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When Mai thinks back on her time at the Boiling Rock, the first thing that comes to mind is not, in fact, the heat. It’s what she tells people, of course, when they ask their well-meaning but far too personal questions. She responds with what they want to hear, as she has always done.
It had been hot, sure. The feeling of sweat-damp hair clinging to the nape of her neck is not one she will forget soon. It’s often present when she wakes up in the middle of the night bathed in cold sweat, when those cruel golden eyes and that indignant, rage-burning voice haunt her dreams.
When she dreams about what would have happened if Ty Lee had not chosen her, the lightning bursting from Azula’s fingertips, hitting Mai square in the chest and flinging her backwards. It rips through her body, tearing the breath from her lungs and making her cry out in agony as Azula’s laughter fills her ears, and she folds in on herself as if she’s kneeling, wanting nothing more than for it to stop. But she never begs, never cries. Not even in her dreams.
The tears come when she wakes up. Protected by the darkness of the night, she allows herself to hurt, to grieve. Quietly.
It’s not the heat she remembers the most. It’s how exposed, how vulnerable she felt in that prison clothing, without the familiar, comforting feeling of her knives pressing against her skin under her robes. It’s the feeling of Ty Lee’s sweat-soaked skin against hers as she shivered with fever. Mai had managed to bribe a guard to bring her a bucket of water, and she diligently changed the wet cloth cooling Ty Lee’s burning forehead whenever it felt too hot again.
It’s the way they clung together, holding onto each other like they were the last threads of their sanity. The nights they held each other, when they talked because it was better than going back to sleep, back to the realm of dreams that forced them to relive bad memories as they walked along its roads through forest cloaked in darkness, haunted by the horrifying possibilities that stirred in the shadows. Sleep was no escape, even during the day.
It’s the look that had flashed in Ty Lee’s eyes as she defied Azula, cold as steel, jaw set with grim determination. She’d been well-aware of the consequences, how she might pay for this little act of rebellion with her life, but no word of regret had ever left her lips.
It’s that one sentence. Ty Lee had just fallen ill, and Mai was dutifully mopping at her brow. She tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear and whispered, half scolding, half admiring, “Why did you do it?”
She didn’t expect her to reply, but in her barely conscious, feverish state, Ty Lee mistook her for Azula. She tensed up and balled her fists, trembling. “If Mai loves Zuko more than she fears you,” she said, voice quivering but determined, “then I love her more than I fear you.”
Mai almost knocked over the water bucket as she stumbled backwards, eyes wide. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d intruded on a private moment, eavesdropped on a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear.
Oh, she thought. Oh.
She had always prided herself on her ability to see through Ty Lee in a way even Azula never could (and she knew Ty Lee could say the same about her), but this, she hadn’t anticipated. She wanted to tell her right then and there, tell her how she didn’t love Zuko like that, not in the way she loved her, because she did, but it was neither the time nor the place, so she settled on pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
It’s the way her heart felt lighter after that, like a burden that had weighed down on her for years had suddenly been lifted—and in a way, it had.
It’s the thought of I’m not alone, I’m not the only one. And, She likes me back.
They’re nothing but memories, now, even if they’re etched in her mind forever as if carved in stone. The war is over. They’re safe.
Mai’s fingers tap on the mattress as she pores over the scroll in her hand. She’s been reading this passage over and over for half an hour now, but her mind keeps wandering.
She has changed since the Boiling Rock. Sleep eludes her more often, now. She’s restless in a way she wasn’t before. On edge. Her knives back in their places in her robes, poised to be pulled out at a moment’s notice. She notices more often than she’d like that she reaches for them at every little sound, that her fingers mindlessly trace their edges when she feels anxious.
Ty Lee has changed too, she observes as her eyes trace the girl practising her stances in front of the full-length mirror next to the bed. The fans in her hands flash occasionally as they catch the light of the late evening sun.
There’s a crease in her forehead that wasn’t there before. Where she used to stand tall and proud, there is now a slope to her shoulders, a rounding to her posture. The smile that used to be ever-present on her face, the creasing of eyes and unabashed, joyful grin that makes warmth bloom in Mai’s chest every time she sees it, is…gone.
Ty Lee sees her looking and throws her a grin, but Mai isn’t fooled. Others might be, but she has known Ty Lee for so long her little quirks, signs, and tells have become more familiar to her than her own. The smile is like a porcelain plate that has been broken and scattered in the wind, the pieces found back and glued together again. Mai has seen her genuine smiles, and that’s why she knows this one isn’t. She can see it in the absence of the glimmer in her eyes, in the way it wavers. The way it breaks.
“What is it?” Ty Lee asks as she comes striding towards Mai, a hand on her hip. It’s unfair how effortlessly beautiful she looks like this, her half-undone braid slung over her shoulder and her chest rising and falling quickly, slightly breathless from training. If there’s one way Ty Lee always looks, it’s bubbling with life.
Mai shrugs. “Just…thinking.”
Ty Lee plops down next to her, making the bed bounce. She crosses her legs and turns to Mai. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to: Mai knows what she’s asking.
“It’s just…” she trails off, looking away from Ty Lee’s gentle, encouraging face. She rises and walks to the window, resting her hands on the windowsill. She looks out over the lush green hills and the gentle flowing rivers that break them up, the houses scattered across the greenery like flecks of gold. The landscape is an intricate patchwork, and life decorates it like embroidery.
While she has her duties in the palace, she visits Kyoshi Island as often as she can. It feels more like home than the palace or any of her family’s estates ever have, and nightmares are always easier to manage with her girlfriend by her side.
“Do you ever think about what would have happened if we’d acted differently?” she asks when she has finally found the words. She doesn’t look up, but she doesn’t need to, Ty Lee’s warm presence all she needs to know she is standing right beside her.
“Do you want us to?” Her voice is soft. “To have done things differently?”
“…I don’t know,” Mai says. She absently traces the elegant carvings in the dark wooden windowsill. It’s soothing, somehow. “If we had stood up to her earlier, or hadn’t at all, what would have happened?” Could certain things have been prevented? Her mind wanders to Azula and her infamous breakdown. The topic of their former friend is still an open wound in both their chests, and Mai will never regret what she did, but she can’t help but wonder.
She turns to Ty Lee. “Would anything have changed?” she asks, and really means, Have our actions made any difference?
It’s a moment before Ty Lee speaks. “I don’t know,” she says. She tears her gaze away from the window to meet Mai’s eyes. Against the earthy green of her clothing and bathed in sunlight her skin looks golden, and Mai once again marvels at her beauty. “But what I do know is that life is messy. You can spend years thinking about what would have been, what could have been. Maybe everything would have changed, maybe nothing would have, but things worked out the way they did, and no amount of ruminating on past actions will change what happened.” She lays a hand on Mai’s shoulder and smiles. “But who says what we do now can’t change things? Who says making progress is a thing of the past?”
She allows Mai to let that sink in for a moment. Then she squeezes her hand, eyes soft, and says, “In the end, our choices made us end up where we are now, and I’m grateful for that,” and really means, They made a difference to us.
They turn back to the window. Mai watches the children play outside with a fond smile on her lips, faint but there all the same. She doesn’t have to hide her emotions anymore, not here, not from Ty Lee. It’s strangely freeing.
Together, they watch the sun set, Mai leaning against her girlfriend. The air is peaceful, a quiet understanding hanging between them. A lot has changed since their imprisonment at the Boiling Rock, and a lot will change, still.
They’ll learn how to mend the scars the past has left them with, how to live freely, how to love without fear.
Mai squeezes Ty Lee’s hand, smiling, and while the smile she gives her in return is small, it’s genuine, and warmth fills Mai’s chest at the sight of it.
They’ll heal. They’re still so young, after all, still have their entire lives ahead of them. Maybe they aren’t alright yet, but they will be.