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She’d hung up, then she’d walked to the station’s bathroom, because even if her mind hadn’t yet processed her sister’s words, it would soon and the second it did, her stomach would revolt.
She knew herself.
She’d been right.
She’d thrown up.
When she left the bathroom, she felt too normal. She sighed. A detective dropped a file and his partner was laughing at him. She frowned at the display and then looked left and right, as if not knowing what to do next.
Another sigh.
She walked into her office, standing behind the now closed doors, waiting for her body to react. Waiting for tears to roll, but there weren’t any. She had to chuckle because nothing felt different. She remembered how Tenzin had sobbed, when Aang died, how he had repeated ‘everything’s different now’ over and over again. And he’d been right. When Aang died, she had felt it, how everything had been different, too.
But now, Lin was standing in her office and it was all the same. If Su hadn’t called, she wouldn’t even know.
“She’s dead now,” Lin said, as though maybe hearing the words again would make her cry.
When it didn’t, she rubbed her thighs with her hands. What to do? She had an idea and walked over to the portrait of her mother, hanging in a metal frame on the wall.
“You’re dead now,” she told it, “and I’m not even crying.”
Toph’s glazed over eyes stared back at her and Lin wondered if they’d gotten even more glazed over the second life had left her mother’s body. Saying or thinking the words didn’t even feel weird. Toph is dead. Mom is dead. Chief is dead. The greatest fucking earthbender is dead. Nothing. No tears.
“Bet you wish you’d raised me to be more of a softie now,” she huffed, smiling smugly. “Can’t even cry for you.”
She sat down in her chair, leaning back and stretching her legs. Her arms crossed themselves – reflex maybe – and she slid down a little, finding a comfortable position. “Alright,” she said.
One hand tapped on the metal covering her forearm while she tried to think a little harder. She looked down at it. Watching her metal armor gave her the next idea. She got up again. “Watch this,” she said to the portrait – she’d never not said it, when showing her mother a new form or trick or literally anything.
“This is where you say, ‘I’m blind’.” She waited for a moment, then nodded, positioned herself in the middle of the room and bent off her armor. It usually worked. When she was on the brink of tears, shedding it would push her further to a point where all the repressed tears came falling down. Kya called it catalyst. But when her armor landed on the chair next to her, nothing happened. Her eyes were dry.
“Well, that didn’t work,” she said, not bothering to suppress the disappointment. She bent it back on, then looked at the clock. Only 15 minutes.
In those fifteen minutes I could have finished that report, instead of wasting them with not-crying.
Lin sighed again, taking a seat once more. She picked up the pen, put it back down, dropped her forehead in open hands and rested her elbows on the table. What? Am I going to force the tears now? Another deep sigh exited her body and she watched as the file beneath her fluttered under its impact. Am I an airbender now with all that sighing?
Then she noticed it.
The voice in her head, had a gruff semblance to someone she knew – or she supposed, had known.
She sighed again. Was this going to be it now? The constant sighs? Would she sigh every time she remembered her mother? Had she done it before? That’s when it started annoying her, so Lin tried to breathe a little more shallowly, so she wouldn’t have to hear it. It had quite the opposite effect.
The harder she tried to ignore the noise her body made every time she breathed in or out, the louder she heard it.
She tried to distract herself with filling out what was left of the report, but then she noticed how her handwriting rose and fell, seemingly in the same pattern she breathed in. She dropped the pen and got up.
She started walking, her breathing growing harsher. In, out. In, out.
She had to get out of the office because that would surely help. Everyone took days off when someone died, so why shouldn’t she waste some time for once. She left her office, metal doors swinging and echoing until she’d made it through the bullpen.
“Move,” she said, when people in the hallway didn’t. One of the officers had the audacity to gasp. Anger rose in her. Gasp less, work more. That fucking voice again. It was right! He’d gasped and she was the one who had to deal with it. He was, of course, long behind her now, likely not even remembering what his gasp sounded like. Her feet carried her through the building, while she still heard it; not instead of but along with her own breathing.
It was heaving now and therefore all the more obnoxious. When she noticed her surroundings for one moment, she hadn’t left the building but found herself in front of one of the training rooms. Maybe she should train a little, kick bags, run shuffle, squat until her legs gave out. It’s what she’d always done and it always helped.
She pushed the metal open, overly glad to be faced with an empty room. She wouldn’t have to kick anyone out. At least that’s working. I’m sure not. She slammed the door shut and stepped forward onto the tatami.
Center yourself. Strong and neutral. She’d thought it, before she could have stopped it, so she followed.
Lin breathed in and held it – held the air hostage in her lungs until it hurt so bad that she couldn’t do it any longer and her body’s failsafe kicked in, making her gasp. She repeated the motion, the silence pure and soothing in a way, words could never be. Holding her breath, again and again, until she had to kneel down on the floor, too scared the dizziness she felt would overpower her.
It was not the day to faint. She fell forward onto her hands.
She could feel and smell the dried sticky sweat on the tatami under her hands. Her knees started to ache. The echoes of her gasps bounced off the walls; she could hear them coming from every direction, haunting her. Every breath she took reminded her, that she had to take a next one, no matter how badly she just wanted to stop breathing. Because it was all around her.
“Chief!” It called out from behind her.
“Chief!” Mako again, more concerned now.
That stupid boy always so concerned for her.
She couldn’t bring herself to answer, holding her breath again.
Breathe, the voice in her head ordered, breath in, breath out. Try again.
“Chief,” the other voice called – the real voice. And then the voice transformed into a hand gripping her shoulder. She whirled around with whatever survival strength she had left and hurled a surprised Mako onto the tatami. He landed on his back right in front of her, the air punched out of him. She looked down, waiting.
Waiting for his lungs to catch up with his shocked eyes. Waiting because he, too, would have to take a breath and if he wouldn’t, it would be her duty to kneel and push the air into him until he could take another breath of his own. No one could stop breathing around her. Everyone was gasping or breathing.
Everyone but Mom. She was dead now. And dead people didn’t breathe.
“Chief,” Mako managed again, putting his hand over the one currently around his neck. She hadn’t even noticed. She wasn’t squeezing – spirits, what if she had? – but it was still firm enough for her to feel his racing pulse against her own digits. Everyone was so actively and loudly alive. She could feel her own heart hammering in her ears.
“Lin,” he tried, which finally snapped her out of whatever hold she put him in. She let go, sitting back on her haunches, hands shaking. After catching his breath, Mako kneeled right in front of her, one hand pressing against his sternum, ridding his body of the shock she’d put it in, the other braced against the floor to steady himself. Was he aware of how sticky the tatami was?
“Lin,” he repeated and for a split second she wondered if he’d ever called her that, but then he got blurry and she could still hear the air flooding her lungs as she tried to compensate for her stupidity.
All she could hear was her damn breathing and she couldn’t stop. She no longer controlled it and it got worse.
“K-,“ she gasped, “Kya.”
The boy got up. Thank his quick response to authority.
“I’ll get her,” he promised and ran to the door.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Kya licked her fingers, because of course someone would call right when she filling the jam into the sweet buns. The one time she wanted to bake something for herself. Of course.
The phone was loud and she wondered if she’d missed it before, since the radio had been on full volume – a luxury she could only indulge in when Lin wasn’t home. On her rare days off, there was nothing more she wanted to do.
“Yup,” she said when she had maneuvered the handset between her shoulder and the ear, hunching over to speak.
“It’s the Chief,” Mako’s voice announced and Kya couldn’t suppress the chuckle.
“Well, you sure have a surprisingly Mako-sounding voice right now, Lin.”
There was a short silence and Kya wondered if she shouldn’t have made the joke. Does he not get it?
“No, this is Mako. You need to come to the station, something’s wrong with her. Su called and now she’s in the training room. She’s not breathing normally.”
“What happened?” Kya asked, while ridding herself of the apron.
“I don’t know. Just come, please.”
Kya didn’t say anything, just simply hung up, turning off the oven and dressing in record time.
Waterskin, fill it , get that bag, keys, wallet. Go.
What had happened? What could be wrong? Had she been out in the field and got hurt?
No, but the call. Was something wrong with Su? Something with her kids? Spirits, if there’s another attack on Zaofu… No, she wouldn’t panic like that.
She ran down and while turning on the car reminded herself that speeding was only going to get her pulled over and therefore wasn’t an option.
Maybe it was a physical reaction to something. Had she accidentally eaten anything she was allergic to?
No red lights, all green.
But why mention Su? He clearly thought it was related. The closer she got to the station, the more that pit in her stomach intensified. She had to know.
Five minutes later, she jumped out of the car, slinging her waterskin over her shoulder, carrying her bag.
“Master Kya!” Mako called out from the stairs.
“Bring me to her,” she replied in a hushed voice. Lin would not appreciate others joining in on whatever this was.
He understood, nodding. They silently walked through the corridors.
“Move,” he said, when someone made to enter what she guessed to be the training room. “Use a different one.”
The officer raised a brow but made room.
As Mako closed the doors and locked them from the inside, positioning himself near it in case anyone would try to enter, Kya saw Lin. She was on all fours, body tensed, back heaving.
Spirits.
She made her way over to Lin and approached her from the front, like one would a wounded animal.
She shared a concerned look with Mako, though the boy seemed way more in control than she would be in his position.
Maybe it was all that additional training with Lin.
--------------------------------------------------
“Lin,” Kya’s voice sounded and after a moment Lin looked up at her.
She seemed concerned then she got blurry, too.
“Get a chair,” Kya ordered and Lin could see Mako move around the room.
“Lin,” she said sternly, “Did you get hurt? Is this an allergic reaction?”
She shook her head.
“Sit,” Kya ordered when the chair was put behind her. Kya’s hands were placed on her shoulders, pushing slightly until she was back on her haunches.
Lin let Kya guide her to sit on the chair with her forearms resting on her thighs. She recognized the position from the first aid training.
“You’re hyperventilating,” she told her. Kya always told her what was going on.
No shit, that voice retorted.
She sat like that for a few moments and apparently wasn’t doing just what Kya had wanted, because nothing was changing. Her breathing still brought nauseating fullness and though she had doubts right after doing so, she was incredibly glad she’d asked for Kya.
“Look at me, Lin.”
She did, letting Kya’s fingers guide her chin. She met Kya’s eyes, cool, determined and then felt the healer’s hand on her stomach, pushing her back to sit up straight.
“Breathe against my hand, love. Push it out,” Kya said – incredibly soft for someone ordering her around.
Lin did.
“Good,” Kya said, pushing Lin’s hair out of her face, “Focus on my hand.”
Lin did.
-----------------------------
After a while nothing had changed, her breathing was still too frequent and too deep. Kya’s gaze flicked over to her utensils and not wanting to remove her hands, she ordered Mako to come over.
“Open the side of the bag – no, the other – yes.”
Mako did.
“Now take out the transparent thing – yes, that, open it.”
He quickly reached it over and after hesitating a moment, receiving no other order, resumed his post at the door.
Kya held the transparent bag over Lin’s mouth and nose. “Breathe in here.”
Lin did. Kya almost smiled when Lin scowled at her. Of course she wouldn’t want to, but she didn’t complain either.
She watched the bag fog up, inflate and deflate. Again, again.
Again
Again.
Again.
“Good,” Kya praised, “There we go. Sloooow and steady.”
After a few more breaths, Lin leaned back further, swatting Kya and the bag away.
Back to stubborn, I see.
Kya rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment, instead folding the bag and putting it into its side pocket. She stood up, trusting Lin enough not to faint.
She wanted to get herself a chair, too. There had to be a reason for why this had happened. Mako still stood there, eyes focused on the ceiling, giving Lin her privacy.
“You did good,” she murmured and caught the pride flashing over Mako’s face before it went back to what she could only describe as professional stoicism. She wondered if that expression, the one she recognized all too well, was also part of their training.
“Is she okay?” His voice sounded timid.
“For now,” she smiled, “Would you mind leaving us here?”
“You have the room for the rest of the hour,” he informed, “I cleared it, while I was waiting for you.”
She raised a brow.
He blushed lightly, stuttering, “I– I just thought it might help. Chief doesn’t like when...You know.“
She nodded, taking another chair. He shot one last hesitant glance over to Lin before leaving them be.
“He’s a good officer,” she murmured when she sat down across from Lin.
“Detective,” she corrected and watched Kya nod.
“Su called?”
She was silent, folding and rubbing her hands. Kya didn’t know yet. How could she? Lin should do it, right? It couldn’t be avoided anyway. Lin hated doing it. Hated telling people someone died.
“Mom’s dead,” she murmured, and caught a glimpse of Kya’s shocked expression before looking down at her own hands.
“Oh, love,” Kya reached out, but stopped herself, before Lin could even try to evade her hands.
She didn’t like this. Kya wanted to hug her, press her close, soothe. This wasn’t how Lin did things. Kya knew now. She might want to be held this evening after some convincing, but not yet. Kya knew Lin needed to fight, because anything concerning her mother made Lin fight. Kya knew.
Lin’s mind was still racing and the anger came. Lin didn’t complain. It was better than indifference – one of her fears over time had been not caring once her mother died, however stupid it might sound. She hadn’t been in touch with her for a bigger part of the past decades, so it wasn’t that farfetched – but Lin was angry now, so, clearly, she cared.
If you’re angry, you still care. Her mother’s words, so helpful back then, when she’d ripped Air Temple Island apart, so toxically aggravating now.
She knew it was visible in her face – all that anger. Kya sat back, crossing her arms and waiting for Lin to speak, to explode, to punch something. At least they were in the training room.
They waited there longer – Kya watching Lin, Lin watching the hands in her lap. She was suddenly glad for the lack of connection between her mother and Kya. Otherwise she would be crying now, already just as much of a mess as herself – a different kind, because as Kya would say “everyone grieves differently” – but what kind of shitty grieving was this?
Sitting in silence, waiting for either her breath to speed up again or her anger to result in property damage. She was envious of Kya in that moment. She could cry whenever she felt like it. Kya cried when she got angry, when she was sad or hurt, and sometimes even when she was happy. Lin always found it ironic how utterly frustrated Kya got by it herself. Kya said she didn’t want to strengthen the cliché that women always cried, but right there in the training room, Lin couldn’t help but be envious.
“Nothing’s different,” she finally explained, tired of waiting for the silence’s outcome and making it her own choice.
“Did you think it would be?”
Lin scoffed. “It was when Aang died.”
Kya nodded, looking over Lin’s shoulder at the clock. 30 minutes left. They both knew it had been different when he’d died, because back then, everything in their lives had changed. Lin’s especially.
“The greatest fucking earth- and metalbender died and everything’s the same.”
“She never let us forget,” Kya smiled, but schooled her expression when Lin frowned at her words.
“The world didn’t crumble, didn’t fall. It didn’t even tremble. And most importantly, I don’t feel different. I thought I would.”
“Lin,” Kya shook her head.
“No! I’m feeling something, but different sure isn’t it. I’m angry and hurt and about to lose my mind, but that’s no different. You said, when Aang died, you lost some kind of connection,” she accused as if it were Kya’s fault.
The mention of her father felt weird in this context, but Kya didn’t comment. Lin didn’t want to listen, Lin wanted to talk. She knew that whatever would be flung at her in the next minutes or hours or however long Lin had to fight, wasn’t about her. It was about Lin.
“I didn’t feel it when she died.” Lin swallowed and dug her nails into her thighs, lowering her head.
It looked almost – Kya paused – shameful.
So that’s what this is about.
“She died, and I had no idea,” she hissed, “Su called me and told me – while bawling her eyes out, mind you – some spirit came to her and led her to the swamp.”
Lin stood, steady and strong. “Fuckin led her,” she repeated, even louder as though Kya hadn’t heard.
She started pacing in front of her.
“Now she’s there, putting her rotting corpse in some platinum casket – can’t bend her way out of that one – and I’m here and we can’t even yell at each other.” She was screaming now.
Kya felt nauseous at the choice of words and the mental images they produced, the smell of death thrown at her by sheer memory, but she bit her lips shut.
This is her process, she reminded herself.
“She taught me,” Lin paused, flailing her hands, “every little trick and I didn’t even feel it when she died and that makes everything so much worse,” Lin admitted, clenching her fists, “Because that means I didn’t feel her before. She said she was reaching out through that stupid tree-spirit thing. Mom said she knew whatever Su and I were doing, but if I couldn’t even feel when she stopped doing it–“ she paused, trying to make sense of it all, “Then what if her stupid powers didn’t reach all the way over here?”
Kya was silent. She didn’t know either; no one would ever know.
“And I was so incredibly angry with her for not coming to save me. For not stopping him from taking it. I thought, if – if she can come running for Su, if she can feel that her precious little city is in trouble, why didn’t she come when I needed her? Why didn’t she want to stop them? Why didn’t she care?”
Lin was suddenly aware of how loud her voice was, how Kya likely fought the urge to plug her ears with her fingers, how she was screaming at the only person who could possibly make her feel any better.
She groaned, slamming her fists against her thighs. The movement felt so bizarre. “Or what if she did care? Just not enough. I thought, ‘I’d never have done that to her’. If the roles had been reversed. Me in the swamp, her here. I’d have come running, given my own bending – my life – if it meant she could have kept hers. But she’s dead now and I didn’t even notice.”
Kya approached as if she’d felt some switch flip, that indicated she had to. Maybe she did, she could see the auras, right? Maybe she could see Lin change. Was something different about her now? Could Kya see something?
She halted in front of Lin, taking her hands.
“Stop that.” Her voice was soft. “You couldn’t possibly have known.”
“I know that,” Lin spat, ripping her hands away, “But I’m no better than her. I left her to die just like she left us, left me. I could have visited her, but I had work. I could have gone to that damn family meeting Su invited me to, where the two of them made up, but I had work then, too.”
Lin paused. Maybe it had been the universe wanting Su and Toph to have a connection like she’d had with their mother before Su was even born. She remembered tossing away Su’s invitation, saying she couldn’t come, because she’d been working this case and it required her attention – like every case after that one.
“I could have brought her here, but I thought it wasn’t even worth trying, since she’d have been too stubborn anyways and besides– ” she stopped again.
‘I had work.’ She’d been about to say it again.
It was an excuse she herself was all too familiar with. Work. She’d wondered – far too many times – when it had become more important than Toph’s family, more important than little Lin and even littler Su.
She was wondering now when it had become more important to herself, too. Maybe it was the day she’d gotten promoted to detective and thus forgotten about Su’s important school play. Maybe when Tenzin had begged her to stay with him the day before his tattoo ceremony. She’d thought it was stupid. She’d be there for the ceremony and the hours after the event, since she’d generously taken a day off for him. Maybe it had been the day Tenzin had left her life, like so many people before him, when she’d pushed him away, like so many people before him. Yes. She was sure now. Work had become more important then. More important than whatever it would stand against, because as Toph had told her in one of the most intimate conversations the two of them had ever had: Work doesn’t change. Work is always predictable. Work doesn’t leave and work doesn’t stop needing you.
“Lin,” Kya tried and there was so much pity in her voice.
“I’m just like her, aren’t I?” The words slipped out sadly. Not an ounce of pride or happiness. The realization hit her.
She read Kya’s face, the way the corners of her beautiful mouth fell. Her expression displayed it all. She’d heard the sad truth in her lover’s words. The irony buried deep inside the statement.
Finally having achieved what little Lin had always wanted.
There was a split second, this feeling of grand disappointment and hurt and then she turned away from Kya. She couldn’t face the one person who she’d just shared this horrible truth with – because it seemed so horrible now that it was true.
And she had cared about it, too. She’d cared so fucking much about being like Toph. Now all it left her with was the anger. The brooding, boiling anger. And as she had learned from her: Like everything else, being angry meant that you cared. And knowing that she still cared, even though she’d achieved it, even though Toph was dead now, made her all the angrier.
Lin thought that maybe she had already lost her mind somewhere on the way down to the training room, because it sure felt like it. Like she was fighting something deep within her. Like the armor she wore – Toph’s armor – had somehow morphed into her until the inside had matched the outside and now, she couldn’t take it off anymore.
Lin’s arms wrapped around herself as the overwhelming need for comfort suddenly overtook her senses, but she couldn’t quite grant it, because if Kya hugged her now then she was sure the nausea from before would come crashing back.
Kya stood still behind her. Lin trusted her not to touch, trusted her to somehow know exactly what was needed, because whenever Lin had felt a fraction of what was happening now, Kya had mysteriously known what to do.
“Do you need to punch something?” Kya suggested, as though she’d heard her thoughts.
“No, she’d do that,” Lin retorted, voice hoarse and laced thick with anger. “That’s exactly what she’d do now. I want to because I’m–“ she swallowed, “I breathe like her. And I, I think like her, I speak like her, bend and even fucking stand like her.”
Then she whispered, “I don’t want to punch anything.”
-----------------------------------------
Was Lin asking her to do something? Was it a plea for closeness? Was it the need for a fight? Should they spar? Kya felt an increasing panic created by the fear of not knowing how to help Lin.
“Kya,” she mumbled and it was clear to her. ”I have all this anger and-“
Lin didn’t want to spend time with the memories she had of Toph. Kya would, but not Lin. Maybe in a few days or weeks, but now it didn’t bring her any comfort. Lin wanted to be pulled out of this situation in every way possible.
Suddenly Kya had an idea. Sent from the spirits? She didn’t know or care. “We’re going swimming,” she said.
“What?” Lin slowly turned around, standing straight again.
What a simple suggestion can do, Kya mused. “You’re going to swim.”
“We don’t have a–“ Lin retorted, “I can’t just leave. I have–”
“Yes, you can,” she countered, before Lin was able to finish ‘I have work’, “You want me to help you. I’m helping. Put those chairs back and wait in the car. I’m driving.”
Without waiting for her to answer, Kya left the room to get everything sorted.
“Mako,” Kya called out, when she reached the bullpen.
Though his head was buried deep in a messy-looking file he stood at attention quickly. “Yes, Master Kya?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Can you make sure no one needs her for the day? I have to take her somewhere and it’s urgent.”
“Uhm, I don’t really have the authority to–“
“Urgent,” Kya repeated, “She’ll be fine with whatever you do.”
He nodded diligently, voice calm and steady. “I’ll talk to her assistant.”
“Good.”
Kya turned to walk away.
“Is– is she hurt?” he asked, and she noticed the pattern of when his old shy self would resurface.
“She’s going to be okay,” she smiled and because she had the urge to do so, placed a hand on his shoulder, successfully relaxing him, “I can’t tell you any more than that, but I think she will be, soon.”
He nodded again and she left.
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“I can’t believe you dragged me here of all places,” Lin said, standing in her bindings and underwear. Her toes curled into the sand of Air Temple Island.
“Yet I did,” Kya smiled, motioning to the waves, “Get in the water and swim.”
Lin took a deep breath and reminded herself that no one would watch, no one would interrupt, since the whole family and the rest of the pack – what she called the new airbenders from time to time – were on some spiritual trip to one of the temples. The island was empty save for the two of them and a few guards who’d never dare to question their presence.
Kya had waited until Lin had undressed before starting herself. Lin tried not to be offended by the fact that she did it in case Lin made a run for it, but she couldn’t blame her either. Lin didn’t like swimming. She looked at Kya while she took off her boots, before receiving a nod that meant ‘get in the water’.
She did and the second the first wave reached her toes, her ankles and then before retracting, up to her shin, she understood. She knew why Kya wanted her to swim. Because Toph hated it. Toph hated the water, hated the ocean – with all it’s sand and stickiness and the way you had to shower afterwards, the way she couldn’t see, couldn’t bend, all the algae.
Lin shivered at the thought and felt the anger at how she too, hated it. That was what ultimately made her stomp further into the waves. Swimming was the least Toph-like thing she could do. It was terribly cold, but she powered through, until she couldn’t stomp any longer, but only drag herself slowly against the currents, until she was forced to swim.
When her foot touched something slimy, she jumped, yelped and from then on tried not to touch the ground again, swimming out a little further until it was impossible to do so, ignoring everything that felt animal-like and pretending it was just a strong current.
It was then, neck deep in the water, her hair sticking to the back of her neck, making her face scrunch up on its own accord, when she turned to face the beach. Kya, who had discarded the rest of her clothes and was in nothing but a slip because she never wore bindings on her day off, came walking and then swimming towards her – much more gracefully than Lin.
Lin noticed she’d put her hair up in a bun and immediately frowned. She should have thought of that, too.
“You went in quickly,” Kya murmured, ignoring her expression.
“Well, my mother just died,” Lin retorted, just so she could watch Kya’s shock at the statement. She quickly wondered how long it would be, before the fact of her mother being dead would stop shocking people. Weeks? For some it would only be days. How long would it take Kya?
They stayed in their respective spots for a while, floating and swaying their arms and legs back and forth until Lin felt her muscles tiring. The day had taken a lot of energy. Yelling at Kya had, too. She couldn’t see herself swimming the anger away now and the longer she spent in the water, the more absurd all of it was. She was spent, tired – no longer angry – and she hadn’t even really swum anywhere.
Kya was either watching her or looking up at the sky, while laying back in the water. She was likely listening to her own thoughts. Maybe she was thinking about Katara, maybe about Toph, maybe about how difficult and stubborn Lin herself was being. Yet she stayed there in the water waiting for Lin, having dropped whatever she had been doing at home, having immediately put Lin first. Kya didn’t deserve to come to the station, help her and then be yelled at. Kya deserved a nice day off and this wasn’t nice by any means. They were here floating in the ocean like they had nothing better to do, like Kya had nothing better to do and Lin had never been so grateful to have her. She’d been right. Kya really was the only person who could help her feel any better.
Somehow the anger still came spilling out of her, even though she tried to hold it back. “Your stupid idea is working,” she scoffed and Kya glanced at her from the corner of her eye.
“Is it?” Kya hummed.
“I’m not angry anymore.”
“Is that good?” Kya asked, swimming closer to prepare for Lin’s pain to come cracking through the walls.
“I don’t know,” she replied, “I’m still not crying.”
Lin could see the confusion written across Kya’s face. Lin always tried not to cry. But the only time she imagined doing it without any shame, was now. She felt like she had to do it before she was allowed to start living her life again. If she cried, she could say that she had grieved, even if everyone…
“You don’t have to cry,” Kya chimed in when the voice in Lin’s head was about to turn into hers anyway, “Everyone grieves differently.”
Lin looked at her, suddenly aware of how Kya wasn’t taller in the water and how odd it was not to look up at her.
She felt the current Kya’s legs were creating against her own, then felt some on the height of her chest and soon Kya’s hands were cupping her face.
It was a cool touch, and when she ran her thumbs over Lin’s cheeks, she could smell the salt in the water.
The delicate fingers left her face and Kya came even closer. Lin was expecting Kya’s legs to wrap around her waist, like they did when Lin carried her to their bedroom, but it didn’t happen. Instead Kya shot her a contemplating look and then made some sort of decision.
Kya looped her arms under Lin’s, around her torso, urging her closer.
“Come on, hug me,” she said.
Lin swung her arms around Kya’s shoulders, resting her chin on one of them. It felt weird, paddling and feeling Kya do the same. It was an awkward hug, but she didn’t pull away.
“Legs, too, love.”
She shortly wondered if Kya could carry her, but they were in the water so it didn’t matter one bit. Lin wrapped her legs securely around Kya’s hips.
“Remember the last time we tried this?” Kya asked.
Lin nodded, her cheek touching Kya’s, the water splashing lightly against her chin.
Lin had made a comment about how she often carried Kya to bed and how the waterbender wouldn’t be able to do the same, so Kya – in an effort to prove her wrong – had tried to pick her up, successfully proving her right, by dropping her halfway to land roughly on the floor. They had laughed and the memory brought a smile to their faces now, until Lin remembered why they were here.
“Relax a little, I can hold us both, don’t worry,” Kya reassured Lin softly, moving them to a spot where her feet touched the ground.
The waves moved against them, between them, but Kya’s body was warm, and being carried by her was oddly soothing.
“Is this okay?” she asked and Lin wanted to tell her how much she loved her.
“I still can’t cry,” she complained instead, gripping her tighter, “I tried earlier, too. In the office.”
Kya was at a loss, again. Why was Lin so dead set on crying all of a sudden? She hadn’t thought it would be this kind of difficult – the day Toph died. She’d expected Lin to barely react, to keep working and then either at home, or while earthbending weeks later, break down. She hadn’t expected this: Holding her in the waters of their childhood home.
“It’s not fair, is it?” Kya sighed, “That you can’t talk to her now.”
Lin thought about what she could mean. Funnily enough, talking was the one thing in the past years they’d agreed on. Toph and her. Bringing up the past only brought more problems and arguments. Therefore, it was best if they didn’t ‘talk’ – when all Lin ever wanted were answers to questions she’d never known how to ask. Now that Toph was dead, she suddenly found all the words.
“I don’t want to feel like this,” she admitted, “I want to cry.”
“Do you think it will make you feel better?” Kya was nowhere near sure whether she should look for ways to make Lin cry. No, that was crazy…
“You told me how it makes the brain release something,” she mumbled against Kya’s skin, gripping onto her tighter.
Kya, surprised that Lin had listened while she’d been practicing the speech for a conference a few weeks ago, felt her heart warm at the desperation in her voice. She swayed the two of them left and right, passing time, searching for ideas. “I might not cry until the funeral,” she tried to soothe her, “Maybe it’s the same for you.”
Lin hummed. Maybe it was. What would the funeral be like? Would it be in Zaofu? Su would want it to be there. Lin would fight her, knowing people in Republic City wanted to mourn her. Would Lin have to make a speech? Of course she would. She wouldn’t cry. Not at the funeral, not afterwards at home. She knew herself, just like she’d known she’d throw up.
First nausea, then anger and then whatever made her cling onto Kya at this moment.
“I want to cry now, or I won’t ever,” she supplied, “not about this.”
Kya sighed, not fully convinced and leaned back to press a lingering kiss to her temple.
“We can try something,” she said. It seemed as though Lin bringing up memories of the conference suddenly provided Kya with an idea. There had been a healer, focusing on emotional and hypnotic healing. Kya had been skeptical at first, but now, maybe it was just what would help. He’d talked about providing conditions, that tricked the body into a memory of childhood, to a place where emotions could be accessed more easily. If Lin could hear her thoughts right then, Kya was sure she’d push off and run, but she couldn’t hear her. “Let go of me,” she hummed.
“I don’t want to.”
Lin didn’t know how she was suddenly able to say what she did and didn’t want, so she blamed it on the ocean and not being herself while she was in there, even though she had Kya with her.
“We’re not leaving, and I won’t let go of you,” she promised, pressing another kiss to her temple.
Kya brought her hands down Lin’s back, untangling her legs pushing her up and then, Lin’s arms let go of her, too.
Kya shifted Lin in her arms, bending currents away, until Lin floated on her back. Kya maneuvered one of her arms under the crook of Lin’s knees and the other under her upper back, resting Lin’s head in the crook of her arm so it wouldn’t dip into the water.
Lin was too tired to even raise a brow, so she let her guide her closer. She looked up at Kya and how determined she looked, preparing whatever this was.
Kya concentrated on keeping the water away from her lover’s face and ears.
She felt so light in her arms. Kya had managed to put her in some kind of trance with the sways. Lin was acutely aware of the position, being held like a child, like an infant.
“Close your eyes, Lin.”
Lin was reluctant to do so. She still didn’t like being in the water. She felt it seeping into the deepest fibers of her bindings and underwear, could feel it in the way the ends of her hair got heavy. She could feel it making the skin on her fingers wrinkly, but Kya’s skin still felt so soft against her own.
“Close them, love.”
Lin did as she was told. It was the least she could do for Kya in return. Close her eyes.
Kya had no idea what Toph had been like as a new mother. She didn’t know what quirks she’d had, what she’d said to Lin, but she knew one thing. She knew the one thing that had always been a struggle for Lin, because Kya was so sure of it and Lin couldn’t trust the rational side of her brain that agreed with Kya. They’d argued about it.
“She knows you love her,” Kya said.
It was bold, because the words had made Lin explode in the past, made her lash out, but that showed how they touched something within her. The way she believed it with her whole being Kya thought the statement would come with all its honesty. Lin was desperate enough to need it, but it felt cruel, nonetheless.
The water caressed Lin’s sides, pressed against her back. Little waves swatted over her chest, her throat, but it was calming now. It was no longer cold.
Lin felt Kya’s hand retract from under her legs, but she still floated in the same spot, listening.
“She knows how much you love her, because she loves you, too,” she murmured, now fighting her own tears, recognizing Lin’s struggle, “She loves you so much.”
Kya took a steadying breath and sprinkled a few drops of water on Lin’s face. Maybe she could use more than one memory, giving Lin’s body the feeling of tears, as though she’d already started crying, maybe it would bait actual tears out of her.
Lin winced but kept her eyes closed.
Kya spread the water on Lin’s cheeks, reaching up just under her eyes, carefully, not quite sure what she was doing. The fact that it had to work, because this really was her last idea, spurred her on. Her index finger followed Lin’s nose and then her thumb slowly swept over Lin’s lips, twice. She was amazed at the fact that she let her, so it had to do something and when she put her hand back under her legs, Lin licked her lips instinctively.
Kya watched her face.
“She did that,” Lin croaked, tasting the salt, “Sometimes that’s how she looked at us.”
Lin didn’t know if it was the water and the salt on her face, or the fact that when she opened her eyes, Kya’s beautiful face was there, looking down at her. Maybe it was the way her brows furrowed in the effort to keep all the sad words back, or maybe the knowledge that without even knowing, Kya had touched her face, just like her mother and she knew that Kya loved her, so it would only make sense that Kya had spoken the truth. It made sense to her now.
“You’re crying,” Kya smiled, sniffling.
Lin was. She couldn’t tell her why, it seemed so pathetic.
“Kya,” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut again, feeling her face contort to a pained grimace, “I don’t have a mom anymore.”
The barrier finally broken, the water around her forced the tears to join, drawing them out of her.
“It’s okay,” Kya sighed and felt an incredible amount of relief when Lin moved to curl into her. It truly felt like holding a child and though she couldn’t feel the tears amongst seawater already touching her skin, she felt Lin’s sobs, felt her face where it was pressed against her chest.
Lin was crying and like every time before, if felt as though Kya had fought, too. She was exhausted. Waiting and prying for Lin to break like she desperately needed to, was exhausting. She knew Lin would be offering a massage the next day, would offer to cook, because like always she’d feel guilty about making it so difficult for Kya. Kya had been offended when she’d discovered the pattern, but soon found that it was just fine, if it worked for the two of them. The important thing, she reminded herself, was that Lin felt better and though Kya was scared out of her mind at the amount of vulnerability Lin was showing there in the water, she took comfort in her element, breathing in, rubbing her thumb on Lin’s back and planting a kiss on her head.
Of all the things Lin had imagined finding comfort in when her mother died, water sure hadn’t been it. But that’s how it was.
Lin was crying and Kya was there to share the pain and to be strong when Lin couldn’t bear to be.
And somewhere in the spirit world, Toph took a breath, smiled and wondered why she felt like swimming.