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In the confines of the carriage, Toph sat cross-legged, her fingers lightly tapping the metal floor beneath her. The night outside was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you want to sink deeper into your thoughts or, in this case, the silence between her and Kanto. They had been stuck here for hours, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
Kanto, seated across from her, leaned back against the carriage wall. His usually calm demeanor was tinged with restlessness. He sighed, then shifted his weight, making the bench creak under him. "This is getting old," he muttered.
“Think so?” Toph replied, annoyed. “I’m surprised nothing’s happened yet. In fact, if something doesn’t happen soon, I’m going to lose it.”
His laugh turned into a long groan as he thumped his head back onto the door behind him. “Tell me about it.”
Things were supposed to be happening by now. This stakeout should’ve taken an hour at most, but no. She and Kanto have been on their asses for what felt like multiple hours on end with nothing much to do other than bask in each other’s company.
Toph, of course, didn’t mind it. She had to admit that Kanto was good company. Even more than that, she had something of a soft spot for him, and the fact hit her like one of those fast-moving, automatic trains.
The truth was hard to ignore. Kanto wasn’t just some partner she tolerated; he was someone she actually enjoyed being around. She found herself wanting to peel back the layers to him that she knew existed, to know more about the man behind the awkward, goofy, intelligent, and strong pain in the ass she’d come to know.
But it was more than that. There was something about Kanto that made her feel… safe. Not in the physical sense—she could handle herself just fine—but emotionally. He didn’t push her to be someone she wasn’t, didn’t expect her to act a certain way because she was the Blind Bandit or the Chief of Police. He treated her like...Toph. Just Toph. And that, she realized, was a rare thing.
Still, the realization didn’t sit comfortably with her. Toph Beifong didn’t get soft over anyone. She was tough, independent, and didn't need anyone. Yet here she was, sitting in a cramped carriage, stuck on a stakeout that should have been over hours ago, and all she could think about was how much she didn’t mind being here with Kanto.
Frankly, she could’ve been thinking of ways to get the ball rolling on this stakeout: she’d done it before—a quick break-in, or maybe a good string of earthquakes that would freak out even the so-called mighty men they were waiting on. But there she was, fawning.
It was very unlike her.
She could feel her fingers tapping more rapidly now, the metal beneath her fingertips vibrating with the rhythm of her thoughts. Maybe it was the long hours or the darkness outside, but the silence between them was beginning to feel heavy. Almost like it was carrying something unspoken, something Toph wasn’t sure she was ready to confront.
Kanto shifted again, the creak of the bench breaking her train of thought. She could sense his restlessness, and it mirrored her own in more ways than one. What was it about him that made her feel this way? She didn’t like the answer that kept creeping into her mind. It was easier to dismiss it, to focus on the job at hand, but sitting here in the quiet, with nothing but time on their hands, she couldn’t escape it.
Maybe she didn’t want to.
“How about a game?” Kanto suggested suddenly, his tone light.
She furrowed her brows. “A… game.”
“Mhm, I’m sure you’re—familiar with those.” He coughed into his hand, trying to hide the fact that he was clearly surprised at himself for sassing at her. She had to purse her lips to keep from laughing as he added, “We ask each other questions. Anything goes—personal, deep, whatever. No holding back.”
Toph tilted her head, considering the idea. She wasn’t one for sharing, but the thought of learning more about him intrigued her almost as much as he intrigued her.
“Alright, I’m game,” she agreed. Then, she pointed at him. “But you better not hold back, or I’ll know.”
Kanto chuckled, a bit nervously. “Fair enough. Ladies first.”
Toph smirked. “Alright. What’s the one thing you regret the most?”
He blinked, clearly not expecting her to go for the jugular right out of the gate. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I regret...not standing up for someone when I should have. Let’s just say I learned the hard way that silence can be just as bad as action.”
Toph nodded, sensing the weight of his words. "Your turn," she prompted.
“Hm.” He drummed his fingers against the bench as she’d been doing. “What was it really like, you know, during the war? It was one way for me, but you were… in it.”
Something in her chest squeezed as it always did when someone not in her tight circle spoke of the war. It was one thing to talk to the people who went through it all with her about it, and it was a whole other thing to talk to someone else.
She didn’t back out of agreements, though, so she took a breath in an attempt to dispel the squeeze in her chest, and said, “I didn’t understand the depth of it back then. I knew what I was doing, what we were all doing: me, Katara, Sokka, and Aang… and eventually Zuko and Suki. But it just—thinking back on it all, we were just kids trying to put a stop to something that shouldn’t have been happening in the first place.”
Toph paused, letting the words hang in the air. It wasn’t easy to admit, but once she started, she found it hard to stop.
“We were young, you know? Too young to be saving the world. But we didn’t have a choice, and I guess that’s what sticks with me the most. We were all forced to grow up so fast. There wasn’t time to think about how we felt, or what we wanted. It was all about survival and doing what needed to be done.”
Kanto was silent, giving her the space to continue. She could feel his eyes on her, not with pity, but with understanding, and that made it easier somehow.
“I didn’t really get it back then, the weight of it all. I was just so… angry. Angry at my parents, angry at the world, and I guess the war gave me an outlet for all that. But now, looking back, I realize how much we all lost. How much I lost. Not just in terms of battles or friends, but in terms of… innocence, I guess. We grew up in the very middle of a war, a war that we were thrust into and fought in the middle of, and that changes you. It hardens you.”
Toph sighed, feeling the familiar tightness in her chest ease just a bit. She wasn’t used to talking about this, not in this way, but with Kanto, it felt… right. Like he wouldn’t judge her for it, wouldn’t try to tell her what she should or shouldn’t feel.
“It wasn’t all bad,” she added, her tone softening. “I met some amazing people, did some incredible things. But there’s always that part of me that wonders what it would’ve been like if we could’ve just been kids, if we could’ve had a normal life.”
Kanto nodded slowly. "I get that. Maybe not in the same way, but I understand what it’s like to lose that chance at a normal life."
She gave him a small smile, appreciating the way he didn’t try to offer meaningless comfort. He just listened, and that was enough.
Spirits, what was up with this man? No one else she’d spoken to about this reacted so normally. It was always some kind of glorification, and while she enjoyed her share of flowers, it was refreshing to not be revered when it came to this.
Clearing her throat, she shook her head to rid herself of the emotions and the thoughts. “Sorry, that was—”
“Nope, no need. Sounded like you needed to talk about it,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Anyway, your turn again. Give me your worst, Chief.”
The way she felt her insides liquify should’ve annoyed her, but it didn’t. She simply ignored it, swallowing thickly before asking, “Uh, why do you do what you do? I mean, what’s your real reason for getting into this line of work?"
Kanto hesitated, and for a moment, Toph thought he might brush it off. But then he spoke, his voice low. "Because I want to make up for my past mistakes. I’ve hurt people before—people I cared about. This is my way of trying to make things right, even if it’s just a little. I also, I don’t know, have this thing where I think that I’ll be able to—that I’ll be able to save lives like this, give people better ones.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Toph could feel the sincerity in his voice, and it made her chest tighten just a bit. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for this level of honesty, but she was committed now. “What’s your biggest fear?” she questioned.
“Going right for the deep stuff, huh?”
“Well,” she started, tone light, “the most fun is had when you go deep.”
“I’m sure there was no innuendo in that at all.”
“Okay. You keep thinking that way, Hotshot.”
He laughed, and she found herself holding back a smile at the sound. When he stopped, he responded softly, almost as though he was ashamed of it, “Being alone. Truly alone. My fear, that is.”
Toph felt her breath catch at his words. It wasn’t something she expected to hear, especially from someone like Kanto, who always seemed so composed and self-assured. His answer hung in the air, heavy and raw, and she could tell that admitting it had cost him something.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Her mind was racing, trying to find the right words, but everything felt inadequate. She knew what it was like to be alone, to feel isolated even when surrounded by people. But Kanto’s fear wasn’t just about physical solitude—it was deeper than that, a fear of being emotionally abandoned, of having no one to turn to when things got tough.
“Being alone,” she echoed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I get that. More than you might think.”
“You do?”
Her lips twitched slightly. “This counts as your question to me. You sure you want to waste it?”
Laughingly, he told her, “I’ll take my chance here.”
“I was alone for a long time, even when I wasn’t. I had friends, sure, but I was still… separate. Part of that was my own doing.” Toph nodded, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the metal floor. “I pushed people away because I didn’t want to be seen as weak or needy, even after the war, even after all that I’d learned. I didn’t want anyone to think I needed them.”
She paused, feeling the weight of her own words. “But the truth is, I did need them. It was the most ridiculous thing I ever did, isolating myself. At least I know better now.”
Kanto didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched her with an intensity that made her feel exposed, but not in a bad way. It was like he was really seeing her, not just the tough exterior she showed the world, but the person underneath.
And she didn’t particularly hate it.
“Permission to speak freely?” he asked her, his voice low, though she could hear a bit of hesitance behind it, almost as if he were afraid of her response.
“Mhm.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’ve always been strong and independent, and that’s something I really respect about you,” Kanto began. Somehow, she knew that his eyes were locked on her own unseeing ones: she could almost feel the heat of his gaze. “But I think there’s more to you than just that strength. There’s vulnerability, too. And it’s okay to let people in. You don’t have to face everything alone.”
Toph leaned back, trying not to allow herself to be so affected by his words. Hearing from people that she was all these things he said she was, it was always gratifying. It made her ego swell and that wasn’t something she avoided. But hearing it from him… spirits.
The conversation had taken a serious turn, but she wasn’t about to let it end there. She could feel that there was more to uncover, so rather than react to what he said, she shot another question at him. “What or who do you miss the most?”
Kanto’s demeanor shifted subtly, his usual calm replaced by a hint of sadness that even Toph could sense. She was just about to take back the question, tell him that he didn’t have to answer, but he took a deep breath, as though bracing himself for what was to come.
“My parents,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “They died in a fire when I was young. I miss them every day.”
Toph felt the weight of what he said, the pain that lingered just beneath the surface. She could tell this wasn’t something he talked about often, if at all. For a moment, she was at a loss for words. She wasn’t used to dealing with emotions like this—her own or others'.
"I’m sorry," she finally told him, her tone sincere. "That… sucks."
Kanto nodded, a faint, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, it does. But you learn to live with it, you know? Or at least, you try to."
After that, he fell quiet, a kind of tension or energy in the space with them. She registered his sudden silence, not exactly knowing what it meant. Shaking her head once, ignoring her heating cheeks, Toph said, “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to make you—I didn’t mean to—”
“No!” he exclaimed. “No, no, I—I mean—I barely get to talk about them, my parents.” There was a short pause. “Do you—do you mind that I’m talking about them?”
Toph shook her head again softly, something warm burying itself in her chest without her permission. “No. Tell me about them.”
“Really?”
“When do I ever bluff?”
“Interrogations, when you’re arresting a perp—”
She found herself snorting. “I want to hear about them, wise ass.”
Kanto’s voice grew softer, more reflective as he continued. “They were…everything to me. I was about seven. Maybe eight. And it’s crazy that I can barely remember their voices.” He chuckled sadly. “Just flashes. It’s strange—how you can have such clear memories of things you don’t actually remember. I remember how safe I felt with them, how loved, how I’d get them to stay home from work so we could just—lay in bed and laugh. And then…”
He paused, and the silence that followed was thick with unspoken sorrow. Toph could almost feel the heaviness of the loss he was trying to articulate. “After they were gone, it was like…I was cast adrift. I had to learn to navigate the world on my own. I had people to look to, of course, but—it wasn’t the same.”
Another pause, this one longer, as if he were grappling with his own words. “I used to wonder what they would think of me now. If they would be proud of the man I’ve become. Sometimes, I find myself wishing I could ask them for advice, or just hear their voices again.”
Toph listened intently, her mind racing with empathy and understanding. It was clear that Kanto’s parents had been more than just a part of his life—they had been a central, defining element. The depth of his loss was palpable, and it was starting to give her a clearer picture of the man before her.
“Do you ever…” she started, then stopped, unsure of how to frame the question. “Do you ever feel like you’re trying to live up to what you think they would have wanted?”
He sighed, a sound of both resignation and acceptance. “All the time. I try to make choices that I think they would have approved of, to honor their memory. Sometimes, it feels like the only way I can keep them with me is by living in a way that reflects the values they instilled in me. It’s a way of keeping them alive, in a sense.”
The squeeze she was feeling earlier returned to her chest, but this time, it slightly constricted her throat, bringing an obnoxious burn behind her eyes. She wasn’t about to tear up in front of him. But hearing this, the way he spoke about his parents, the way he would never really know how proud they were of him, when just moments ago she was rambling about her own relationship with her parents… a part of her felt broken.
“I’m rambling,” Kanto said, sounding sheepish after she took too long to reply. “I’m sorry, I—”
She wasn’t sure what exactly came over her, but she found herself reaching over to him and pressing her lips to his. Kanto was still for a moment, his initial shock palpable. But then, something changed. He began to kiss her back, and the gentle pressure of his lips against hers felt like a connection she hadn’t anticipated but desperately needed. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, as if anchoring herself to this unexpected moment.
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered against his lips before kissing him again, this time more deeply.
It was both urgent and tender if that was even possible. Toph could feel the heat of his breath, the way his hands settled on her waist, grounding her in a way that felt both exhilarating and soothing. It was as if the world outside the carriage had ceased to exist, leaving just the two of them in this intense, shared moment.
They remained locked in their kiss, the world outside the carriage blurring into insignificance. Her senses were overwhelmed by the warmth of his lips, the gentle pressure of his hands, and the surprisingly tender connection they were sharing. It felt like they had found a moment of solace amidst the chaos of their stakeout.
But just as the kiss deepened, an explosion erupted from outside, shaking the carriage violently. The force of the blast made the metal walls groan and the floor beneath them buckled. Toph pulled away abruptly, her heart racing not just from the kiss but from the sudden jolt.
Kanto staggered back, his eyes wide with shock as the carriage was rocked by the blast. “What the—?” he started, but his words were lost in the cacophony of debris and the screeching metal.
Registering the situation, she had a smirk on her face. “Quit distracting me, Hotshot. We have a job to do.”
“You started it…”
“Blaming me?” she questioned bemusedly as she pushed out of the carriage, metal cables secure to her belt. “That’s not a good start to this.”
“This?”
“Going to make me say it, are you?”
“It’d be nice if you did.”
Toph stopped for a moment, scoffing humorously at him, then shaking her head incredulously. She could feel his heart beating into the ground, making her smirk widen slightly as she walked up to him and said, “Ask me later.”