Hellooooo, world! Sorry for the long hiatus, I had a lot of fun begin of summer stuff going on. Luckily, I'm back on a semi-regular schedule which should mean semi-regular updates!

Hope you guys enjoy!

Earth - Six years, exactly

"This is— by far— the stupidest thing you have ever made me do."

His laughter sounded like brittle leaves crumbling against the soles of her feet. The touch of his hand around hers felt like tree branch fingertips, dry and splintery, snapping at the slightest bit of pressure. She leaned her forehead against the side of his granite throne, gritting her teeth against the dull explosion of his heart, shuddering ever onward— and the wintery pause stretching between each beat.

Toph tightened her grip on his hand and wished for the first time in her life that she could turn her bending off. She would take the darkness— happily— if it meant she couldn't feel the way his bones creaked and his lungs rasped.

"Stupid," she whispered, grinding her brow against the stone. "Senseless," she hissed. "Arrogant!" Bumi's cackling echoed horribly through the empty throne room, magnified and distorted, too large to let her miss the exhaustion interwoven with his glee. "I've finally got proof that you've lost the last shred of your fucking mind!"

Bumi cackled again, then coughed, then grinned, preening his thin tufts of silver hair. "Please, Toph, you're making me blush," he wheezed. Toph shoved herself to her feet, paced halfway to the door then turned and stomped back.

"Don't mess with me, old man," she snarled. "Not today." Today, when the world outside these four walls buzzed with frantic activity, darting footsteps, an army of heartbeats, swarming, converging on the city center. Today, when she had been rolled out of bed, poked, prodded, painted, pricked, bundled up in silk and lace, carved into a monument that she was not. Today, when her head hung heavy with a crown, a wild tangle of steel and gold spun thin as thread, no gems, no adornments, nothing to say Queen Toph of Omashu but the band above her brow and her own word. Her heart hung heavy with everything else.

"Honestly, Badgerling, I don't know why you're so upset," Bumi hummed, resting his elbow on the arm of his throne and his chin on his knuckles. Toph's mouth dropped open and her jaw worked soundlessly as she wrestled with the fury and panic twining like serpents in her chest.

Toph had loved Bumi practically from the moment she met him, in her own way, as much as she could. He saw her for who she was from the first, spoke to her warrior before he spoke to her heart, unravelled her rage before he tugged on her sadness. It made him a different type of teacher, one who drew her back to his side time and time again, even when his lessons included the heart-rending dullness of council meetings or meditation or diplomacy. She would learn whatever Bumi deigned to teach her because even at her worst, her most petulant, her most obtuse, Toph could see everything that Bumi was that she was not. Steady. Balanced.

Happy.

"Bumi," she said slowly, while her pulse raced out in front of her, too far and fast and out of her control. "Bumi listen to me." What will I do? her heart whispered, woven amongst the thud thud thud in her ears. What will I do? She climbed the steps up to his throne and sat down on her knees at his feet. What will I do? She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. "Listen to me." Bumi sighed and sat back in his throne, back flush against the granite, and Toph imagined he could see her as she saw him, as a coalescence of vibration and heaviness, a ghost on the other edge of the stone. He rested his other hand on the crown on her head, the tips of his fingers brushing the iron and gold tangled in her hair. What will I do what will I do what will I—"You. Are. Not. Dying!"

People like Bumi did not wilt and fall apart; they grew bright green, had hearts like running water. They called out the blossoming in everyone else, made new buds out of the undergrowth. People like Bumi were not people at all. Not autumn breezes— they were mountain peaks, high and clear and good. They endured.

They stayed.

Bumi stilled, his entire body, everything in him went quiet for one long moment and Toph's stomach dropped. Then he squeezed her hand, thumb stroking idly, and made a sound, a shadow of a laugh. "We're all dying, Badgerling. Some a bit more intensely than others." Toph shot to her feet, hands clenched into fists. Katara used to do that, stroke her thumb over the back of Aang's hand quietly, secretly, back when the world was made of straight lines and clear paths. Travel. Fight. Win. Repeat. Now the world was made of smoke and heartache. Toph was good at fighting, but there was no amount of fighting that would fix this.

"This isn't a joke," she forced out past the fullness in her throat. The world outside the throne room doors was starting to settle in to an immense, anticipating stillness. "You want me to leave you here," she whispered, "and go to my coronation."

Before today, the word had been something garishly bright, golden and hilarious. Ivy vines to match the milky forrest of her eyes. Dignitaries and officials to tell her half truths as clear as the sun. She'd known it was coming, creeping closer every day. It just wasn't supposed to be today and it wasn't supposed to be like this. This day was supposed to be far off and warm and full because Bumi was by her side, believing enough for the both of them. Now that it was here, the day was cold and crooked and as immediate as a corpse.

"I want you to leave me and take your place—"

"It's your place!" Toph snapped. Bumi tilted his head and tapped one knuckle against his own crown. It sagged lower on his brow than normal.

"These are your people now, Toph," he sighed. His voice was tired, but when he reached for her, his touch was warm and intentional. "That's what it means," he said, flicked her crown lightly, and then took her hand in his. He gestured vaguely to the room around them and the palace beyond. "These crowns, these walls, this power…" He slid his hand over her wrist, drawing her meteorite bracelet from her arm. He squeezed and the bracelet splintered, a thin spiderweb of lines appearing along its surface with a thin, musical crack. He took her hand, laid it over his, and pressed. Toph closed her eyes and concentrated. Slowly, she tilted her head, bending away the imperfections on the surface of the stone. She lifted her hand and Bumi smiled, holding the bracelet between two fingers. "They are all for our people," he sighed and twirled the bracelet on the tip of his finger. Toph closed her eyes and wished that the gesture brought darkness or silence or rest.

"Don't do this, Bumi," she whispered and swiped at her cheeks. "Don't make me do this."

"Remember to lean on you advisors. You must designate someone you trust as soon as possible to read your official documents to you."

"You aren't listening." There was a girl on the other side of the door gathering the courage to knock. "This is insane. This is impossible."

"I was about your age when I took the crown. It is hard to be a king so young and I've been an old man for a long time. The city has forgotten. But you'll be able to—"

"You aren't listening to me, Bumi! I'm not—"

"You are."

And suddenly Toph had reached the end, the full extent of everything that she could bear. She hated his fluttery, shaky touch, the gasping tenor in his voice, the fact that he was okay with this, with leaving her and going somewhere she could not follow. And she hated that quiet note of something in his words, the steady undertone of pity. It declared plainly something she had never been able to admit, never wanted to acknowledge. She stumbled backwards, ripped away from his gentle touch, scrubbing at her face with the stupid robe with sleeves that were too long and got in her way. She hoped the tears stained the silk good, ruined it forever. She clenched her hands into fists, holding tight so that the trembling stayed deep, deep on the inside.

"You know what?" she snarled. "Fuck you and fuck this. All of this. You want to go? You want to die? Then do it!" She spun on her heel and strode away from the granite throne. She'd thought that the acid would fade as she gained distance, but the burning in her bones only grew and grew and grew. Bumi struggled to his feet, heaved in a breath to say something, but Toph flicked a wrist and the heavy throne room doors flew open. She paused in the doorway, bracing one hand against the marble doors.

Marble was heavy and dense and beautiful and easy to crack or grind down into dust. Not like granite, the fury and might of a volcano made stable and safe. Marble was formed by layers and layers of crap raining down day after day after year after year, by impossible, twisting pressure. But most people at least still wanted marble around.

"Go and do it, if you're so excited to leave me here with your crown and your throne and your stupid fucking people," Toph snarled over her shoulder at Bumi's shadow and his granite throne. "Go and die."

She let the doors slam shut behind her, let the servants sweep her away, out into the palace courtyard. The ceremony— the coronation— was long and boring and surprisingly good at soothing her runaway temper. By the time her crown had been blessed and consecrated, it'd occurred to her to apologize. By the time she spoke the words and the crowd rumbled them back, she was resigned to it. She spent a long few minutes waiting to be dismissed before realizing that she was the one who did the dismissing now. She broke off from her escort, moving purposefully towards the throne room.

Her face warmed when she stepped into the hall leading to the marble doors. A pair of healers flanked them, probably set to guard him from her smart mouth. She took a quick moment to swallow her pride as she drew near. The healers turned as one as she approached and dipped into low bows. "I need to get in," she said stopping before them, fidgeting with her fingers. "To apologize." The healers exchanged glances.

"Your highness," one began slowly, "you cannot go in." Toph frowned.

"I'll be quick," she said, crossing her arms. "I just want to say I'm sorry. Then I'll let him rest or whatever." The healer shifted, but didn't speak. This time Toph had to bite her tongue to fight down a more scathing retort. "I'll be quick," she said again.

"Your highness," the healer said slowly, "You cannot speak to King Bumi."

Toph was starting to feel a strange, cold, clawing feeling next to her heart. She lifted her chin despite it, made her voice hard and strong. "Yeah?" Her voice was held steady, but she felt her knees rebelling. "And why not? Is he mad at me? Did I hurt his precious feelings?"

"The king is gone, your highness. You are our queen now."

The world tilted under Toph's feet and she collapsed in a heap in front of the old king's door.