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Bato’s scar-- scars?-- had healed as well as he could expect. Rather than losing his arm, he lost only about half of his mobility, scar tissue healing tight over the joints of his shoulder and elbow and wrist.
Well, he could mobilize his shoulder or his finger joints as far as he wanted, but he’d run the risk of tearing the skin, and he was sick of dealing with the tender itchiness of it.
He’s sick of leaning on others to help when he can’t grasp whatever damn thing he needs without injuring the flesh of his knuckles-- the fishing line to tie on bait, the hatchet to chop his firewood, or the jar of salve Katara had made for him to apply over those same wounds.
That was how he ended up cross legged on the floor of Chief Hakoda’s igloo. He had just wanted his friend to open the jar and maybe help apply it on the back of his shoulder, but Hakoda being the type of friend he is, insisted on applying it in its entirety.
“Are you applying it daily like Katara instructed?” Hakoda asked, suspicious as he rubbed the salve first into the cracked and ashen lines of Bato’s hands, his eyes focused and hands keen on applying it to ever crack and crevice. It made Bato uncomfortable.
“You’re using too much,” Bato complained, looking anywhere else. Hakoda massaged into the skin between his thumb and index finger where it had been cracked and dry for days.
“Evidently, you’re not using enough ,” Hakoda retorted. He dipped his fingers into the jar for more, smearing it onto Bato’s wrist gently before spreading it over the back of his hand. Bato breathed out harshly in a way of a scoff.
“I’m serious,” Hakoda said-- and for once, the man did sound serious. “Katara and her friend-- Zuko?-- said it’s important to apply a layer of salve everyday. Your skin is vulnerable to drying out because of… uh, damage to…” He screwed his brow up tighter, still focusing on massaging the cream in, gently yet firmly.
“I was there,” Bato sniffed. “I heard.”
Hakoda pursed his lips. Bato looked back at the fire.
“Relax,” Hakoda instructed him, rubbing his thumb into the thick scar tissue and tense muscles in Bato’s wrist. It felt good and painful at once, and Bato winced even as he let his hand go limp in Hakoda’s grip.
Bato was vexed that his friend wouldn’t let him just leave with his opened jar in peace, but he was also touched. Since returning from war, Hakoda had been very busy, to say the least. There was reconstruction to oversee, hunts to lead, and soldiers to reintegrate for a functional, harmonious society. Bato had felt low enough slinking into the igloo to ask for a moment of his time to open the jar.
He watched Hakoda out of the corner of his eye, noting the bags under his eyes and the sallowness of his cheeks. His cheekbones had never jutted so sharply before they left for the war. His eyes had never been so dark before the raid that took Kya.
Perhaps that was what made the guilt settle into Bato’s stomach: he had never figured out how to outgrow the feelings he’d developed for his friend in their youth. Even while Hakoda started his own family, Bato couldn’t bring himself to do the same.
They sat in relative silence as Hakoda carefully continued applying the salve, rubbing gentle fingertips into his forearm and elbow and bicep.
Bato startled when Hakoda brushed his hair away from his shoulder, slipping some of it behind his ear. He looked at his friend, who quickly looked back at the expanse of shoulder he was massaging ointment into.
“Oh, Bato,” Hakoda said under his breath, and Bato straightened his back to cover the way it made the hair on his neck stand up . “You need to come to me when you need help applying this.” He was gently dabbing the salve onto the back of Bato’s shoulder before smoothing it out. Bato could feel how rough his own skin was under Hakoda’s hands.
“Well, it cracks whenever I reach for something,” he explained in irritation.
“Then don’t reach so much.”
Bato exhaled sharply out of his mouth, venting some of the heat-- from embarrassment, annoyance, or shame-- from his stomach.
“How am I supposed to not reach for things?”
“Ask for help!” Hakoda exclaimed, briefly sitting back from his work and craning his neck to look Bato in the face. “What is with you?”
“What’s with me?” Bato echoed, turning to look Hakoda dead on. “What’s with me is I-- I did my time being left behind and looked after. And I pushed through and I fought beside you. Why should I go back to… this?”
Hakoda frowned sharply. It was not often that unhappy expressions on his friend’s face reached his eyes, but this one did.
He dipped his fingers back into the jar and returned to his work, this time focusing on Bato’s collarbone, running the salve toward the mottled edge of the scar just below Bato’s throat. They sat facing each other, and there was not much Bato could look at other than Hakoda. This was much worse.
Bato resolved to look over Hakoda’s head. That worked while Hakoda was bent forward, but when he sat back on his heels to survey his own work, Bato’s eyes fell on his face again.
His still frowning face. Half lit by the fire, the stark shadows across his face shocked Bato.
Although he had finished applying salve to every inch of Bato’s burns, Hakoda did not release his arm. No, rather he kept a firm hand around Bato’s forearm near his elbow, his other hand massaging the scarred skin wrapped tight around the joint. It felt good-- loosening the scar tissue and relieving the deep itch that had settled there since he had awoken with his arm bent just a little too much. But the way Hakoda’s eyes didn’t lighten, didn’t relax from their hard set focus: it made Bato’s stomach turn.
Of course Hakoda had a serious streak; he had led the village’s men in war , after all. That serious streak did not have a place between the two of them alone, usually. They could speak with each other on anything, lighten each other’s spirits in the face of any hardship.
“What did I do to make you so angry?” Bato asked, meaning to come off lightly. It didn’t.
Hakoda didn’t look at him, and the lines did not lighten on his face. “Nothing.”
“Really, Hakoda,” Bato pressed, poking his friend’s arm with his good hand.
“You did nothing,” Hakoda said, and he looked Bato in the eye now. Bato raised his brows at the fierceness there, directed for the first time in a long time at Bato. “You did nothing, and you let your wounds get worse, and you’ll do nothing when one of these cracks gets infected, I presume.”
Bato frowned at him. He didn’t have anything to say.
“You know, not everyone had the opportunity to be healed like you were. We both know burn infections are a real threat.”
“I know.”
“Then why don’t you act like it?”
“I know . I just--” Bato cut himself off. He swallowed down his resignation. “I can’t do it myself.”
“That’s why you ask me for help.”
“That’s it. I don’t want to be living off of other’s help for the rest of my life.”
“What else are you going to do?” Hakoda demanded, his voice growing loud, and Bato concealed his wince.
Bato didn’t let himself match his friend’s volume-- he was used to being the cool headed one. He squinted (scowled) at him. Hakoda’s hand was tight around Bato’s forearm now, and Bato hissed and took his arm back.
Hakoda muttered an apology and scrubbed a hand over his face. The anger melted away and left a sadness in its place.
“I need you to take care of yourself,” Hakoda said, his voice barely audible over the crackle of fire and the whip of the wind beyond the igloo walls.
Bato responded through the stone that seemed to have wedged between his ribs and his lungs, “And what about you? Did you sleep at all last night?”
Hakoda’s brows raised, but his eyes still drooped, answering the question without words. Hakoda smiled weakly. This time it didn’t reach his eyes.
Bato observed his friend, the way he stared sullenly at the space between their knees, and patiently waited for the storm to break and for him to smile and flit away from whatever emotions he was displaying. That didn’t happen.
Rather, Hakoda seemed to settle into his mood, shoulders sinking.
“Hakoda?” Bato asked, his voice hollowed by the sudden flight of his annoyance with his friend. Hakoda’s brows knit one stitch closer. “Hey,” Bato said, trying to rouse any response from his friend and push down the alarm at Hakoda’s unresponsiveness. He reached out and put his good hand on Hakoda’s shoulder.
Hakoda turned away from it, but didn’t move far enough away to shake it off.
“You’re going to give me the silent treatment,” Bato observed, schooling his tone to be cool and even. Twenty years ago he would have been shrill about it, maybe he would’ve pounced on his friend and rolled them both to the floor to wrestle over it. No matter what arguments or discomfort would have arisen between the two friends, they could settle it quickly with a fight, pinning each other until the issue resolved itself.
Even if Bato still had the energy for that type of conflict resolution, he wasn’t sure it would work this time.
“Koda, what’s wrong?”
When Hakoda just shook his head and looked away, Bato was really concerned. He squeezed the man’s shoulder. He hadn’t anticipated the soft sound that escaped Hakoda at the gesture.
Bato should have suppressed the urge, but he found himself moving his hand from Hakoda’s shoulder to the curve of his jaw, making the other man meet his eyes. He let his expression repeat his questions. Hakoda sat stiffly under his hand, surprise overshadowing the other, negative emotions for a moment before his eyes fell to Bato’s chest and he leaned his head into Bato’s palm. Bato did not know what to do with the way that rock planted in his chest was heating, pressed between his wildly beating heart and aching lung.
Hakoda sighed heavily, breath running over Bato’s palm and wrist. Bato cocked his head, again hiding his involuntary response to his friend, and imploring his friend silently to let him in on whatever was going on in that head.
Hakoda shook his head, moving away from Bato’s touch.
This was getting more and more serious.
Bato moved closer, preparing to replace his hand on Hakoda’s shoulder, at least, but Hakoda held up a hand, halting him. He shoved his elbows into his thighs, pressing his fingertips to his hairline. He glanced up at Bato, shooting him an embarrassed frown.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“Tell me what bothers you.”
“No, I--”
“Hakoda,” Bato said once more, emphasizing each syllable.
Hakoda took a steadying breath. “I should’ve done more.”
Bato frowned. Was this Hakoda being a horrible communicator? Or was he being purposefully cryptic?
Seeing Bato’s confusion, Hakoda shrunk back once more but this time Bato clasped his shoulder harder and didn’t let him slink away. “Explain.”
Hakoda had always had high, wide cheekbones and a round jaw, but his pinched brows and deep frown made his face appear thin and long. When he opened his mouth to elaborate his voice seemed to catch.
All the sorrow he’d felt for himself Bato flung to the side, immediately out of his mind at seeing Hakoda sit back on his heels and try to reign in his voice against a lump in his throat-- Bato threw his hands around his friend and pulled him into his chest.
Once there, Hakoda dropped the pretense of struggle against Bato’s grip. Rather, his hand went lax on Bato’s chest as well. Bato wished he’d had a chance to pull on his shirt before this. The rock in Bato’s chest melted under the warmth of Hakoda’s hand, slow molten rock trickling into his stomach and resolidifying.
“I should’ve done more to protect you,” Hakoda confessed against Bato’s arm, added, “And Kya.”
“No,” Bato said, cutting him off there and not sparing a moment to consider Hakoda’s categorizing him and Kya together. “You did what could be done. For both of us.”
Hakoda shook his head hard, and Bato slid his hand up to Hakoda’s head to prevent him from pulling away.
“You’ll listen to me: you did enough. There was no more that could have been done.”
He heard the pointed inhale that signaled Hakoda was about to speak, and clasped his hand on his friend’s head in warning. Bato would not hear it. Forcing Hakoda to hold his thoughts inside wasn’t helpful for him, but it helped Bato avoid the cold clench in his stomach.
Still, he couldn’t simply not hear Hakoda’s muttered “You shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t what?” Bato asked.
“You just shouldn’t,” Hakoda said, voice stronger now. “I don’t deserve this.” Again, his breath ran over Bato’s skin, his bare chest. “I couldn’t protect so many people-- so many of my men, and Kya, and Sokka and Katara, you…”
Bato made space between the two of them to look at Hakoda’s face as he spoke, searching for some indication of exaggeration. That he didn’t truly believe what he was saying.
“Hakoda--” he started to say, but the dams had released and Hakoda did not give him the chance to interrupt.
“When I had to leave you at that abbey,” Hakoda hiccuped, and Bato realized that even as his friend rambled, he was still holding back the more violent emotions. Even so, Bato had trouble following the rant. “That was one of the worst… and it was my fault .”
He couldn’t process this. He couldn’t believe this. His best friend, the staunch and centered, fearless and commanding, caring and compassionate Hakoda, blamed himself for unavoidable miseries of war. Yet, simultaneously, it made perfect sense. Of course Hakoda, in his bottomless empathy and loyalty, would blame himself for any pain felt by his family and friends and take responsibility for it.
“How was it your fault?” Bato poked, schooling his voice into a slow, calming timber. Hakoda was being irrational, and it was nothing Bato couldn’t fix without some targeted questions.
“No!” Hakoda sat back from Bato. “You don’t get to tell me how it’s okay and I couldn’t have done more. Not after you let yourself get to this state,” he said, gesturing angrily to Bato’s torso and arms with a vague wave. “You find it in yourself to take care of everybody but yourself,” Hakoda spat. “You can’t keep helping others when you don’t seem to care about your health at all.”
Bato opened his mouth to argue when Hakoda grabbed his burn again, causing him to hiss. Hakoda gave him a pointed look and released him.
“You’re being unreasonable,” Bato insisted.
“You were in my command, so that day on the beach...” Hakoda said, alluding to the skirmish that led to Bato’s disfigurement. “And Kya, in my house ,” Hakoda continued. “I never wanted to let that happen to another one of my…” Hakoda made fleeting eye contact, “loved ones again. And then…”
Bato stopped him there. “I’m still here.”
He knew the sight of Bato’s fresh burn had nearly caused Hakoda to pass out, and had at another time realized how the severity of it along with the singed fur of Bato’s armor, must have brought memories of Kya to the surface.
Hakoda was still. He looked at Bato, expression both alarmed and raw.
“You are.” He said it softly, like he hadn’t considered that. “I need you here.”
He took a shaky breath, giving Bato time to frown in askance.
He could feel something surge through his veins, his stomach letting him know that his fight or flight instinct was kicking in. He glanced to the door, checked the fire, sparing a look to the vent in the ice bricks above, before looking back to Hakoda. His eyes still held sadness, but it had morphed into something a little different now, looking up at Bato. A pensive sadness, studying Bato’s face.
Bato didn’t know what possessed him to replace his hand on his friend’s jaw, but something in the way he breathed against his palm reawakened the molten rock in Bato’s stomach. Hakoda looked guilty as he wrapped one hand around Bato’s wrist; it was a guilt that Bato was all too familiar with, that he’d looked at Hakoda with for most of their adult lives.
He exhaled in recognition. It should be more shocking, but all Bato could feel was relief.
And Hakoda mirrored the relief too, the understanding that passed between their eyes something too precious to do anything with just yet.
Bato heard the crunch of snowy footsteps approaching the igloo’s door just in time, snatching his hand back and looking to see Sokka hunched over as he shuffled through the short entryway.
“Sokka!” Hakoda called, and Bato rued how normal his voice sounded once again. His friend hopped to his feet. “The fishing trip is done already?”
“Yeah!” Sokka replied, matching his father’s enthusiasm, even if he sounded a little worn. “We need all the hands and ulus we can find to help process the catch.” Sokka grinned wryly. “Or as I say, ‘ulu hands on deck.’” Bato could not suppress his eye roll, but Hakoda and Sokka both threw their heads back to laugh.
“Hilarious.”
“Hey Bato! Katara sent news yesterday that she'll have more salve brought on the next ship from the Southern Air Temple,” the boy-- man -- said, spotting the jar of salve that was still open beside Bato’s knee.
“Great,” Bato smiled, ignoring the pointed look Hakoda shot him over Sokka’s shoulder.
“Right, I was just helping Bato with that. In fact, let us finish before I come help with the fish.”
“Sure!” Sokka said, and then he was adjusting his anorak’s hood and shuffling back outside.
Hakoda sat once again, his knees against Bato’s.
Bato still had protests about what Hakoda had said, his self blame for Bato’s wounds, and his dodging around the fact he barely cared for himself , let alone his attempt to shame Bato’s tendency towards apathy.
He pushed that all to the side, leaning toward his friend in a silent indication, silent caution, of what Bato intended to do. Hakoda didn’t hesitate, not so much as a flinch, when Bato pressed their cheeks together in a platonic-leaning display of affection. He followed it with an even more cautious, though less platonic, press of lips to Hakoda’s cheek. Hakoda’s hand that fell on his shoulder grounded Bato, reassured him.
“We should go and help,” Hakoda said.
“Yes,” Bato said, pressing one more kiss to his friend’s cheek like he might not get another chance. “We are not done discussing this,” Bato told him, voice low with warning against any attempt to avoid it later.
“Yes, we’ll discuss your lack of self preservation more later.”
“That’s not what--”
“Later,” Hakoda repeated over him. “We have work to do,” he said, grabbing Bato’s shirt and helping him slide his injured arm into it, watching Bato fold it together over his chest and tie the sash.
“We?” Bato asked as he grabbed his soft hide poncho and pulled it over his head, finding the leather strip sewn into one edge and tied that around his burned elbow with one hand, sliding his injured hand into a fur-lined pocket he’d made. These fastenings kept him from bending the joints further than he should and shielded his damaged skin from the sun.
“You think you get out of community duties like fish gutting because you’re injured?” Hakoda scoffed, and Bato suddenly felt that low pang again as he realized how no one had ventured into his igloo to fetch him for chores. “I’ve got some fish to fillet and you’ve got some young guys to criticize.” Hakoda pulled Bato to his feet and patted him on the shoulder, before that hand rested there, heavy with meaning. They held eye contact for a long, still moment, and he knew he would not be able to wait out another.
He leaned down and kissed his friend. Quick, short, to the point: yet electrifying in the wave of relief it allowed. Hakoda broke away with a sigh against Bato’s jaw, patting Bato’s cheek.
“Sokka will circle back looking for us.”
Bato exhaled a laugh at that. He knew it was true. Following Hakoda, they shuffled out into the warm spring wind.