Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Aang

Family Relations

There was a hum in Aang's ears, a murmuring of ancient rites and passages that had grown into a crescendo. He stared at all…these people who called themselves Air Acolytes. Who dressed like him, in brown and gold with their heads bowed and their lips moving, reciting the chants from his history, of his nation's past and his childhood.

And then stared he at the young man sitting before him on the temple's cold, marble floor. Tenzin, his youngest, dressed in simple light-brown linen pants. Head shaven, forever to be bare of hair. Legs crossed and hands rested on his knees. With his eyes closed in meditation and his lips parting slightly with the murmurs of his prayers, Aang briefly thought of Katara's words upon first seeing this change in her son, her observation that Tenzin was even more like a warped mirror vision of himself, for while his Airbending side was clear, the Water Tribe blood that coursed in his veins showed with the curve of his cheekbones and the slight fullness of his lips.

Aang's fingers tightened around the uhi, the tipped chisel, in his right hand. His left tightened around the bowl of water in his palm.

This was a great day.

His son was being marked with an arrow.

The arrow was a rite of passage, the recognition of a Master Airbender. It was a symbol of your bending skill, of your understanding of your nation's history and legacy, and a sign of respect amongst your people. It was a showcase of your spirituality and a tribute paid to the spirits themselves, a painful event that would take place for days. But for Aang, on this day, it was so much more: the continuation of his nation; another step in his life-long dream of rebuilding his nation, the family he had lost to war and violence; his legacy and teachings, for after all, one day the next Avatar would come and need a teacher.

He knelt down on one knee before his youngest, careful not to upset the rest of his materials: the towel and rubbing alcohol, the water and dry blue pigment; the salt and mortar and pestle; and the parchment that bared the sweeping pattern Aang would carve on his son's skin. Aang dipped the uhi into the pigment, making sure not to spill a drop, and pressed the blade against Tenzin's forehead, six inches above the center of his eyebrows. The chanting in the room grew louder as the acolytes watched.

The grimace that marked Tenzin's face was slight but expected. Aang had told him, No matter how deep you are in your meditations, the first mark will always take you out of it. But you must not move. You must not lose focus. The pad of his fingers pressed against his youngest's skin, coaxing him to relax his brow. Tenzin complied, his chants never ceasing, his eyes never opening.

Aang was reminded of when he himself had finished getting his arrow: sleeping off the pain and fatigue; staring at himself in the bathhouse mirrors alone, away from the prying eyes of the monks and even Gyatso; eating his favorite meal; and the admiration shared by his friends whose own skin had also been carved and tinted blue. The joy. The pride. The feeling of your fingers against the grooves in your skin. It would only be later that Aang would realize what awaited him as an Avatar.

And he thought about what awaited Tenzin. The reporters that would gather to volley questions at him; the increased talks he would want to be a part of; the warm reception of his older siblings and mother that would bely the fact that while they were proud and knew what this meant, it would be an honor they themselves would never truly, fully understand.

But of course Tenzin would accept it all. Tenzin was the serious side of himself. The side of himself that accepted and respected his responsibility as a Master Airbender and future leader and teacher, and would never waver from it.

Pinpricks of blood began to form on his skin. Aang placed down the bowl and picked up the towel.

There came announcement: passengers now boarding for the S.S. Lion Turtle, Mezzanine Deck for The Northern Water Tribe in Dock 3A.

Aang shrugged off the duffle bag he had been carrying and placed it on the ground for the moment. And then he stared into the eyes of Kya, pausing to take a picture of her in his mind before the moment when she would truly have to leave.

His daughter—his only daughter. The most expressive of his three children, with her long, newly dyed icy-blue colored hair and aquamarine-colored furs, so unlike the clothes other Waterbenders wore. The fiercest of his three children.

…The fiercest…

All his children had their angry moments, their moments of lashing out in protest, but Kya's were the most ferocious. Their nature went beyond the family joke of her temper coming from her mother's side, although her mother's side was there—angry words designed to flow like an angry river; a furrowed brow; a tightened jaw and pouted lip. But his angry side was there as well: in the volume in her voice, the swift way she rounded on the other person and then suddenly withdrew from the room, not in protest, but to prove her point. Stubborn and unwilling to bend or be persuaded any longer.

Like him.

They had been giving each other the silent treatment for weeks now.

"That's fine; I have a record now and that's fine! I don't care. I really don't. I don't care how it makes you look either!" …Her angry words that early in the morning had echoed against the walls and spilled the cup of stale water and inkwells on his office desk…his angry words about how her behavior reflected on him, their family.

They hadn't spoken naturally, easily, in weeks. Not since her recent apprehension after a speakeasy she had been attending was raided. She was twenty—not too young for her to be taken into the station and have that mark on a brand new police record; not too young for it to be written and embellished in the gossip section of the newspaper: The Avatar's only daughter, arrested…caught in a social setting frowned upon by the general public and was one of the many thorns in the police department's side.

Now there had been a residual clash in the following weeks that had culminated in her frequently leaving the room when he walked in and a roll of her beautiful blue eyes whenever he spoke to her nicely and then demanded she acknowledged him as well.

"…I don't feel like I'm part Airbender; I don't feel like that exists in me," she slapped her hand against her chest to emphasize her words. The conversation had become sidetracked by other things, other problems she had caused, that he had wanted to wait until he had a calm moment to address. Hot, angry tears ran from her eyes. "—not like how maybe Tenzin feels because…because he has you to teach him Airbending! He has you all the time. He never does anything wrong, Tenzin, the golden child…and Bumi, who tries too hard to please you all the time—not like Kya who just wanted to listen to some music from a Waterbending tribe!"

Her announcement that she was moving to The Northern Water Tribe ten days later floored him, a sudden outburst made during a quiet moment in their home. A disruption of peace, akin to the attacks he made upon cities and fortresses in his youth. Only more heartbreaking.

"I want to be somewhere that's authentic to me. That has people like me—who dress like me, who share my culture and don't have to sneak around to enjoy it. My true culture. …I have a friend who says her friend will put me up until I can get on my feet…and her friend is starting a dance troupe and needs another person. So, I'll be fine for money. I've already bought my ticket."

"Last call for all passengers to the Mezzanine Deck."

Kya's arm reached out towards him and he complied with her silent request for her duffle bag. The look in her eyes were still hard, still angry and fierce. But there was the slight pout of her lips, a bit of his little girl shining through. He was reminded of the days when she was younger, the times they spent walking around the island, hand in hand, the sweep of the golden dress an Air Acolyte, a former seamstress, had made for her. And that pout when they parted, working calling him to his desk. He missed those days.

"Okay…" Her voice was tired, soft. Without the ferocity he had known for some time now; back to those old days when she was little. "...I have to go now."

He was sad to see her go.

He was worried about her plans, the gaps in her itinerary. The fact that she refused to stay with diplomats her uncle knew.

He was hesitant to let her go. He was accepting that he had to find herself—her words, her mother's words.

...He was proud, above all things. Of his fierce, beautiful daughter.

His arms wrapped around her. "Good luck. And know you can come back whenever you're ready."

She melted in his arms. "Thank you. I'll be fine." She pulled away, the smile on her closed lips tight with lines in the corner.

"I know." She gave him a brief, fierce squeeze and then took her things. Her walk was strong and sure.

He was angry. He was beyond angry.

Another shenanigan from Bumi—a costly shenanigan this time.

He stared at the hole in the side of the building he had granted Bumi to work in, a necessary space away from the rest of structures and passerby on the island. And the scorch marks that framed it…and the chunks of gray brick all over the property. And Bumi himself, fifteen years old and covered in soot, his clothing tattered, hair either singed in patches. His left eyebrow was completely missing.

Bumi was safe. That was important to him. The most important thing to him, even if he didn't show it with the frown on his face, the slight bags under his eyes. He was safe, like his younger sister and brother.

But, at the same time…Bumi had destroyed half the building.

Aang didn't have time for this. There was no way he had time for this—he thought about the mountain of papers on his desk; the meeting he had scheduled with the police commissioner and chief he had in the morning to discuss the rising gang activity in the city; Katarra's worries about the upcoming due dates for the female sky bison; the arrival of leaders from the other temples for their annual festivities two months down the line. Budgets...costs...

He didn't have time for this. He could already imagine the Air Acolytes and Katara and Kya and Tenzin coming to see what the problem was. He could already imagine his wife healing their son, more worried than reprimanding about his behavior.

Playful. Too playful. Like his namesake, his old friend…like he himself when he was fifteen.

Bumi was already ambling towards him, his mouth full of apologies and explanations: he had been working something, a sort of bomb that would fire off a multiple series of shots—flashes that would blind the enemy and enable troops to use the confusion to their advantage.

"Bumi, I have always told you be careful with the things you experiment with. Anyone could have walked by and gotten hurt—you could have experienced something worse than that!" Up close, Aang could notice the small cuts and bruises on his skin.

Bumi's nervous smile melted away immediately. "Dad," Bumi's voice had deepened a bit and it was always a little jarring, a reminder that his eldest son wasn't fand yet, in so many ways, was a child. "I'm really sorry. I accidentally added just too much of the—"

"You could have sent the whole building up in flames! Do you realize that?!"

Bumi's mouth closed with a clack, and his eyes became downcast.

"…I will never stop you from doing whatever it is you're doing in there, but I need you to take your experiments, yours and everyone else's safety, seriously. You need to be more responsible."

Aang inhaled deeply, bringing air into his lungs. Something he always had to do when it came to Bumi. "You will clean this up as much as you can…whatever you don't finish before dinnertime will be done tomorrow morning…And then we should sit and talk about what's happened here and what we're going to do about it."

Aang gave one brief look at the sullen look on his eldest's face and then turned away. Back to work, back to solving problems, back to the real, working world.

The idea that Aang, whom we all love, not being a great father to all his children was something that both interested and floored me, yet wasn't enough to inspire me to write about it immediately—I'm lazy, people. But their fight was interesting, so when someone else brought it up, I got to thinking…and then I got to writing. I actually enjoyed writing this a lot; there was so many faccets to explore. I started with the idea that each of his children is like him in some way-serious (Tenzin); fierce (Kya); playful (Bumi)—and went from there.

There was so much to this. Different timeframes and events in their lives. Different ages. Tenzin's ficclet is inspired by something else I wanted to write stemming from Aang's arrow in the movie and Korra's move to become more acquainted with her Airbending side. The idea of Kya having dyed hair comes from the ficclet "Twins" I wrote for the first series of "Green, Red, Gold and Blue." And Bumi always struck me as being a sort of inventor—kind of like Sokka but more so…mad-sciencey.

R&R