And Other Freedoms

Summary: "They all talked about missing out on lives," she said, "on futures that now seem lost." Variant vignettes following the ATLA girls and guys. Some AU; all pairings (including requests); rated M

"Home with Poppy"

A year passes and Ma starts to get on my case, sends after me with messengers and letters to diplomats. Soon every city I visit with Twinkle Toes happens to have a letter from my parents asking me to reconsider traveling around - with such charming phrases as "like a common gypsy" or "as if you do not already have a home." I didn't think it was possible for Ma's nag to come through in letters. But even when someone else read it (hell, even when Sokka read her notes to me) it sounded like Ma alright, nasally, shrill and up in my face, like my moving away was all about her, and how could I do this? Didn't I miss being home?

I did. On the street, when I got a whiff of a bun cart, I'd remember Ma's steaming red bean buns, and a line of drool would hang from my lips like a starved dog. Or I'd smell young pork on a spit roasting, or a carton of ripe fruit tarts, or some sweet soy cake getting sliced in a bakery, and I'd just want.

I don't know if it was nostalgia or the greedy belly my parents raised, but many days, I'd want to eat like a spoiled brat again. You never actually outgrow the good life, you just forget about it temporarily but it always comes back and waves to you, invites you in. I loved my freedom but I missed Ma's cooking, I missed my dad reading the paper to me at night near by bed, and I missed hearing their conversations through the wall of my bedroom. There were little things they did for each other that made me envious of their esoteric, silent love. Like when Dad left the house every morning to go the market himself. He'd come back with a bouquet of good-smelling flowers for Ma (later I learned they were white roses), and a chocolate turtle-duck for me. It had nuts inside, sometimes cream, sometimes this sticky nectar that wouldn't come off my chin no matter how hard the handmaids rubbed. In the evening Ma made my father's favorite desserts, little pinched dough sheets fried up until they were puffy and light.

When I think about it, most of our communication happened through food, through taste. I don't remember colors or music in that house (how can I when it was dark, silent?) but the sounds and the smells are so strong, they pull me back home on their own.

So Ma wins and that's how the story goes. Poppy gets her way. Finally I moved back home. Admittedly, it was not the best time to make this kind of decision, and I knew it but couldn't help it. Sokka was still with Suki but somehow they were on the rocks. Something about where they were going to move, or her attitude, or wanting to control her, or her wanting more affection from him - I can't remember the most recent excuse. But he told me it was over and he came to me angry and ranting. All the weak, trembling feelings I had when I was a kid come back when Sokka is around, in-a-relationship or not, married or not, over-Sokka-for-sure or not. We fucked like the dogs we are, he left to go to her after we were through and apologized. We've done this enough times to write it on a calender and chart a trend, as inconsistent and imminent as the weather.

So I went back home. Little blind girl finds her way back to Poppy and Lao. Little blind girl finally wears shoes and gives up the gypsy life. The underground life. The wrestling, the lying, the tricking, the badger moles. I imagine how I must look like now, twenty-four years old, with the only two bags I own under my arms, my face all screwed up thinking about Sokka, my bare feet splashed with roadside grime. It's a sight for sore eyes. Ma comes out with her heartbeat skipping like she's won the damn lottery.

"Tophie is here! Lao, Lao!"

Dad emerges from the marble stoop with a cane and it sends my heart to my knees. I didn't think they'd ever age much. Somehow you always imagine your parents in their thirties, in their prime and full of hair and muscle.

They usher me in, taking a bag each. I can only feel one maid in the villa, a male or a heavy female, but it doesn't surprise me. Most of their help in the past was for me. Security guards, tutors, on-call doctors, maids, even paid playmates. Our house was full and brimming a decade ago.

We sit down. Ma takes my hand and I can feel her sigh build in her chest before I hear it. "Your skin," she laments, "it's gotten so dark, little one."

"It's not the end of the world, Ma."

She can tell I'm defensive so she drops it. Beauty is not my thing; it's not like I can tell what color I am anyway. Dad sits next to me and sips from his tea. The maid, definitely a heavyset female, immediately pours me a glass and hands it to me, reaching for my hand to guide it to the cup. Dad surprises me by chastising her. "She knows where your hand is," he says, and it's almost grumpy. But I like it.

I think they know what's going on. Ma asks if I've had my heart broken, and Dad asks who did it. They assume first that it was Aang, as if I left my home to be with him for love. The idea makes me laugh only because I know how close Katara and Aang are these days, already married with kid number two on the way. I imagine myself, Katara, and Aang naked on a huge bed - me in the middle - and I snort out my nose laughing. Please. You couldn't get between those two with a fucking gold crowbar.

But I don't need to tell them. And I don't.

They have their annoying tendencies, true, but it's home. And for the first few weeks I practically fall in love with it. I eat so much, I gain five pounds. I laze around whenever I want to - the only catch is that I have to dress like a lady, and that is not so bad as it used to be. It was worse when I was twelve, with my body changing and the clothing fluffy and stiff. Now I feel fancy. In the mirror that I can't use, I tell myself I'm the most expensive bitch in the Earth Kingdom. Even my underwear has lace and gems on it. Honestly, it makes me feel beautiful in a way that I didn't know I could get outside of sex.

When Aang and Katara write to me to come to Republic City, Ma and Dad are hesitant to read it to me. I imagine seeing Sokka again and decide to wait it out. I know eventually I'll end up going, and the thought makes me a little sad, because Ma and Dad are getting old. Dad has arthritis in both knees. Ma is diabetic. Both of their dietary restrictions: no pastries, no chocolate turtle-ducks, no fried dough. Despite this, Dad and his rickety knees still leave for the market every morning and come back with a turtle-duck for me.

It's around the third week when I catch the housekeeper stealing, and I take it upon myself to fire her (or literally fire her out of the ceiling; good to know that her clutch was not tight enough to hold on to Ma's jade bracelets). I hire someone else. It's a younger girl, about sixteen, and she is good, doesn't lie, doesn't go out with boys to wrestle (in bed or otherwise), and is a gem at taking care of the house. In addition, she's partially deaf due to a Fire Nation raid on her city years ago. I can't put my finger on why exactly, but she fits into the villa as well as a glove. Only after I employed her did it feel like I had never left.

A/N: Many thanks for the faves, alerts, reviews! I LOVE the freedom this fic is affording me. I can literally write about whatever I want. So I hope you are enjoying them! I had a request to do Katara/Ozai... I didn't even know this was a thing lol. Thoughts?