Fic: Pressure

Word Count: 1 130
Pairings: A hint of Zuko/Mai
Warning: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE.
Summary: In the weeks following the winter, Aang finds that the snow still has yet to melt.

As always, any comments or criticism are are love ♥


Pressure

If the war hadn’t stolen their childhood from them, it was the weeks afterwards that did. The endless meetings, parties, functions, speeches- it was enough to add premature lines to any face. Still, their precious world was safe. A little fame was enough to bear for the sake of having a place to be alive.

Toph was the first to notice; blind eyes are the hardest to fool. She cornered him eight days after the winter in the wake of yet another peace meeting.

“Twinkle-toes,” she said (old habits die hard), “Your steps sound less…twinkly. Something wrong?”

Anyone who didn’t know might have seen two children walking down a hall much too large for them. They were barely even teenagers. After a long pause, he remembered he had a tongue louder than the echoes of their footsteps.

“No,” he lied.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just…trying to take it all in. The whole world, you know?”

She sighed. “As long as you’re okay. And try to get some more sleep, yeah?”

x x x

But that night there was a banquet in Ba Sing Se to celebrate the return of the gentle king. They placed him in a huge chair next to the king and bade him sit for two hours until he was afforded a couple of moments to stand and allow blood back into his legs.

He found Sokka and Katara speaking in hushed tones on the balcony. When they noticed him, they opened up and waved him over. He slumped onto the railing as soon as he was in their midst.

“You don’t look so good, Aang.” Sokka lay a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Stuff.” He sighed.

Katara motioned with her chin towards her brother. He nodded ever so slightly before slipping back into the banquet hall.

Once they were alone, she gathered Aang in a hug. He felt like clay in her arms. “We’re worried about you,” she whispered over his shoulder. “You look awful, Aang. Is it something you can tell me about?”

He opened his mouth and closed it, instead choosing to return the hug.

“Have you been sleeping properly?”

He hugged her harder. She pushed him away, arms on his shoulders, so that she could look into his tired eyes. There were dark bags under them.

“Listen, Aang. If it’s not something you can tell me, find someone you can tell it to. We can’t bear to see you like this.”

His eyes spilled over with tears.

x x x

He considered Iroh first, but the general was busy rebuilding Ba Sing Se and Omashu. Besides, he imagined being told that the problems suffered by his generation should be solved by his generation- never mind that he was older than Iroh. He was a new person now.

He considered the turtle-lion next, but even he had pride.

On the sixteenth night since the world had come undone, when he woke up with a scream stuck in his throat and his body shaking in the wake of the nightmare, he knew that even he could tolerate sleepless nights for so long. Half-awake, he hitched Appa and headed for the palace of the Fire Lord.

x x x

The half-full moon was almost comforting; the air was heavy on his shoulders when he landed and tethered Appa. He breathed deep, the oxygen burning his throat, squared his shoulders and jumped up to the fourth floor balcony.

He really could do away with the stealth and sneakiness and just go in through the front, but he wasn’t in the mood to create such a commotion with the night watch. Two weeks had done nothing to lessen the number of extremist Fire Nationals. The Fire Lord’s life was constantly in danger.

There were two guards posted in front of the ornate double doors that immediately readied themselves as Aang approached. He held up a hand hoping they would understand that his gesture was one of non-violence; they stepped aside, made room for the boy too holy to lay hands on.

His hand hovered in front of the door for several minutes. Finally, he swallowed his fear and knocked as softly as he could.

As expected, Mai opened the door. Wrapped elegantly in a (hastily thrown on) black silk robe, she regarded him with an offhand stare that only Mai could do before sighing and disappearing back into the room. Moments later Zuko slid out of the darkness in his old peasant clothing.

“What’s going on, Aang?”

“I need to…talk. Can you come on Appa?”

x x x

The wind felt good on his face. It was a warm, clear night- good for clearing out a heavy heart.

Zuko was lying down, resting his head on the back of the saddle. “So,” he said, his voice having lost some of the hard edge it had once been covered with, “What’s up?”

“I-” Aang faltered, “I have- do you ever think about your father?”

There was a thick silence. “…Yeah. I visit him from time to time.”

The Airbender leaned over the side, watching the water below. “I…every night. Nightmares. Can’t sleep.”

“About my father.”

He gave a small sound of assent. “You know how I defeated him, Zuko- bent his spirit, stole his bending. I had to open up his- his essence, I- there was a moment when I pushed on him and he pushed back, and he almost took over- I could- feel him inside me…”

Zuko’s hand on his shoulder stopped him in mid-sentence. “And you see that when you sleep?”

“Mm. Over and over.”

“While you were fighting my father, Katara and I were at the palace fighting Azula. When Katara defeated her, she- there was this look on her face- and having grown up with her, it was more than I could bear. Even now I see her like that, hear her wailing when I try to sleep. They won’t give us peace.”

Aang shivered. “It’s over, but it’s not over.”

“Listen. We both made the decision not to take their lives. I’m not telling you to get over it, or that it’ll be okay. But this is something that we’ll both have to shoulder. Our duty to the world.”

He gathered Aang in a simple embrace; anything more would have been awkward. After everything they had been through, everything they had seen and all that they had done, they were still only children.

“The room connected to mine used to be for the servants, but it’s empty now. I could have it made, if you’d like- until you’re able to sleep again.”

“Thanks, Zuko.”

The memory of Ozai was like a hand pressing on his chest. He could let himself be crushed, or he could learn how to breathe.

x x x