that was currently plaguing her—with or without the argument he had started four years ago.
He asked gently, "What are you doing?"
She pulled her other hand away from the sheets and grasped the other side of his head into her fingers. He saw her concentrating, feeling the vibrations and the warmth of his face. Sokka was expecting it—but it still came as a surprise—when she leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his mouth.
Toph was so delicate that he felt as though he were kissing paper. Despite being sick, she didn't prove to have rancid breath. Everything simply smelled like used matches or like sweat. Her lips tasted like salt.
She had kissed him once before, when he was engaged to Suki. It was an accident and she hadn't meant to do it. But this was completely intentional, and seemed to happen without a second thought.
When she pulled away, exhausted at the effort, he tilted himself forward and returned the favor. Her head fell deeper against the silky pillow that smelled like her skin. She felt Sokka move his fingers into the length of her hair. His tongue was muscular and—she thought—rather large, but when he pushed himself into her mouth, he did it in the most tender, delicate manner. Not wanting to break her. Not wanting to hurt her. Not ever again.
She sighed desperately, quietly, confusedly, into his mouth. And then the kiss was over. He looked at her useless eyes and realized her face had regained some of its color.
"I was jealous," Toph admitted, squinting. The rasp was still there, but it seemed less persistent. For some reason, she spoke with a newfound ease. "But that doesn't mean I planned to have her killed."
He reached for her hand again. He had been waiting for this answer—for this confession. Any sort of confession to settle the confusion and the guilt he was always feeling. "You were jealous?"
"Yes."
He asked pompously, but with a tinge of seriousness in his voice, "Because you loved me?"
She replied steadily, again without a second thought, "I still love you. Even when you guys were all mad at each other. Even now."
He relaxed his shoulders. One of his reunion visions was coming to life. "I love you, too," he confessed softly. "I don't think I knew it back then. But I know it now…when I saw you like this…and when we kissed."
He realized that the little burst of energy that had enabled Toph to kiss him was slowly dying out. She slumped back into her sleeping position. Her skin paled up again and her lips and eyelids both parted halfway.
"Now you know," she said huskily, in reference to her own admittance.
"Where are you parents?"
"Their room," she answered with a hesitant cough. "Letters to doctors."
"From Ba Sing Sei. One of your servants told me." He looked down at this hands, considering this. The guilt and the nervousness swelled into his heart again. He asked, although it sounded more like a command, "You're going to get better?"
"Idiot," the raspy voice answered. He looked at her, surprised. "Toph Bei Fong doesn't go down without a fight."
She took the extra effort of smiling, which he could tell wasn't an easy task. But she smiled anyway—a full, toothy, childish grin. He smiled back and wished she could see him.
"You're beautiful," he started. "I'm so glad I came back to see you."
Toph seemed distant. "Me too."
"I have to leave now, but I'm going to come back." He squeezed her hand a little tighter. "I'm coming everyday. I just have some scrolls that apparently came in from Gran Gran and someone in this Earth Kingdom city. I have to read them. But I'm coming back tomorrow. I promise."
He saw her nod faintly. When he left he tried to memorize the smell of her room, and how it looked like, and how Toph looked like, and what their kiss had awakened within him—a deep excitement he had only felt for Suki before.
The motel he had decided to stay in was situated in central Gao Ling, fairly close to the Bei Fong property. When he got there that evening and took a closer look at the scrolls, his eyes widened and he gasped involuntarily.
It wasn't Gran Gran, it was Katara. And it wasn't just anyone in any Earth Kingdom city—it was Aang, in a city only a few miles away from Gao Ling.
Sokka held each scroll in either fist looked at them. Opening them would mean that he had forgiven his sister as well as the Avatar. Ignoring them could be dangerous, and presumably stupid if something big was happening in their corners of the world.
"What could they possibly want to tell me?" he asked himself, looking at the scrolls again. "There's nothing left to say."
And he knew he forgave them, too. That wasn't the reason. Sokka knew that, deep down, he was afraid. Afraid because scrolls this late into an argument could only mean bad news.
He kept the letters, closed and undisturbed, on the small table in his motel room. His thoughts were preoccupied with Toph's condition, and what he was going to do to help her.
It was then—very, very early the next morning—the thought of Katara being a waterbender struck him. He sprung out of the bed and touched his sister's letter.
"Katara can heal her," he said. His voice echoed against the thin walls of the dark room. Hearing her name come out of his mouth after so long made him shiver.
But then he paused and let go of the scroll. He decided it would be best to take them both to Toph and read them there. It helped to have an audience. It helped to have someone there telling you what to think and how to think it.
After all, if Sokka had learned anything in the time he had been away, it was simply this: sometimes—most of the time, actually—the world becomes too big to handle alone. And that is when we realize what large mistakes we make.
But that is also when we learn how to fix them.