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: We were all expecting Aang and his daughter to be next (myself included)—but ah! The temptation was too sweet.

Image in this chapter? I don't know—does one even exist? (You'll understand this pun in the next seven minutes or so! Hahaha...)

Much candy coated love,

-scorpiored112

.11.

Sometimes Kya Lynn spoke to her bison doll. Not very often—just sometimes—when no one else would listen and no one else seemed to remember she existed. But Lynnie was a smart girl and knew that her little genderless Appa wasn't real. She knew because Katara had told her.

Before Gran Gran's death, Lynnie had asked her mother why toys didn't talk.

"Because they're not real, darling," Katara had answered dismissively, working on healing a patient.

"But Mama," Lynnie pressed , "toys are real. You can hold them. And talk to them. And they exist."

Katara felt her lips tighten. "I know, dear. But they don't have a heartbeat. They can't breathe or see. Or answer you. So they're not real. Now give Mama some space."

But if this was the case, Lynnie thought later, than most of the things in her life weren't real. Most of her things didn't exist. And then, for reasons too complex for her to grasp, Lynnie felt as though she didn't exist either.

To Katara, real things talked so she could hear them and argue with them. Real things saw her face flush at some random emotional outburst. Real things breathed and answered so that she could measure their stress. Real things had a heartbeat so that healing them wouldn't be terribly difficult. Lynnie was somewhat of a real thing to her mother. She breathed and had a heartbeat and could see. But she didn't have answers. Lynnie was a large, bastard question mark.

To Kya Lynn, real things could be held and talked to, like Appa. But since Gran Gran died, which already seemed like ages ago, no one had really held Kya Lynn and really talked to her. Katara was still her mother, but she was also very detached. And now the drifting feeling was persistent, and made Lynnie feel weary and upset inside.

The only change was that, recently, the village had begun to see her in a new light. It was after the night she had cried and screamed a lot—although now, she can't remember why—and after the thirty letters Aang had sent her mother. The villagers often murmured in low tones, "Her father's coming back," and would look at her approvingly, which was new to Kya Lynn, and scared her, a little.

People also began to refer to her as "the reincarnate from the Earth Kingdom," which Lynnie also had trouble understanding. But she liked being a little magical object. She liked living in oblivion while people talked about her. It made her feel important where her hurt existed—that she knew, somehow, at this early age—that she would never become her mother, and that her mother's only existence in her was measured in heartbeats and breathes and other physical evidence.

On a particularly thoughtful night, as her uncle Sokka snored in Gran Gran's old room and his friend Toph shuffled lazily in the healing lodge connected to the igloo, Lynnie awoke fiercely and looked about her room.

"Mama?" she asked, and her voice was hollow and drowsy as she stood up to observe Katara's empty mattress. "Mama!" she said again, more awake, and began searching the rest of the igloo when a thought struck her.

She was horrified. Her confidant—her ageless companion other than her mother—was still with that sick Toph lady in the healing lodge. Lynnie felt a hiccup rise into her throat as she opened the door connecting the two small buildings and wedged her way inside. The fact that Katara was missing disturbed her, but she needed to hear Appa's take on the ordeal before she could properly asses a decision.

"That sick Toph lady" was, as Lynnie phrased it in her four-year-old mind, "really pretty, for a sick lady."

She had yet to talk to Toph, but already she found her askew limbs amusing. She looked like a wilting white flower. Most of all, Lynnie was fond of the patient's skin tone, which was strikingly close to her own.

Lynnie approached the bed with caution and stood on her toes. She squinted in the darkness and the poor supply of light that sifted in from the window. She couldn't see him.

To make sure she wasn't being rude, Lynnie decided against waking Toph and—instead—climbed into the bed to get a better view, as Appa liked crawling under covers and losing himself on purpose.

The patient beds weren't on the floor like Lynnie and Katara's sleeping mattresses—no, the patients needed to be elevated to avoid heat loss. But Lynnie got up with little trouble and then sat on Toph's stomach, observing the remaining covers for her bison. When her search proved useless, she stood up and sat a little lower on Toph's gut, which resulted in a grunted "Umph" of confusion from the makeshift searching base.

Lynnie did not know that Toph was blind.

In fact, she didn't really know that blind people existed.

According to Katara, after all, things that couldn't see weren't real.

So the fact that Toph grabbed Lynnie's arms and threw both of their weight forward as she sat up made Lynnie scream.

And then Toph was screaming. And then they were both screaming and Appa was instantly forgotten and only then did Lynnie honestly miss Katara.

"Oh my God!" Toph was repeating. "Who is this? What's happening?" Lynnie stopped screaming when she heard distinguishable words coming from Toph's mouth. "Katara?" Toph asked loudly. The lodge rang with her voice. "Katara? What's going on?"

The child answered softly, "Mama isn't here."

Toph's grip on Lynnie's arms slackened. She sighed in relief and moved some hair out of her face. "It's you," she stated, the red in her cheeks dying down. "Kya Lynn. Katara's girl."

"Do you know where Appa is?" Lynnie asked immediately.

"...Who?"

"Appa—my bison. I gave him to you. Don't you remember seeing me before?"

"Oh." Toph yawned audibly and smiled to herself. "My eyes were closed," she mused, but then added, "I'm blind, Kya Lynn."

"You're not bald!"

"Blind," the woman repeated, taking Lynnie by the insoles of her armpits and placing her on the floor. "It means I can't see anything." She reached for the nightstand, grabbed Lynnie's doll from behind the pitcher of water, and handed it to her.

"Ever?" the child inquired, taking the bison.

"Ever."

"Well...how do you use a mirror?"

"I don't, Lynnie."

"And how did you know where Appa was? I couldn't even see him in the dark."

"I put it there, and then I felt for it," Toph answered lazily. She yawned again and stretched towards the ceiling.

"But if you can't see, then—"

"Look, kid," Toph started. "I hate to sound like a jerk but...I'm not exactly good at this whole 'baby sitting' deal."

Lynnie tucked Appa underneath her arm.

"So why don't you go wake your uncle Sokka? He probably knows where Katara is."

Lynnie made a face. For some reason, she had taken to this new stranger and felt the need to stay with her. "I don't want to leave just yet," Lynnie concluded, crawling back on the bed. "I want to stay here."

Toph made a face at the added weight on the mattress. "But why?"

"I like you."

"Well, that's flattering but you—"

"And I don't like Sokka," Lynnie continued, absentmindedly undoing a braid. "His hands are big." She took a moment to study Toph's face before adding urgently, "Please don't make me go back to the igloo. I wanna stay here with you." She paused. "And I can help you—since you can't see."

"You are definitely Katara's daughter," Toph groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead. "You don't even know who I am and you're already in my business."

Kya Lynn blinked at this new piece of information. "But the whole village says I'm just like my dad."

"Well, I can't see you. I wouldn't know the difference." Toph admitted, reaching for her glass of water, "You sound just like Katara, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't make me feel any better," Lynnie whispered, more to Appa than to Toph. "Me and Mama are different. She's always busy. I don't even know where she is right now."

The patient frowned deeply and recessed into her blankets. She wondered why she was always placed in such uncomfortable, consolatory positions—especially when she wasn't any good at it. "I'm sure she'll show up sooner or later," she replied with a pathetic smile, touching Lynnie's shoulder. "She has to."

And Toph was suddenly reminded of her own mother, Poppy, who had also been rather dismissive throughout her childhood.

Then Kya Lynn did something rather unexpected. She placed her head on Toph's pillow and squirmed into the comforter. The earthbender's face tightened as she dawned upon the fact.

"You intend to stay," the woman sighed. "Wonderful, Lynnie. Just wonderful."

"Do you know any stories?"

"This isn't happening to me."

"Mama told me a story about these benders once."

"Oh boy."

"Do you wanna hear it?"

There was something in Lynnie's voice that caught Toph's attention—something that sounded like silk, or air. It gave Toph a peaceful feeling that translated into something she often felt when she had been with Sokka all those years ago.

Lynnie was affectionate, Toph thought. Peaceful and affectionate and full of promise.

"Okay," she sighed after a short pause. "Let's hear it."

"Well," Kya Lynn started, pulling at the tuft of hair on top of her doll's head. "I can't remember it all—but I remember most of it."

"Alright."

Lynnie cleared her throat. "There's two benders and they love each other and they go into this cave."

"A cave?"

Toph felt Kya Lynn nod against the pillow. "It's called 'Cave of No Others,' and then the door of the cave gets closed."

Toph rolled to her back and faced the ceiling. Sokka had told her about the Cave of Two Lovers ages ago, when she was still getting accustomed to traveling with the Avatar and his makeshift family.

"So the only way to open the door is if they kiss," Lynnie continued dreamily. Toph imagined her smiling. "But they're both too shy to do it."

"Then what happens?" Toph inquired quietly, grinning a little to herself. "Do they kiss?"

Lynnie hesitated. "I don't really know," she confessed. "Mama never finishes it."

There was a distinguishable sound of disapproval in the girl's voice—as if Katara had been too busy, or too tired. Toph imagined her cooing to her daughter about how she would finish the story tomorrow or the next day, only to find that life was too busy for her to actually finish anything—only to realize that the story in itself was never ending to begin with.

"I think I know that story," Toph stated after a short pause, turning on her side. "I've heard it before."

She heard Lynnie sit up. "Really?"

"Yeah. I know how it ends. You want to hear it, Lynnie?" Toph didn't know what she was offering. Actually, she didn't really know what had happened in the Cave of Two Lovers—she wasn't there, and had only heard parts of it. But she figured that Katara shouldn't keep things from her daughter, and then her desire to tease Katara and Aang got the best of her.

"Yeah I do!" Lynnie returned gracefully, clapping. "What happens?"

"Well," Toph started, taking another sip of water. "They're both too shy to do it, right? But then they realize that if they don't do it, they're going to be locked in the cave forever. And you know what lives in caves, don't you, Kya Lynn?"

"No—what?"

"Badger Moles!" Toph exclaimed, turning around briskly and displaying a clawing gesture with two hands. Lynnie shrieked in disgust and then giggled at Toph's facial expression.

"What are Badger Moles? Like monsters?"

"Better than monsters! They're awesome," the patient replied, cherishing memories of early childhood. "They're the best things ever. Even better than penguins. But they don't like people in their caves—kissing and doing all that gross stuff. You know."

"Oh..."

"Okay," Toph continued. "So then the girl admits she really likes the boy and then—"

"But Misses Toph Lady," Lynnie interrupted brashly. "The benders have names."

Toph blinked. She didn't know that Lynnie had known her name this whole time, and hearing the way she said it made her want to laugh. Toph wondered if she had ever sounded this childish in her younger days, or if her own inborn independence had forced her to grow up too fast.

"The girl is Regret," Lynnie said quietly, captivated. "The boy is Persistence."

Toph attentively moved some hair away from her face.

"The names change," Lynnie explained. "I mean, every time Mama tells it, the people change a little."

"How?"

"Sometimes the girl is Sorrow, or Lust, or Idiocy." She paused and squinted, as if remembering. Obviously, Lynnie had no idea what the names meant. "Once she was Hateful."

"And the boy?"

"He's always Persistence," Kya Lynn answered, rubbing Appa's button eyes. "I think one time, he was Forgetful. But usually, he's Persistence." Then the child bolted upright and looked at Toph's expression. "I thought you've heard this before! How come you don't know the names?"

Toph shrugged and tried to laugh, but she was tired and confused and upset with Katara for leading her daughter into such complex metaphorical subject matters. And so the outcome was a brief, lopsided smile. "Because I think the names should be something different," she stated.

"Like what?"

"The way I see it," Toph started, pulling the comforter to her chin. "The boy should be Apology, and the girl should be Forgiveness."

"Those sound nice," Lynnie said, though she didn't understand the significance of these names, either.

"And in the end of the story," Toph finished, feeling her eyelids pull down. "They kiss even though they're nervous and then they have a baby."

Lynnie had also started drifting off, but she was still with Toph, somewhat. "What's the baby's name?" the girl asked sleepily, yawning.

"Her name is Promise," the earthbender concluded factually. "They don't do a very good job of watching her, Lynnie. And she's kind of annoying, because she's young. But she can help them get out of the cave—if they let her."

Kya Lynn fell asleep with an innocent, unknowing smile pasted underneath her nose. And then Toph deliberately went against Katara's orders and stood up. She made sure Lynnie was fast asleep before leaving the healing lodge and entering Katara's igloo.

Pain is a funny thing, Toph thought fondly, thinking of Lynnie from the doorway. This morning, she had been overcome with pain—from every joint, and every pore—it seemed to drip out of her all over. Her blood was still too weak. Just having her heart pumping behind her ribs was taking away energy: energy that Toph had just graciously displayed to Kya Lynn in story form.

And yet, as she walked into Katara's igloo, Toph felt her limbs slowly stir to life. Whatever Katara had done hours ago was starting to work. The earthbender could feel it. It was there—it existed—and now she knew she needed to make the best of it.

Much to Toph's displeasure—unlike the wooden healing lodge—Katara's igloo was crafted completely of ice.

Toph made a face as soon as her left foot touched some furry, dense rug. She imagined Katara's neatness sprayed in every corner—in picture frames, and low couches, and little tables with tea pots on them. Toph didn't know that since Gran Gran's death, Katara couldn't grasp the importance of being tidy anymore. If Toph could have seen, she would have only noticed the bareness, the vacancy that Katara felt inside of her that she reflected into her igloo.

The patient felt her way around, cursing under her breath when some of Lynnie's toys hit her feet. But when she felt the doorway and recognized Sokka's snoring, she stopped and held her breath. She felt around the room to the mattress on the floor and then she touched the warrior's messy collection of loose hair.

"Sokka," Toph started, touching his closed eyelids. She was surprised at how soft his skin felt. "Sokka, get up."

He stirred, lightly at first—murmured something indecipherable as Toph felt him blink. She pulled her hands away and fixed her legs so that she sat cross-legged in front of him on Katara's incredibly comfortable carpet.

Sokka rubbed his eyes and squinted.

"It's me," Toph stated after a brief hesitation.

"...What's..."

"Katara's gone," the earthbender whispered, saving him the trouble. She crossed her arms distractedly. "Her daughter's still here and she just asked me about her. Do you know where she went?"

Sokka tried to orient himself. He sat up and stretched lazily, pulling his arms back and cracking his knuckles. "Like I know where my sister goes in the middle of the night," he returned quietly. And then Toph felt him stare at her. When he spoke again, his voice was smooth. "I see you're doing better, Toph."

Toph grimaced and ignored this. "So you don't know where she is?"

He waved her off dismissively. "No. But who cares? Katara's a big girl—she can take care of herself."

She didn't answer.

"I didn't know you'd be able to walk around," Sokka continued, sounding genuinely interested. "This is really good! I knew Katara would be able to heal you."

Toph stood up briskly. "I'm not speaking to you, Snoozles," she informed, crossing her arms again. "I just came to ask about Lynnie's mom—that's it. You can go back to sleep."

"But—"

"By the way," Toph added, turning around, "you were completely useless."

She had intended to leave immediately and search for Katara herself—as Toph had taken a liking to Kya Lynn and wanted to help her. But then she felt Sokka grab her forearm from behind and pull her back into the room, like a rag doll—weighing nothing.

"Get off!" she insisted, pulling at his grip.

"Would you just talk to me, for a minute?"

"Why should I?" Toph asked furiously, still working on releasing her arm. "I just said I'm not speaking to you—now let me go!"

She heard Sokka sigh desperately and then—though they had honestly tried conversing in whispers—their voices grew much louder.

"Toph, please." Sokka grabbed her other arm and held her firmly. Toph realized, scowling, that her anemia had made her an easy target.

She grunted uneasily when he steadied both of their weight against the wall. "You're sick if you try anything, Sokka!" she warned, writhing through his will. "I'll scream—I swear to God I'll scream!"

"Toph, would you just—"

"I'll scream—and I'll beat the living—"

"I'm not going to try anything!" Sokka replied helplessly. "Would you just calm down?"

Finding her efforts inefficient and tiring, her struggle stopped. Both breathed heavily into the vacancy of Sokka's sleeping quarters. Toph noted that her strength was starting to wear thin. She blew strands of loose hair away from her face and wondered if their screaming had awaken Kya Lynn.

"You used to trust me," Sokka started quietly, searching her face. "I don't know what happened."

Toph answered in a fierce tone, "You never grabbed me and held me against walls."

"There's no other way to keep you in one place, Toph," he stated, grinning though she couldn't see it. "I'm not letting you go."

"Huh!" she grunted in disgust. "Then why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm your friend, for God's sake!" He sounded hurt and distressed. Toph had no idea that her attention mattered so much to him, and the thought sent unrecognizable shivers across her bare shoulders. Heat rose to her face when she heard him shuffle around in his spot, as if thinking, and then his grip on her arms was released.

She rubbed her offended limbs, but didn't move.

"I'm your friend and I have no idea what's wrong with you." He was pacing around the room. Toph was reminded of the fight in the reception room—how Sokka had swung his club, danced to his words, and struck Aang in the back as hard as he could.

How he had held her and asked, over and over, "Is my sister lying?"

The thought was horrific, but Toph held her ground. She was no longer desperately in love with Sokka as she had been four years ago. She didn't have to listen to him if she didn't want to.

So she didn't answer. She waited and listened as Sokka grew considerably closer.

"Why are you mad at me?" he asked directly. "That's all I want to know—if you tell me, I'll be able to fix it."

"What do you care?" she murmured. "Four years ago, you couldn't have cared less!"

"That was different. People died."

"You mean people were killed," Toph corrected, stepping closer to him. He inched back and watched, entranced, as Toph's facial muscles moved underneath her skin. "People were killed—you thought I killed them. Suki, specifically. You remember that, don't you, Snoozles?"

"I shouldn't have accused you," he admitted embarrassedly, touching the back of his neck. "It was my mistake."

"You believed yourself," she spat disgustedly. "Why on God's earth would I kill Suki? Why would I kill anybody?"

Sokka, lost and unsure and rather embarrassed that he'd started this, didn't answer.

"I actually liked Suki," Toph concluded finally, finding the edge of his mattress and sitting on it. "I liked her a lot. We were friends." She stopped and pulled at her hair. She blushed when she continued, "I admit I might have been a little jealous—I even admit that I thought I loved you—but I wasn't crazy."

He confessed gently, "I didn't know."

"You don't know anything," Toph stated loudly. "We weren't obsessed with you. There's a universe outside of lust, Sokka."

The room was enveloped in a thick silence—it spread over the walls and through their voices. They said nothing. Toph didn't move when he joined her on the bed and said nothing when he sighed distractedly, as if upset or deeply disturbed. The silence settled them—made them think—prompted them to reconcile. But it helped—as the fact that Sokka wasn't saying anything also prompted Toph to add sleepily, hands in her lap, "I really did like her, Sokka."

"So did I," he joked pathetically, wiping anxious droplets from his forehead. He turned to her slowly. "Do you want to hear something crazy?"

"Might as well."

"I still feel she's...here...sometimes." Sokka's voice cracked noticeably. He tried, in vain, to clear it. "Like—alive, only..."

"Only nonexistent," Toph finished for him, feeling for Sokka's blanket. He helped her pull it over her shoulders and watched as her shivering settled. "But who the hell knows what's existent and what's not?"

Sokka shrugged—realized she couldn't see it—and answered, "I guess no one does."

"Exactly." Toph yawned and squeezed her eyes shut. "Suki might as well be sitting in the next room, for all we know."

"So you're saying you feel it too," Sokka confirmed, straightening his back. "I mean—that she's still around?"

Toph hesitated and then—suddenly, without forethought—fell back on Sokka's mattress. She curled up and recognized a familiar South Pole scent—flavored tobacco and smoke. This was Sokka's grandmother's room.

"People forget other people exist all the time," Toph whispered calmly. "But I have a belief."

"Oh?"

"Sure. Only it's more of a question." Toph buried her face in Sokka's pillow, completely aware of his fascinated gaze resting comfortably on her back. Oddly enough, she felt at peace with him being there, and then thought fondly to herself that the peace—her trust in him—had come back. "If we forget people exist," she started, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "do they stop existing?"

Sokka's stare hardened considerably as he thought this over. "And if we do forget," he asked back, noticing that the sun was rising through his window, "do you think they know?"

When no one answered, Sokka realized that Toph had fallen asleep. He stood and was instantly surprised to find his sister's silhouette hobbling over the snow towards the center of the village, with a familiar shadow at her side, supporting her weight.

Sokka blinked and turned to Toph. For the first time in ages, he began to honestly consider what existed, and what didn't.