Work Text:
The hellions are at it again.
They've graduated from snowball fights.
Breath mingles and fogs up the pane of glass a few inches away from Katara's face, casting the snowdrifts outside into a haze until she wipes away the moisture with a sleeve.
Huddling around the entryway door to their vacation cabin, a collection of the most influential and respected figures of the past century watch as a gaggle of children tussle in the snow. Right atop the half-compacted mound of a drift that Kya pressed into the proper shape to allow them to climb it, she, Lin, and Bumi are growing increasingly, and perhaps distressingly, rambunctious.
Katara's too enervated to do anything about that; her brother's taking bets with Toph; and Aang's just along for the ride with their antics, teeth and eyes shining with his grin.
And it's not as if Zuko or his Fire Lady, reading in the living room, have to be worried. Their little one's keeping out of this, sitting, roughly twenty meters further off, at the edge of the coniferous forest and marveling at the distant, swaying branches and pine-needles. At least when she takes breaks from building her little snow-hut.
Katara would have expected Tenzin to be right there alongside her, possibly staring back at his siblings, stoic and haughty, with that judgmental frown that sometimes reminds her of her own mother, but he's already a little smitten with Lin. She's "cool," and rough-and-tumble, and tough, and can do whatever she wants, even though she's a year younger than him. No wonder he's fixating. They might be trouble down the line.
Even though he was the first to get body-slammed to the base of the mound, he's still staring at her like a bit of a dope.
It's a good look for her son, whose life is going to be, in some ways, one marked by even greater responsibility than her husband.
Despite the early ring-out, it doesn't really look like there's going to be a clear victor, here.
At the moment, Bumi's vying for the position of top dog, or at least trying, because he loves Aang with a fervor that Katara has felt deep in her bones, every morning in those early years when she awoke to find her mother still gone, the nightmare still real. Her oldest keeps looking back to the cabin, and that latest glance leaves him open when Lin crashes into him bodily, going for a bear-hug tackle at waist level while he's mid-showboat.
As the oldest and the weakest, he's toppled from the heap by a victorious Lin, who crows, Toph fist-pumping as Bumi's tumble rocks the ground so faintly that Katara can't even feel it. Obviously, the earth-bender does.
Strange the things you can feel, and the things to which you're insensate. Maybe every sense has to be trained, exercised, nurtured.
The grin drops into something only moderately abashed, maybe more than just abashed. If so, it's as deep as the ache inside Katara's belly when she was pregnant with Tenzin, the cramps that pierced to her spine and the bloating that left her waddling and grunting. You can't see it – only discern the aftershocks, right down to your roots.
"Aw, come on, kid." Toph rubs at her brow, naked feet shuffling. "Not to twinkle-toes' twerp."
Lin's taken a wave of powdery frost to the face, courtesy of Kya, enough to distract her and -
Down she goes.
Kya's bending is progressing so well.
"Oh, she takes after her uncle." Sokka's beaming with pride, though the smile twists at the edges as he watches his little moon, his favourite – only, she always corrects – niece.
He doesn't have children. Or a wife.
Maybe he'll never have them.
Sometimes, Katara wonders how many children they would have had if Bumi had been an airbender. They've already seen it in Tenzin. He'll be the last.
Toph purses her lips, jabbing Sokka in the shoulder. "Yeah. A rat-fink like her uncle. That's cheating and you know it."
"It's cunning," Sokka corrects, looking sagacious with his finger to his chin, stroking the trim goatee that he's finally been able to grow out. "Which she is because, again, she takes after me."
The new queen of the hill climbs to victory, and, half buried in the snow, ripping a hand through her hair to shake free the melting slush, Lin starts dragging herself out of the powder. Teeth gritted and bared in a snarl like a polar-bear dog, she looks like she's on the verge of pulling pigtails, if Kya wasn't wearing her hair loose.
Aang's arms curls around Katara's back, his breath tickling her cheek and throat, washing around the betrothal necklace he gave her so many years ago – only a few, but time passes in paradox, stretched out and compressed at once.
Warm, wide palms spread over her belly, still carrying a thin layer of paunch that no amount of exercise has quite been able to burn off.
"Should we do something?" her husband asks.
Well, that's just an excuse because he wants to take a swan-dive into the snow right alongside them. Always a child, and there's nothing wrong with that. It takes a lifetime to make up for a single year of childhood lost.
Zuko, scratching absently at the ring of scar tissue around his eye, lines of weariness and endless stress burned into his skin, interjects, "They'll be fine."
He got so old so quickly. Grey temples, grey beard trimmed but growing out.
Katara's not so sure he's right, honestly, because the hill is now topped with a pile of bodies. Hair-pulling might be next on the menu after human flesh because she's almost certain that she sees some teeth flashing.
But children are so mercurial, even if fisticuffs break out, they'll be friends again before the end of the day.
Aching tendrils of pain slither up and down her lower back, which she arches. The spasms come and go. And she thought Zuko was getting old. She's in no position, and far too tired, to be the bad cop who has to break up a fight.
Her younger prissy moral busybody self would be appalled.
The fun stops there, though, because charging in from the edge of the coniferous woods that stretch out into the distance, farther than the eye can see in the this remote little getaway spot, a new challenger appears.
Or, rather, a new queen of the hill.
Not that she's leaping into the rolling ball of children trying to throttle each other.
She's got them on their knees, heads bowed, properly chastened, lickety-split.
But more than that, she's peacemaking.
Taking a sip from the sweet green tea that Aang brings to her – he left when the show got boring – Katara watches as Bumi digs his heel into the snow, mumbling something, Lin huffs and throws out a hand for a vigorous shake, powerful enough to nearly crush the suddenly wide-eyed boy's fingers, and Kya waves her hands in jerky, circular motions, trying to draw the moisture from Lin's sodden collar and hair. Tenzin just stares at the ground, shifting from foot to foot.
They trundle off behind the Fire Lord's daughter, and get to work building an even more grandiose fort, all mismatched segments with the mishmash of their construction techniques. What was once vaguely reminiscent of a grid-line precise square balloons up and out into an ungainly structure. Unsteady earth-bending raises up the scaffolding for walls, slathered in a tumult of snow, tossed up by Kya, that Bumi tries to pack down and shape, Tenzin with him, aping his older brother.
The adults retire to the living room, everyone gathering to warm themselves. Even Toph tries some, only because it's a special blend, brought all the way from Jasmine Dragon, and she gets chills with her naked feet, even if she won't admit it.
“You know, Zuko?” Katara mumbles as she leaves the window to take a seat in the living area of their shared hut, suddenly beset by a chill that has her drawing close to the wood stove. “You've got a pretty good kid.”
Back aching, she lays down with a little help from Aang, spreading herself out on the wide sofa that they've reserved for her.
Braced against the wall, one arm folded while in his other hand he holds a steaming mug, Zuko looks up, still appearing contemplative.
“Yeah, what's your secret?” Aang asks with enthusiasm, joking because he, too, is a wonderful father. Not once has Katara had a reason to doubt his love for their little ones.
Zuko merely breathes in, and out, allowing the steam from the cup to waft into his nose, visibly savouring the delay.
“No secret. You learn by experience and by example – good and bad,” he says with a level tone, though not without the faintest air of melancholy commingled with something airy, before tipping the mug back and sipping. “I had a really bad father.”
He sets the mug down on the table in front of him, turning it until he's satisfied with the angle, even though the surface is featureless, and reaches down to take Mai's hand. Expressionless, she cradles it gently, fingers running over thick veins, tendons, and knuckles. The skin bristles with thin hairs.
Looking up from her, Zuko smiles, his scar pinching up and dimples appearing on his cheeks.
“And a really great dad.”
Sometimes, that's all that you need.