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: This chapter is really, really long and (actually) I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
But, ah! It was extremely fun to write! It really made my week. I was swamped with all this other stuff that I had to do (articles, homework, more homework) but decided firmly that I had to put this up. I love this series. It needs to continue.
And I'm going to go ahead and be a bad egg and say that I may have/might have/probably lied. The way things are turning out, this could possibly have more than just ten chapters. It actually might go beyond that. But we'll see. All things show with time.
Hope all of my readers enjoy things like chocolate cake.
-scorpiored112
.7.
Seeing Sokka's tall, lanky form trudging over their native tundra brought unexpected tears to her eyes. Somehow—although he had made it clear in the letter that he was coming back—his actual arrival carried a fresh, charming feel to it. She cried because she could no longer remember their grudge. And as she ran to him she made note of his obvious changes, but also of the sick girl lying, pale and asleep, in his arms.
Katara wasn't exactly what could be called "physically fit" anymore. Although she was thin and healthy, she wasn't very active. Running to her brother took effort, but it was a labor that she found interesting. It was as if time was stopping and melting around them. She didn't even notice that Kya Lynn had let go of her hand. All she could focus on was her brother's square jaw and piercing, icy eyes.
And when she did reach him, her voice failed her and all she could do was cry into his shoulder as two experienced healers took Toph away. Sokka held his younger sister and looked distractedly about the village, his gaze resting on Katara's smooth, perfect hair—her wonderfully tanned skin—her trembling body that held so much innocence and so much guilt.
Sokka was a manly man who liked to act distinctly manly. But he couldn't help it. When he heard Katara sobbing, he held her and they both cried and laughed into each other: laughing because their fight now seemed so stupid, crying because they had never officially cried for their father or for Gran Gran—for the parents and grandparent who had left them so suddenly, leaving them to fend for themselves in such a cold, desperate world.
All the warrior could think to say into his sister's hair was simply, "It's so good to be home." His voice rippled like a wave. It was soft and remorseful and full.
His sister, however, still couldn't speak.
She continued to cry and began kissing his face. She held him at arm's length and looked at him—observed every inch of his appearance and body, every aspect of his well-kept hair and rough, short beard—much like a mother would do. Oddly enough she was inexplicably happy to see him and yet unusually frustrated at the same time.
She replied to him awkwardly, "Sokka—you'll need to shave." And when he cocked his head sideways they both began laughing again.
There would be no proper term to describe the atmosphere of this. Neither sibling felt complete yet neither felt empty. And as they held each other, most of the village watched and pointed. The two greatest siblings of the planet had been reunited after four long years of hardship and confusion. Sokka, the very same boy who had watched over their faltering tribe years ago and Katara, the most experienced waterbender and healer in the whole southern hemisphere of the planet.
Their meeting was simply perfect. Sokka still loved his sister and only now did Katara realize how much she had missed this foolish mess of a boy. After three minutes of exclamations and questions and kissing and hugging, Kya Lynn, breathing heavily, trudged over the snow to her mother and pulled on her coat.
"Mama," the girl accused, trying to steady herself. "You let go of my hand!"
Katara dismissively turned around, suddenly remembering that she had a daughter, and turned to Sokka again. Her eyes lit up.
"Oh!" she shouted crossly. "Lynnie! I completely forgot. Come here, darling. This is Uncle Sokka. Remember—you told me you missed him. Here he is! Come on, Lynnie; say hello."
"Katara," Sokka whispered, bending down to pick the girl up, "she's beautiful."
Kya Lynn looked at the tall stranger shyly and then ran behind Katara's leg. When Sokka reached for her again she recessed even further behind her mother and made a whimpering noise.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Sokka laughed, glancing at his sister amusedly. "I promise."
"Lynnie, I'm surprised at you!" the waterbender hissed. "Come on, now. You told me you missed him. He wants to say hi to you. Get out of there." Katara twisted her body to get a better view of the girl, but she was quick and short and got away rather quickly. Sokka's attempts were futile and he gave up when the girl ran to the village square, refusing to look back or listen to her mother screaming for her to return.
Katara sighed desperately, touching her forehead, "I don't know what's gotten in to her."
"She looks just like Aang," Sokka stated slowly, standing up. He made a face. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing." Katara turned around, her back facing him, and watched as Lynnie ran up to Pakku and pointed brashly behind her.
"I don't mind the whole Lynnie thing, Katara," her brother whispered to the back of her head. "She doesn't know me—naturally, she'll run away. It's no big deal. At the North Pole, kids used to think I was some sort of freak. They ran away from me all the time."
Katara giggled at this.
The warrior shrugged and placed an arm around his sister's shoulder. "So it's okay. Don't get upset over it."
Katara's gaze remained on the ground as he hugged her closely again. She suddenly felt weak and nervous, almost like fainting. Kya Lynn was still a bastard child and her bad behavior broke Katara's heart. Just a day ago Lynnie was ranting about meeting Sokka again. Today it was as if she had seen a ghost.
And—if this was already the case—how would Katara tell her brother of the reincarnate? Of the same soul that he had almost married?
"You're right," the girl confirmed, burying these thoughts. "She does look just like Aang."
"I guess kids usually take after their father." Sokka rolled his shoulders back and smiled sadly, as if in reverie. "You must have loved him."
She answered immediately, "Yes."
"I'm so sorry."
"I've really missed you, Sokka," the healer said into his coat for the third time, hugging him. "I…I guess I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for everything. If…if you'll believe it…actually…these past four years…" She trailed off and covered her mouth, as if about to vomit. She looked up at him and noticed that his eyes were distracted, overlooking the crowd of people watching them, sewn distinctly to the horizon.
"It'll be alright," the warrior said. He looked down at her and grimaced. "If anyone should be sorry," he confessed, "it's me. You know as well as I do that this is all my fault."
Katara turned her head at an angle and didn't bother answering.
"But," the boy continued, "it's about time we put this stupid grudge behind us." He let his sister go and took a few steps into the village, his back straight. Katara watched him and realized that something inside of her brother had changed. He was no longer broken. Something—some form, some life—had given him hope again. And the distraction was simply that.
It was Toph.
"She's probably in the healing lodge next to my igloo," his sister exclaimed suddenly and without forethought, grasping his hands. "I'll take you. She should be fine."
As she walked, Katara wiped the tears from her face. In all the excitement she couldn't help but realize that she had finally cried. These were her first tears in forty-eight long months. And the happiness of it all—the passion, the confusion, the awkwardness—forced her to smile as she led her brother into the village square.
People greeted them. Pakku embraced Sokka warmly and told Katara that Lynnie had run off to some other location after noticing that Sokka was coming close to her again. Katara grunted in disapproval and this made Sokka laugh despite their frantic situation. He noticed, dimly, that he had missed this. He had missed so much.
They made their way to the healing lodge, walking along in silence, when a fellow healer seemed to come out of nowhere. She took Katara's arm and stated miserably, and rather abruptly, "Thank God—we thought you went off to the cargo ships."
"What is it?"
The woman, some three years older than Katara, shouted blindly, "That anemic girl is dying. We need you in there now."
"What?" Katara had already began lifting her sleeves.
"You heard me—hurry up. Leave your brother outside. There's no room."
Katara looked back at the warrior with a distinct curiosity. "But—"
"I'll be okay," Sokka said, grinning a little. "Toph needs you."
Katara nodded quickly, closing her mouth, and took a deep breath before she disappeared into the lodge.
Sokka, meanwhile, remained outside and tried to think of happy things.
But the process—the actual thought of thinking of happy thoughts—made him sick. He decided instead to do something useful and find his niece.
Their native tundra had grown up so much in the years he had been away. The South Pole now held the title of a city instead of a village—things were big and brash and wonderful. Smells erupted from every corner and every nook. Sokka tried to remember where the healing lodge was so that he could come back to it. He began walking around with his hands in his pockets.
A new addition that he took a great interest in was the large zebra-seal ice sculpture in the middle of the town square. It was crafted beautifully and he wasn't surprised to find a tablet with the claim, "Zebra-Seal with Zeal: An original, by our Sister Tribe's best—Master Pakku."
Sokka smiled at the various other sculptures and made a mental note to thank Pakku for breathing some life into the place. The whole ordeal also made him a little sad because he remembered that his father had often hunted zebra-seals in his younger days. Sometimes he had taken Sokka and showed him how to properly aim a spear. The memory was both bitter and endearing and Sokka tried, in vain, to concentrate on finding Lynnie.
So he walked more and more.
He greeted people he did not know.
The canvas of the tundra opened up to him and swallowed him like a pool of water swallows a pebble—wholly, completely, without debris.
And as he walked, he thought. Mostly he contemplated the delicate subject that was known more commonly as Toph.
He couldn't help but wonder, still, why she had taken the dive—why had she bent the metal?
How was that even possible?
When Toph had fainted in the cargo ship, Sokka felt everything within him boil away. He was confused and angry and felt unbelievably hurt. If Toph was to die—as he prayed—as he hoped—she wouldn't, another woman would have left him to the Spirit World. That would make a total of three. And this admittance made his heart ache.
He reached the outskirts of the village: an abandoned ice cliff that had a poorly made sign next to it. Black Crane's Rock, it said, and then underneath, Steep and Jagged. Watch your step.
He looked over, pushing his neck forward, and listened as the waves crashed into the rocks and ice beneath him. This is what he had missed most of all. In the North Pole, there was no such thing as an "outskirt." Every inch of land was cultivated and bended to a proper shape, a proper creation.
Border patrol watched out for the very same teenagers that Sokka trained in the day time. His swordsmen, mere sixteen-year-olds, often complained of their country's tight security. They longed to swordfight on the outskirts—over the cliffs and below the waves. This was restricted to them and now Sokka felt a rush of freedom and happiness.
He held his hands out in front of him and stretched them out. The brief thought of jumping over crossed his mind, but it passed by quickly. Sokka was too in love with life to give up on it. He was too in love with the girl that refused to love him and too in love with the sister he had almost forgotten. He felt too full now to drop himself over Black Crane's Rock. And besides…
He could almost feel a light presence with him, following his every step, his every thought.
Sokka turned his face and put his hands at his sides.
But when he actually looked, no one was there, and so he went back to searching for Kya Lynn, suddenly reminded of Suki and Yue and Toph. They were like secret spirits inside of him, these past lovers. Small pebbles that fell into him on impact and refused to come out.
He suddenly stopped walking, dead in his tracks, looking down at the snow. "Damn," he muttered.
The things that caught his attention were tiny, rugged footprints that had been embedded softly in the snow. He made a face at the ground and bit his lip.
He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed. His niece had probably been following him this whole time.
"Lynnie?" Sokka cried out, cupping his mouth. "Kya Lynn!"
Looking around him frantically, he wondered if the girl had gotten as close to the cliff as he had. This also brought back memories. He had always been a model big brother to Katara—now he had to be a model uncle too. The thought of that previous responsibility was sickening, but Sokka kept calling out.
"Lynnie! Come out here!" he stated defiantly, crossing his arms. With his eyes, he traced the tiny footprints to an area behind a jagged boulder, where Kya Lynn's two long braids obviously showed: a perfect contradiction to the white snow and ice.
He stated gently, taking a few steps forward, "I can see you back there."
The girl hesitated.
Sokka laughed, getting down on his knees, "I'm not going to hurt you, Lynnie. You're my sister's daughter, for God's sake. Come on now. Let me have a look at you."
Defeated and a little embarrassed, his niece appeared from behind the rock and glared briefly at him, as if in question. She took a deep breath, placed her hands behind her back, and strolled over. Her eyes were large and deep and when she spoke her mouth made the same movements that Katara's mouth made—quick and jerky, always worrying, always alive.
"See? You aren't afraid of me, are you?"
"No," Kya Lynn replied, clenching her fists and looking up. "I'm not afraid of anything, Mister Sokka."
Sokka blinked stupidly and stood up. "Well," he sighed, scratching his chin. "You should call me Uncle Sokka, Lynnie. I'm your uncle, you know."
"You should call me Kya," the girl retorted. "Only you probably won't, since it was your mother's name. Mama probably won't let you. She has that same trouble."
The man lifted his brows upward quizzically.
"And if you are my uncle," she pressed, "how come I've never seen you before?"
Her tone of voice, as well as her build, resembled Katara remarkably. Although Lynnie's hair, eyes, and skin seemed to be an exact copy of the Avatar, she was still Katara's spitting image in actions. She spoke the same way and carried herself in the same fashion, which was both frightening and darling, the way Sokka saw it.
He didn't know what to add so he merely listened as the girl continued.
"I mean," Kya Lynn finished, playing with the hem of her coat, "how do I know you aren't some creepy stranger? Mama says I shouldn't talk to strangers. And she shouldn't either—so why is she talking to you? Besides, Gran Gran said that Sokka was a little boy who played with fishhooks all the time." She looked at him—sizing him up. "You're not a little boy. You're a man. And you have a sword. You're probably going to hurt someone."
Sokka frowned deeply and, doing the only thing he thought would help, took out the sword that dangled at his side. The metal was shiny and clear, crafted of a certain form of crystal. He held it in his open palms and showed it to his niece. "I used to have a black one," he said, amused by her interest in the weapon. "But I lost it. I'm not going to hurt anyone with this, Lynnie. I promise."
She crossed her arms, not believing this, and tore her eyes away from him. "Who was that you brought with you?"
"The girl?"
"Yes. The girl—only she was more of a woman." Kya Lynn breathed in and decided to sit down on a nearby rock, which led Sokka to do the same thing. "You were carrying her like a baby," the girl continued. "And then they called Mama inside the healing lodge. Who was that?"
Sokka, a little surprised at the child's insight, crossed his legs and took out a cigar. "Her name is Toph," he said flatly. "She's a close friend of mine."
"Is she going to die?"
"I hope not," her uncle answered loudly. "She's still young. She's only twenty-two."
Lynnie asked him, fascinated by the way he lit his cigar, "How old are you?"
"I'm twenty-six," her uncle answered, throwing the used match behind him. "I'll be twenty-seven soon."
She murmured sadly, "That's so old," and grinned when Sokka laughed and touched her shoulder.
"It's not that bad. Our Gran Gran was a good eighty years old when she died. So I think I have some time."
"I'm four," the child exclaimed, bothered by the mention of her great grandmother. "I'm younger than you by…twenty-two years."
Sokka raised a brow. "You do math, too?" he asked, a little shocked. "Who taught you that?"
"It isn't hard," Lynnie explained, undoing one of her braids. "That's just subtraction. Pakku says when my waterbending starts to show, he's going to teach me that too. It's more useful than math."
"I don't know about that."
Lynnie pulled her knees to her chest. "I'd really like to be a bender," she admitted, as if speaking to her mother. "I don't care what kind. Any kind. It's not fun to be plain."
"Don't I know it." Sokka took a drag of his cigar and spit the smoke out slowly, contemplating. He touched his niece's shoulder again and kept his hand there, prompting her to look up. "If it turns out that you aren't a bender," he started, "then I can teach you about swords. It's just as good as bending."
Lynnie's complexion reddened. "Really?" she asked in wonder. "You'd really teach me that?"
"Of course!" her uncle chortled. "Why not? You are my niece, aren't you?"
She whispered after a slight pause, "I guess I am."
"So I'm not a stranger anymore. We're friends now."
Kya Lynn shrugged and undid her other braid. "I don't think so," she answered, holding the bindings in her hands. "You may be my uncle, but you're still a stranger. I don't know you yet. You might be a jerk." She paused slightly, wondering if he had caught on to what her mother called "repulsive manners for a young lady." Katara had often scolded Lynnie to avoid using words like that—jerk, stupid, idiot, or jackass. But sometimes they came out, as Lynnie was particularly expressive. For some reason, she felt as though Sokka wouldn't mind.
Much to Lynnie's pleasure, the man said conclusively, "I might be," and then added, "Maybe I am. I don't know. I guess I'm still a stranger to you." He looked down at his sister's daughter, oddly captivated by her skin and hair—the perfect composure that Katara had given birth to. Had he not been so impulsive years ago, he could have seen her grow up. He could have watched the day Pakku taught her subtraction. He could have shown her the fishhook scar while Gran Gran told her the story.
"I gave that Toph lady my bison," Kya Lynn said when she noticed her uncle staring at her.
"What bison?"
"My doll," the girl murmured. "My bison doll. His name is Appa." She leaned in, as if telling a secret. "He can talk," she said quietly. "He's a total chatterbox."
Sokka smirked a little. "What does he say?" he asked.
"Lots of stuff," Lynnie answered, as if Sokka should have known this. "He's never quiet. But I gave him to Toph. It was before Koko kicked me out. She said there wasn't enough room for more people in there. Then I followed you to make sure you didn't kill anyone with your sword. But I'm worried about my bison now." Kya Lynn sighed deeply, "If that Toph lady dies, my bison might die with her. And then Baba will die, like Gran Gran."
The child seemed preoccupied with these thoughts. But they bothered Sokka to unmentionable levels and so, without thinking, he turned his niece so that she faced him and looked at her, horrified by her admittance of death and the darker quality that her eyes now possessed.
"No one is going to die!" he said obnoxiously. "God—Lynnie, who told you that? Katara did, didn't she?" He slapped a hand to his forehead and put his sword away, suddenly angered. "That is such a horrible thing to think!" he shouted crossly. "No one is going to die."
Kya Lynn was silent.
Sokka stood up. "Don't think like that," he ordered. "Don't ever, ever think like that."
He looked over Black Crane's Rock and offered his hand to the child sitting next to him, suddenly quiet and contemplative. He planned to go back to the village. Sitting here with Kya Lynn had been fairly enjoyable, but her mention of death was out of place and reminded him of Toph. Older South Pole myths said that children sensed changes in the Spirit World, and often voiced them to whoever would listen.
Lynnie took his hand, noticing how large and rough it was, before crying out, "Uncle Sokka—I can go back to the village by myself."
"I'd rather go with you," he said instantly, tightening his grip against her struggle. "It's safer this way."
"But your hand is so big!" she said in distress, trying again to pull her own hand away. "You might crush me."
He looked down at the girl with a lopsided frown, wondering how Katara could stand the constant questions and answers and outbursts. Kya Lynn was a talkative hassle, much like her father.
"I told you—I'm your uncle. I'm not going to—"
But Lynnie wiggled free and began running down the ice path leading to the village square. Sokka looked at their ledge miserably. He picked up the two hair bands that had held Kya's braids and put them in his pocket. Even if she wasn't used to him just yet, he wished she would have let him hold her hands. They were so soft and small and perfect. Airbending fingers, Sokka thought, and then prayed that his niece would be able to bend soon, so that she would never feel the plainness he often felt.
When he walked back into the village, he was again filled with a new hope. He hadn't known it a few days ago, but now he had a niece, who loved him—somewhat—and liked swords—or seemed too—and also had a talking bison—who was a complete chatterbox. The thought made Sokka laugh. Nothing could go wrong now. Everything was turning out perfectly.
Yet it was this that disturbed him the most. How is it that—when we are most happy in life—the world shakes and shatters and drops us off, like old, orange leaves in winter? How is it that the greenish hue of optimism comes so slightly and is killed so suddenly—a mere paper blossom, trying hard to bloom in the odds of toothed rocks and pessimists?
His spirits died completely when he reached the village to find the healers in a loud and frightening uproar.