A/N: So, I had way too much fun rhyming in the Hakoda section of this. I think it came out nicely, though. I think this is my favorite chapter I've written of this story. I feel it again, the way I did in the beginning. Funny, now that things are coming to a close.

Well, nice to see you again. Hope that all of your school/work/personal endeavors are treating you kindly.

Healed and Hunted

Forever Forward, But With A Pause

Chapter 39

McDonald's

Hakoda

He can't decide what the fries had done to anger his granddaughter, but it must have been rather significant. She's been staring at them for almost five minutes now, and Hakoda doesn't know what he is supposed to say. So, he sat for another two minutes before clearing his throat.

"Hey, there. Fries say something mean?"

She looked up, as if she had just remembered he was there, "Oh, no. I was…Sorry, Grandpa Hakoda."

"What's up?" He asked, smiling. While he had only been reading articles since yesterday, he was happy for a break. The times were catching up with him. Plus, this was one of the only times he had ever spent alone with his granddaughter. He was very glad his son and daughter-in-law had forgiven him and trusted him enough for this.

"Do you think that Aunt Tara will move far away with Uncle Lee?" She was looking back at the fried potatoes.

Hakoda leaned on his hand, "Do you?"

"I don't know. Because… I think that Aunt Tara will stay at her school. I think she is going to…take over that place. Do you know what happens there?" The girl started to whisper, "They make the kids…fight in a pit."

While he knew about the pits, the horror of it finally hit him. He looked at his eight year old granddaughter, wondering how many grandchildren had been in that pit. How many daughters and sons and brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers had been in those pits, televised and terrorized?

"That's what the Ava and I are trying to stop."

"Are you only trying to stop it because of Aunt Tara and me?"

The little voice stopped him cold.

"That's part of it." He admitted.

Her blue eyes flashed, "Then what's the rest of it? Because you didn't like us until you saw me bend."

Hakoda didn't know what to say. It was true. Of course it was true. He didn't like to think of it, though. Surely he had other reasons, but…what were they? He was going to sit and argue with the Ava and the entire country, but he only had two reasons. Good reasons, no doubt, but reasons he had spent his life denying to others. The guilt of lives and lies clogged his throat and threatened his composure. How could a few words, from a tiny girl, bring down a lifetime of belief and grief?

"Mom said you're working with the president. Just like Uncle Aang. But why?"

"Because you are my family. Because I was in the wrong for a really long time."

The girl drummed her fingers on the table, looking at once like her mother and her aunt. It was a startling look to see on an eight year old.

"There's a boy in my class who is an Inheritor. His older sister died in that pit, you know. She went to the same school as Aunt Tara. The man that…she fought…died, too. Not too long ago. He told me that someone came to tell his family, the same woman that came when his sister died. His parents didn't know he was listening." The girl nibbled on a fry, "And, when… when Aunt Tara comes home, I always want to ask about it. I tried to ask Uncle Lee, if he knew the girl, but… He said he didn't. I just wanted to know who that lady was."

"Is it important to know?"

Her voice was beginning to shake, "That girl that died wasn't that much older than me, I think. I keep thinking that I'll be there soon. In that school. And I wonder who is going to come talk to my-"

"Sweetheart, the pits aren't going to be there when you're old enough. Okay?"

The word pits reminds him of the word trenches. The memories were not pleasant, and he thought of his earlier acceptance of these things. The basic fact of their existence was currently making him sick. How had he been so blind for so long?

These were deep thoughts for a child. For anyone, really. It was terrible. And there was nothing he could say to do calm her, but he realized what she was saying to him. She was asking how hard he was going to fight for the Inheritors. Because she knew how hard the Ava was going to fight.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" She whispered, curious.

He realized once again, in that one instant, how wonderful a job his son and daughter-in-law had done in raising her.

"You want to do something? You keep going to school. And you don't give up, okay? And you don't listen to people like me, who don't know any better. Think you can do that?"

The girl nodded.

"Your dad is fighting a battle that I don't think he can win without you, and without people like you. But listen, you are eight years old. And just because you're little, people will tell you that you can't do anything. But ignore them, too. Because they didn't have the same thing you've got. Guts and a good heart."

"Besides, think. Your aunts and uncles are working, too. They're all trying to give you a better world than they had." Isn't that what he had been doing for so long? Isn't that why he had the blood of thousands on his hands?

"Mom likes to say that you don't inherit the earth from your parents. You borrow it from your children. Is that what you mean?"

"A little bit. Can we go back to talking about unicorns now? I think I liked it better when you were just eight years old and supposed to like horses." Hakoda smiled.

His granddaughter gave him a toothy grin, "Alright. So, do you think unicorns only live in Scotland?"

Their Childhood Home

Azula

She watches his eyes search the old photographs while she lets her own fingers trace the wood banister of the fireplace. It was a bit of a joke, that fireplace. She remembers taunting her brother, because he had been so terrible at firebending when they were children. Her nails dig into the wood at the memory.

And she thinks of the cruelty of their father, the violence she had ignored and sometimes even instigated. The violence that never touched her, not once. But always to her brother, her poor brother.

It had taken too long for her to realize the damage she had done. To her brother, to her mother, to herself.

Their eyes meet, and quickly break away.

She doesn't know how to apologize. She can speak six languages-father's little prodigy- and she can't think of the right words.

He walks through the hall, and she follows. She has been following him, these past few days, stalking him while she tries to find the words.

Zuko doesn't seem to mind. He never says anything, and when she reaches for his hand, he doesn't flinch.

The last time they spoke he yelled and, when she tried to push him, he let her. He had muttered something, and that was it. Thirteen years later, and she doesn't know who he is, if she ever did.

"It doesn't look like anyone's been here in years." He noted, opening his old room. The heat is coming on now, and it smells very strange. No one, granted, had been here in years.

Everything is caked in what must be inches of dust, fourteen or fifteen years of it. Azula hadn't seen this room since Mai turned ten. The girl had insisted that they stay out of Zuko's room, and for whatever reason, Azula listened. She thought of that decision as one of the only good things she ever did. At least here, in this room, Zuko had been safe from her and their father.

She looks at the closet where she knows he used to hide. He had been a small child. When he started to grow, the closet must have become cramped.

"After you left, we moved to the estate." She explained, breaking the silence.

She saw his hands pause.

"He hated the estate." He sounded surprised. The estate- the official home of the Prime Minister. They only ever stayed there once, together as children. It was a terrible night, and she thinks it is the night he decided to leave. Was that the night he got his scar? Was it really that place where everything had finally snapped?

She sighed, "It was punishment, I think."

But neither of them really believed it. Ozai was not that sort of man. He would not punish himself, would never believe himself guilty of anything at all. In truth, it was probably only to cover up Zuko's absence. A big house, small family.

She is out of tears, but she wants to cry. Wants to scream at her brother how sorry she is, for everything. Her mind keeps circling back to it, yet her mouth doesn't move. How could she dare to apologize, when she still doesn't know the extent of her actions? When she doesn't know what to apologize for?

"Thank you for coming back." She tells him. Thank you is not what she wants, but maybe it's a start.

He looks over at her, golden eyes unsure and tired. He doesn't say anything as he moves about the room, touching a spot here, rubbing the bedpost as he passes. She can't even begin to wonder what he is thinking about.

"I want to go visit Lu Ten's grave. Uncle doesn't have any photographs. I know he says he doesn't want to remember what it looks like, but I think he regrets not having the option."

It seems they are done with the house, and she has yet to say what needs to be said.

They lock the door, echoes of a child's numerous cries for help shut in behind them, trapped forever behind oak and wood and time. She looks down at her feet, and notices something set in the concrete of the steps. Two sets of small hand prints, surrounded on either side by two sets of bigger hands; their parents. She at once knows them, but does not remember. Her own hands were very tiny, but Zuko might have been old enough to remember. She doesn't ask.

Her head jerks when she hears glass shattering.

The heat is instant, and she realizes what her brother has done. He heard those cries held by the past, and he decided to free them in the only way the two of them would ever know how. She shoots her own blue fire-electricity, to be more exact- into another window, and more flames are beginning to show.

This time, Zuko reaches for her hand, as he did when they were children. When he was begging to be rescued from their father. And now, even though it is he that reaches, it is Azula who needs saving.

The Drawing Room

Anna Bei Fong

The house is silent, as it has been these past ten years. She doesn't think her husband has spoken since their daughter left, but is sure he must have. Surely there must have been some "Pass the salt," or, "Change the channel, please." Except she can't remember.

She is staring at the letter in her hands, wondering what she should say to him, if anything. They haven't talked about their daughter, or anything really. Her eyes reread the words slowly.

My name is Katara, I think we met once. I'm writing on this before I get to the point, because I didn't know if you would throw this away if you knew who this letter was from. I know you never looked for her, never told anyone she was missing. I checked in every now and again on the two of you. Toph is getting married to my brother, sooner or later. The rest of this letter is hers, as she's dictated to me.

Mom, or dad, whoever gets this letter, I don't know what to say. All I can think of is I should have written or called sooner. But what is there to say? I ran away, and you…well, it's been ten years.

She stops because her eyes are watering. Her fingers traced the pretty handwriting, knowing that while it did not belong to her daughter, it had been in the same room. The words were her daughter's. She wonders what the girl's voice sounds like. She remembers a child. A small child, perhaps thirteen. How long had it been since she'd truly seen her daughter?

I don't know if it this is the right thing to do. My family seems to think so, and even now Katara's encouraging me to keep going. I trust her, though, to write everything down, just as I'm saying it without adding anything. I don't have many good memories of living with you, and honestly I have never once thought about returning home. I have a family here that embraced everything I was, and everything I will be.

I was hurt pretty badly, and I've lost my bending abilities temporarily. But that isn't what's important. What matters is I'm writing, and now it's your turn. You can get rid of the letter, you can write back- Katara is going to put an address on this letter- or you can do nothing.

But. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for never writing. But that's all.

Her throat is tight, and all she can think about is that teenager crying her eyes out, begging to be set free. And herself, too scared to even speak up, to tell her little bird to fly so far that the winds changed directions and the sun set on the wrong side of the sky, as she had never done.

Her husband passes by and her body takes over, hiding the letter beneath the table without her deciding to do so. The answer was spectacularly simple. She had to go, to run as her brave young girl had done over ten years ago.

She doesn't know where to go, or what she'll say when she gets there, but she has to go.

The day passes, and her husband doesn't even give her a second glance. Once he is asleep, she takes his keys. She packs a bag in silence, freezing up at every noise he made. Her cell phone stays, she doesn't need it, that can be tracked. She empties the cookie jar full of cash, leaves a note to buy time, and in under an hour she's gone.

Anna doesn't know where she's going, but it's happening.

She doesn't cry. Can't, perhaps. It's been thirty years since she's allowed herself to cry. Even after her daughter left, she kept everything hidden. Tears had no place in the life she had been trapped in.

But she was free now.

Well, hopefully. She was going to have to ditch the car, soon enough. But not until early Sunday morning. Her note had said that she was going to visit her mother's grave- a two day trip. She hopes that is enough.