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"Friends can become enemies,
and enemies can become friends.
Ego and pride can turn what is good into bad,
& kind words can turn what is bad into something good."
-suzy kassem.
It’s a rainy day when Aang feels her presence. To say they are tied together is an understatement – Aang is connected to all worlds, but to her more than most. The way his scar almost stands on end, a phantom of electricity ghosting across it. He often feels such thunder in his veins when she’s nearby, the universe’s way of reminding him that he is tied to her in more ways than the norm.
Azula has been out in society for a number of years already – indeed, her in public is not what threatens to surprise him. What almost throws off his balance is that she’s at the Southern Air Temple. He’s known of her presence since he landed there early that same morning, climbing the winding peaks til he’s sitting on a crumbling balcony, mediating on his past to gain clarity on his present and future. Upon giving it some thought, Aang comes to the conclusion that it isn’t so odd that Azula is at the Southern Air Temple. Indeed, before he’d personally seen that the remains of the monks and Fire Nation soldiers had been given proper funerals, the temple gave the clearest examples of the wrath the Fire Nation could produce. Even now that the bodies are gone and the temple cleaner, charred wood and blackened walls still lend evidence to the tragedies of times past. Aang supposes that him being here, the lone airbender mediating in the empty temple of his people, serves as even more proof. Azula, from what Zuko had told Aang, left to see first hand both the horrors and wonders of the world through newly unclouded eyes. Of course she’d stop here.
What drives home that Azula’s come along way from delivering blows rivaling death, is how she reveals herself to him. Sitting up on the balcony, Aang can feel her as she climbs the broken staircase towards him. Her footsteps are as silent as they were when they were children; if Aang weren’t the voice of the wind and if he were unable to feel the earth under his toes, he would not be able to tell she was coming. But her steps are still sensed by the ground, and the wind tumbles around her, interrupted by her small frame. Stepping out into the balcony, Azula crosses the threshold and moves to settle in front of Aang, so she is in full view of him. Aang is struck, easily and almost comically, by how different an image this is compared to times past. The circle of life is funny that way.
They sit there meditating for quite some time, the cool air flowing around them, the sun rising until it’s warming Aang’s nose. Air courses through his veins and through the temple, which, even after over a hundred years, still makes a pleasant noise when the wind runs through it. It sounds like the waves against the ocean, like muted wind chimes while one watches the flying bison play, like a baby’s sleepy laughter. The monks had designed it that way, and that way it had remained. Constant as the air around them.
Finally, Aang opens his eyes. The first thing he notices is that her hair is short. Unconventionally so – it’s short on the back and sides of her head (shorter than Sokka’s). It reminds him vaguely of his days with hair, back when he was hiding in the Fire Nation. It makes her face look sharper, but more open, too. A small scar rests on the top left corner of her upper lip, and there’s a tattoo on her right wrist. Azula opens her eyes and looks back at him, soaking him in with the same open wonder in which Aang is regarding her. “Hello.” Azula says, and for all intents and purposes she sounds exactly the same but also very different. There’s no anger or malice dripping in ever letter, just an openness that can only come from someone who has gotten to know themselves. “It’s nice to see you.” She gives him a smile that is so awkward, Aang finds it easy to see the resemblance between her and Zuko.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Aang says, and he means it. “What brings you here?”
Azula’s eyes widen only fractionally, but that is the only noticeable change in her demeanor. “I came here to see, for myself.”
Aang tilts his head, “And what do you think?”
“I think it must have hurt.” She purses her lips, wringing her small (dainty, yet Aang knows the power she wields so well) hands. There’s a note in her voice that Aang registers easily as compassion. He holds it for every living thing he sees. “It still hurts.” Azula looks past him, as if reaching for something she can’t see. The scar on his back tingles again. “I’m sorry.”
With an honest smile, Aang waves away her apology. “It’s not okay, but it’s also not your fault. There is no guilt on your shoulders or blood on your hands. I forgive everyone, and my people do, too.”
With a small shake of her head, Azula continues. “Not just about your people. I’m sorry about what I did to you. And to Zuzu, to Ty Lee, to Mai, Katara, Sokka, Toph, Suki.” Azula lists names like she’s spent the past few years writing them down every day. She gives him a sardonic sort of laugh. “Caldera City. Ba Sing Se. The world.” Aang doesn’t speak. Something tells him she isn’t finished. “I am sorry for what I’ve personally done, the hand I had in inflicting conflict onto the world. I’ve come a long way, still am coming a long way. I have my own personality and views, now.” Azula throws him a smile, a real one, that showcases her sharp canines and perfect teeth. “I know my purpose, my place. And I know I shouldn’t guilt myself, but there are people I owe proper apologies to. And you are one of them.”
“What’s your purpose?” Aang’s curiosity is piqued.
“To do what little I can to help people. To travel the world without any aim other than that.” Azula shrugs, “At least, for now. For now, I just want to help. However I can.”
And well, shit. He can’t think of a nobler, brighter purpose. And her apology is so genuine it almost hurts him. For a second Aang just stares, smiling brightly at her, entire body beaming like he is reaching for the sun. Then he realizes Azula might be weirded out by this, so Aang clears his throat and stands. Reaching down, he offers his hand to her. Tentatively, Azula takes it, letting him haul her to her feet. Aang pulls her up with more force than he ended up needing (she’s much lighter than he remembers) and as a result she ends up colliding with him. With a gust of wind behind him to keep them from crashing down the stairs, the two steady themselves and then step away from each other. Neither of them blush (one ever poised and the other ever shameless), but they both busy themselves with readjusting their clothes for a good while. Finally, Aang turns and motions for Azula to follow him. As they wander down the steps, skipping over missing ledges, Aang speaks. “For what it’s worth, your mission is amazing.” He looks over his shoulder at her, “Reminds me of my people.” Almost tripping over a missing step, Aang tears his eyes away and continues. “It’s all good, Azula. You’ve undergone more of a journey than most people do in a lifetime, and are determined to keep doing it.” He takes an exit on the second floor, crossing into a room that’s surprisingly untouched compared to the others. Momo is sitting on the window ledge, Appa resting down below in the courtyard on the first floor. Kneeling, Aang picks up a mostly deteriorated Pai Sho tile and vividly remembers Gyatso gifting him the game for his eleventh birthday. “I forgive you. I’m proud of you, and I’m proud to know you.” He tosses her the tile and smiles, a charming thing that could give birth to a million stars.
Azula stares. “It’s that easy for you?”
“Of course.” Aang says.
“How?”
He shrugs. Sits down on the stone slab that’s under the windowsill Momo’s sitting on. “Because everyone deserves love and forgiveness.” Aang says it simply, because to him it is so. “Especially someone who’s actively making an effort to do better.”
Azula’s eyes are owlish. She’s running the tile across her fingers, the tips of her ears red. “Was this your room?”
Aang doesn’t stop her from changing the subject. “Yes,” he says.
Azula eyes the space next to him, and sits down next to him with the same confidence one would have if he’d himself invited her to invade his space. “Tell me.” Azula says, “If it’s not too much to ask.”
Talking about his people is never too much to ask, so Aang does one of the things he does best: Tells her stories.
Somewhere along the way, Azula lets her guard down. The poise that she never quite got rid of leaks out of her as she leans into Aang’s stories. Her eyes go big at the right moments, and her fingers tremble at others. Aang tells her about Air Nomad history until he realizes the sun is beginning to dip low into the sky. And even then, it isn’t until Azula stretches and says, honestly and sadly, “Let’s wrap it up.”
There is no probably, no maybe, no should. That’s one thing that is quintessentially Azula and that Aang has always admired: She’s sure of her decisions, and now that Aang knows it to stem from confidence and not arrogance, he finds himself almost enamored with her decisiveness. Nodding, Aang watches as Momo stirs from his sleep and scampers up Azula’s arm. She lets out a startled laugh, before ultimately leaning into him.
“Yeah.” Aang says, watching as the sunlight turns Azula’s amber eyes a holy shade of gold. “Where are you going next?”
Azula leads Aang out the door and towards the first floor. “My original plan was to have started my journey east by midday, but when you showed up this morning I decided to push that back.”
An idea strikes Aang. “I’m heading east, too. Want to travel together?”
Her laugh sounds like a dying fire that’s just been rekindled. “Me? Traveling with the Avatar? Even with all my development, the idea sounds comical.”
“Sometimes the best things are.” Momo bounces from Azula’s shoulder to Aang’s. “We are all comedians, all fools in love.”
Azula raises a brow, “Love? Come now, Avatar, at least ask me out to dinner first.”
He lets out a loud laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that – though, if you were thinking along those lines, I can make that happen.” He winks at her and she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I meant any type of love. It makes people act funny, freely, without fear. True love, that is. Honest and open love.” Azula gives him a strange look. “What?” He holds up his hands, defensive. “The monks talked about it a lot.”
She reaches out a hand and pats his arm. It sends thrills through his body, from the spot where she touched him to the tips of his toes, tingles that shock the knotted skin on his back. “I’m sure they did.”
He throws her a look. “They did!” As they step outside, leaving the temple behind, Aang pauses. “Oh, and you can call me Aang.”
Azula gives him a closed-mouth smile. “Alright, Aang.”
Appa, who sensed Azula as early on as Aang had, glances at her, unimpressed. She throws him the same look back. A tense moment passes, before both of them turn away from each other, the silent conversation over. Though Appa doesn’t lick her, and though Azula doesn’t hug him, the mutual respect is so clear that even Toph could see it.
When the sun goes down, and Azula’s bent a fire for them to sit by, Aang finds himself once again regaling her with stories. It’s strangely easy – as if they’ve been doing this for their whole lives. Aang catches sight of her tattoo again from time to time. It’s four little symbols in the shape of a square. On the fifth glance, Azula extends her arm and Aang sees that it’s all four nations, their insignias inked on her pale skin. “To remind me we’re one.” The look in her eyes, as if she’s already lived a hundred lives and remembers all of them, sends Aang’s stomach into acrobatics. Waving him on, Azula coaxes Aang back into his stories.
After he’s done with a fable Gyatso told him when he was eight, Aang nudges Azula with his shoulder. The fire is still strong beside them, but he doesn’t miss the way Azula shivers into her sleeping bag. “So, have you thought about coming with me? Just til we get to wherever you want me to drop you off.” He doesn’t tell her he’d be alright with never dropping her off, but then, he doesn’t think he has to. It’s strange to feel so connected to someone he was once morally and mortally opposed to, but destiny is a funny thing, and Aang has always walked hand in hand with it.
Azula gathers her thoughts. “I suppose, why not.” She throws him a cautious smile. “It would be kind of funny. And like you said, we are all fools in love.”
He turns on his shoulder, so he can fully face her. “Tell me again.” Aang demands, eyes dropping down to her tattoo and then back up to her sharp, open face. Her eyes look bright in the light of the fire.
Azula, Aang knows, has taken orders all her life, and doesn’t take kindly to them any more. So, when she gives him a shit eating grin and says, “Sorry, Aang. I still don’t enjoy repeating myself. Maybe in the future you’ll have better chance of coaxing it out of me.”
And then she’s asleep, sleeping bag pulled over her body so she looks almost like a rock, leaving Aang to wonder if he’d dreamed the whole conversation. Except in the morning she emerges, still there and still alive, still open and sharp and secure in this best version of her that’s striving for a new type of greatness. Azula gives him a sleepy morning smile, and though his body shivers as it usually does, Aang finds that this time, the feeling never really leaves.
A year later, Azula kisses him lazily as they sit on the same balcony where they mediated together that day so many years after the war. As the sun goes down, Aang turns to nip at her ear. She throws him a look that heats up his entire body, and whispers to him, “Tell me again.”
“You first.” He grins devilishly.
Because it’s him, and only because it’s him, Azula relents. “I really do like you.” She swallows. Nonchalantly, “You know, love you. A lot. Whatever, no big deal.”
“You’re such a clown.” He kisses her nose. “I love you too.”
She grins. “We are all fools in love.” It’s an echo of a memory, strong especially on a day like today.
Azula never asked Aang and Appa to let her off, and Aang and Appa never asked her to leave. They are connected more than most, and quite frankly they’d have it no other way.
“Tell me again.” Aang throws her his best polar-pup look.
She does, not because of the look but because she likes when he tucks her into his side after she says something unexpectedly sweet. Kissing his nose, Azula whispers, “We’re all fools in love.” Kissing his left cheek, she whispers it again. His right, and the words meet his ears. His chin, the side of his mouth. Finally, Azula kisses him on the lips, languidly, beautifully. “We’re all fools in love.” She says.
When the sun goes down, Aang is still returning the favor.
"I love me, I love me enough for the both of us
That's why you trust me, I know you been through more than most of us
So what are you? What are you, what are you so afraid of?
Darling you, you give but you cannot take love."-jhene aiko & drake, from time.