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Some days, Katara worries that Aang is more stressed about the baby than she is. He doesn’t say anything, he barely even mentions the child growing inside of her, but that silence speaks volumes. Aang has always been outgoing, almost to a fault. He could talk to anyone about nearly anything, and have a wonderful time doing so. But he doesn’t talk about the baby. Not to her, not to Sokka, not to Toph, not to Zuko.
It’s almost as if he’s scared that talking about the baby is a bad omen, that giving words to the storm of worry inside of him will change fate. She knows how much pressure he feels for it to be an airbender. She can sense it in his breathing (which quickens anxiously whenever anybody brings up the child), his laugh (or the lack of it, since she hardly ever hears it anymore), his practice (for he spends nearly every waking hour now meditating in the air temple). She has never seen him like this before, and it scares her. She doesn't know what impact it will have when the baby does eventually come.
As her time draws near, they journey south. She refuses to allow anybody else to deliver the baby besides the midwives of her own tribe, and has impressed upon Aang how important she feels it is for their child to be born in the same place where she was. The labor takes nearly thirty hours. There are times when Katara can tell that the healers aren’t certain whether she’ll make it or not. But when all is said and done, she holds a boy, a beautiful, healthy, wailing baby boy in her arms.
Her attendant asks her what they’ll call him, and Katara smiles, squeezing Aang’s hand. This had been one of the few discussions that he’d been willing to have about the baby, a decision they’d made early in the pregnancy.
Bumi for a boy, Kya for a girl. And that settles it.
Aang loves Bumi immediately. Even though he's just a toddler, he already shares his father's aptitude for exploration and mischief, and once he learns to walk, it is a hard battle to keep him away from steep falls and sharp corners. His laugh lights up her and Aang’s world, and they constantly try to outdo the other by making him smile the widest, clap the loudest.
But even despite their bliss, Katara knows that Aang is always looking for hints, signs of any sort of bending ability. If Bumi is a bender, the power will make itself known in early childhood, before he turns seven. A long time to wait for certainty, but Aang is patient.
Bumi’s first birthday passes, then his second, his third, his fifth, and still nothing. With each passing day, Katara sees Aang’s surety falter, the light within him grow more and more dim. He knows that the window is closing, and the more he goes without satisfaction, the worse it gets.
Although Aang is very careful to never tell Bumi of his expectation, the child somehow figures it out. Perhaps he deduces through pure cunning — he is a smart boy, after all — but Katara knows that the more likely reason is that it truly is just that obvious.
Sometimes, in the early morning hours, Katara spies Bumi sitting alone in his room, his legs criss-crossed, his eyes tightly closed, his small face nearly red with effort as he reaches out for something that he doesn’t quite understand. Mimicking his father's meditation in the hopes that some of that ancient wisdom will rub off on him. She does her best to comfort Bumi, to make up for any affection he might feel is lacking from Aang, but she knows that she can only do so much. Even if she is not the airbender that Aang craves, she is still a bender, after all. She can only sympathize with her son's plight, not empathize. And she doesn't have the power to wish away Aang's worry, no matter how many times she reminds him to be careful with the boy.
“What if we had another one, Katara?” Aang suggests, as they lie together in bed one night not long after Bumi’s sixth birthday.
“Another what?” Katara asks, not following exactly what he means.
“You know…” he prompts. “Another little one.”
“Another baby?!” She’s admittedly surprised at first. It isn’t as though they had ever planned explicitly to stop at one, but it’s never been a point of discussion before.
“Yeah, why not? We can handle Bumi well enough, can’t we? Why not another?” He says it so breezily, but Katara knows that there’s something heavier behind his words.
“Aang…”
“Yes?”
She holds her tongue for a moment, unsure of whether she should say aloud the thing that neither of them has ever acknowledged, the weight on his shoulders that sometime or another he also passed onto her, too. “I can’t…I can’t promise that this one'll be an airbender, either.”
He doesn't respond for a moment. “Was that what I asked?”
“No,” she concedes. She turns around in his embrace, looking him in the eye. “But… I know that it's what you're thinking, at least on some level.”
He doesn't say anything. The silence goes on and on, and still he says nothing, only tracing circles on her shoulder with his fingertips. But the truth of her words sits in the air between them, the closest that either of them has ever come to acknowledging this burden that their marriage has always carried.
Perhaps it is duty, perhaps it is desire, perhaps it truly is just the innocent wish for another baby, but they allow themselves to move past that revelation and continue with the familiar motions of the night as though a second child is truly what they want most in the world.
But when Katara's blood comes late again, her first thought is not joy, but fear. Will this baby be good enough? Will this baby be fit to carry the legacy of a lost people? Will they want to?
As the months of her confinement go on, Aang lilts easily into the habits he honed during her previous pregnancy. He slowly goes silent, sequestering himself in the air temple day and night in order to train, meditate, and whatever else he sees fit to do. It leaves her alone in the house with Bumi most days, and she does her best to entertain him, even as her growing belly begins to make it harder to do so.
One afternoon, while she reads on the porch, Bumi walks out and sits down on the steps next to her, swinging his legs back and forth.
“Mommy?” He asks, his young voice sounding especially small and unsure. “Why is Daddy being so weird?”
“What do you mean, sweetie?” She queries in reply, putting her book down and scooching over a bit to put her arm around him.
“He won’t talk to me, Mommy,” Bumi says. “And he’s never around anymore, he’s always at the air temple.”
Katara sighs. “There are some things that Daddy does that don't always make sense,” she admits. “But even when he's in his own world, he still loves you very, very much.”
“Why’s he doing this all of a sudden?” Bumi asks, turning to her. “What changed?”
The baby picks a most inopportune time to kick, and Katara rubs her belly.
“Is it…the baby?” And when she meets his sad eyes, she sees tears forming there. “Is he…is he going away because he's scared that the baby’s going to turn out like me?” He sniffles, and Katara's heart breaks at that moment. It is the most painful thing in the world, seeing her child cry, but the wound cuts even deeper because she knows that any comfort she might give him would be built on a lie. And she can't bring herself to assuage her sweet Bumi's anxiety with half-truths. Instead, she bends down and lifts him onto her lap, hugging him tight.
“Of course not, Bumi,” she croons. “Never, ever think that. Daddy just… he sometimes has trouble with babies.”
“What do you mean, ‘trouble’?”
“Well,” she says. “It's a lot of work being a daddy. He's just getting ready in his own way so that he does the best job he can for your little sister or brother.” She plants a kiss on Bumi’s forehead, and hopes more than she’s ever hoped for anything before that he believes her.
This pregnancy feels different, though. The midwives tell her that that’s normal, that many women experience changes the second time around. Her body is different than it was then; there's nothing to be concerned about. Their platitudes calm her worries at least for a while, but still it seems like there's some piece of the puzzle that she's missing. She feels more attuned to the baby’s wants and needs, she can sense when its listening to her, what its mood is… it's not just the physicality, everything is not as it was with Bumi.
“I think this one’s a waterbender,” she finally admits to Aang, two weeks before her due date. She’d put off sharing her suspicions until as late as possible, not sure whether, for his sake, it was the right decision to proclaim what she felt so strongly to be true.
“You’re sure?” He asks, and she can tell how hard he’s trying to not sound disappointed.
“I’m sure,” she confirms.
And she’s right. The baby is a beautiful little girl whom they name Kya, and even before she can crawl, she's already reaching out for the ocean, her head always turned to the shores of New Republic City. Any remaining doubt is put aside when, a month after her third birthday, she pulls a geyser of water from her nightly bath, splashing Katara playfully in the face with it.
The news is met with a slightly muted response from Aang and Bumi. Aang celebrates, of course, but she can see in his eyes that his heart isn't truly in it. Bumi, on the other hand, seems to take it much more personally, keeping his baby sister at a distance in the weeks afterwards as if nursing his wounds from a coldhearted betrayal. Katara gives Bumi his time to recover, knowing that it must not be easy to be the lone non-bender in a family tied to the art in so many inextricable ways. And of course, he eventually forgives Kya, their play returning to the natural jostling and fighting that had always made them such wonderful siblings, but she doesn't know if he ever quite allows himself to forgive Aang. Because after seeing his father's reaction, he must know that he was right, that Aang will only be at ease once an airbender has been born.
Katara begins to train Kya slowly, not wanting to overwhelm the girl, yet still wanting her to have some ground to stand on. Small things at first: the motions of the tides, pushes and pulls, breath control, but Kya is always eager to learn more. Katara wonders at her perseverance, her ability to work through routines so far beyond her years… and then, one day, it all clicks into place. On Kya's fifth birthday, Katara presents her with a cask of bending water, the same cask that she herself carried when she was her daughter's age.
Kya beams, strapping it to her belt and twirling around, watching as the hatch opens and closes, the water flowing out. She makes little waves, and then bigger ones, and then a large sphere, letting it grow and grow before deconstructing it again, giggling a little to herself as the arc finds its way back to its enclosure.
“Will Daddy be proud of me now, Mommy?” Kya asks, her eyes so wide with hope and expectation that they almost swallow Katara up whole.
“What do you mean, sweetie?” Katara asks. “Of course Daddy is proud of you.”
The child looks down, suddenly seeming small and forlorn, her earlier happiness forgotten. “I know that, Mommy, but… sometimes, I'm not so sure,” she admits, shuffling her feet a bit.
Aang is proud of Kya, and he's proud of Bumi, too. Katara knows both of these things to be true. But she also knows why it's so difficult for them to see it. It's a cruel trick of memory, how much easier it is to remember the frowns than it is the laughs and the smiles. But even in the rare moments where Aang confesses to her that he feels like he isn't doing enough, that he's letting down his own children, he never seems quite able to convince himself to change his ways for good.
The uprisings start as a rumor, tales on the wind that nobody in New Republic City really believes at first. The papers report some minor unrest near the Earth Kingdom border with the Northern Water Tribe. There are a few skirmishes, but as more details emerge, things seem to have been blown out of proportion. Right as things seem to be calming down again, though, word breaks of a massive attack at Stone Harbor, a key trading port that lies right on the line between the two nations.
Stone Harbor had been contested territory for centuries, passing from the Earth Kingdom to the Northern Tribe, and back again under successive rulers. A joint deal had recently been brokered, wherein both governments retained partial control under a common negotiator. It had been controversial among Water Tribe loyalists, many of whom were now forced to swear fealty to a green king completely disconnected from their culture and history. The hope had been a reconciliation of the disparate earth and water elements, but clearly that had not come to pass.
The news out of Stone Harbor after the strike is grim. Neighbor turned against neighbor, partitions drawn practically in the sand. The Earth King quickly sends in troops to defend his city, but the militants dig in, forcing a siege. Negotiations are nigh on impossible, as the group of waterbender dissidents who have taken control of the port — the “Stonehearted”, as they have taken to calling themselves — make it clear that they have no intention of giving up their ground.
An emergency summit is called in New Republic City, the likes of which Katara hasn’t seen since the Hundred Years’ War. The message could not be clearer: everyone is scared that this conflict will barrel out of control, ruining the tenuous peace that took so long to win. Chief Arnook doesn’t attend in person, but his representatives insist that they had nothing to do with this, that the militants have acted alone. Whether that can be believed or not, though, is a different question. The Stonehearted command weapons that humble traders shouldn’t know the first thing about, and mysteriously have maintained access to food stores that have kept them alive despite the near total blockade. That doesn’t just happen by luck.
In the end, it is decided that Aang is the best chance at stopping the situation from escalating further. He is a neutral presence that doesn’t represent the interests of the Earth King, and so perhaps will be a more welcome sight to the Stonehearted. Katara is entrusted with a more delicate mission; Arnook needs to be investigated. There is no other way to know if the Northern Tribe had anything to do with this. She enjoys a warm relationship with Arnook’s court, and so perhaps will have the best chance of discovering any ill-deeds. If, of course, there are any to discover.
Aang and Katara spend a long time debating about what to do with the children. It’s not as if they can go with Aang, seeing as he’s bound for a war zone, but they might be equally as at-risk by Katara’s side. There is no way to know how tense the mood will be at Agna Qel’a, and they could prove to be in just as much danger there. Keeping them in New Republic City is also not without its issues. Perhaps Stonehearted agents and allies would be able to get at them even more easily, especially without their parents to protect them. In the end, they hesitantly decide that Kya and Bumi will stay with Katara until the fighting is done.
It is just as their ship north passes Ember Island that Katara first starts to feel ill. Her head hurts constantly, and she spends most of the rest of the journey leaning over the stern, vomiting into the ocean below. She has never been sea sick before in her life, and so is at a loss for what it could be… until Zhu, one of the air temple acolytes who'd elected to accompany her and the children, asks her how long it's been since her blood last came. And suddenly, Katara feels like throwing up, but for a completely different reason.
“A war is no time to raise a baby,” Katara says, as she and Zhu stand together on deck, looking out into the fog and ice, their hair whipping back and forth in the wind.
“The war will end soon, Katara,” Zhu assures her. “You and the Avatar will see to that.”
“But what if it doesn't end?” Katara challenges. “What if Stone Harbor is just the beginning? What if we arrive in the north and we find that the entire tribe has turned against us?”
“Arnook has forsaken the traitors,” Zhu insists. “They hold no sway over him.”
Katara scoffs. “If we are so sure of that, then why are we here?”
Zhu looks down, evidently not sure what to say to that. “Do you want this baby, Katara?” she eventually asks, after a long silence.
Katara recoils. “What kind of a question is that?”
“Do you want the baby?” Zhu repeats, solemnly.
“I… yes, of course!”
Zhu's eyes are sympathetic. “Because there are ways, Katara. In the healing houses of Omashu, I helped many women, women who I assure you had no lack of love to share.”
“No,” Katara insists, shaking her head vigorously, as if to rid herself of the thought. “That… I appreciate your discretion, Zhu. But if the spirits have given me a baby now, I will not deny them. Perhaps it is an omen, like you say, that the conflict is soon to end.”
Zhu nods, and if she has anything more to add, she chooses to hold her tongue. “Do you want to send a letter to Aang?” She asks.
Katara thinks of her husband. The news coming out of the Earth Kingdom is not good. Violence keeps breaking out as the Stonehearters’ leadership crumbles and reforms in an endless cycle, stalling any deal seemingly indefinitely. She knows that Aang would drop all of it and come to her if she told him about the baby. He will instate Toph and Sokka as mediators in his place, and come to her.
“No,” she decides. “Not yet.”
When they arrive in Agna Qel’a, Katara does all that she can to put the baby to the back of her mind. She has a mission to focus on, advisors to meet, and two already-born children to worry about. She does her best to keep Kya and Bumi in their quarters, but curiosity gets the better of them quickly. Try as she might, it is difficult to convince them to heed her warnings seriously. Getting information out of the Northern Water Tribe's leaders, however, proves to be an even more difficult challenge. Although Arnook and his council trusts her, they do not fool themselves: they know why she is here. Even despite the intended secrecy of her mission, it does not take a genius to deduce why she would suddenly decide to travel so far north. They take grievous offense that the other nations consider a betrayal among their ranks even a remote possibility.
But, as the siege in the south drags ever on, Katara's presence becomes slowly normalized at court. She leans on old friends, starts up new acquaintances, makes an effort to blend in as seamlessly as possible. And as she ingratiates herself more and more into her old circles, the puzzle slowly, achingly slowly, begins to come together. Small hints are dropped. Whether they are dropped intentionally or unintentionally, she isn’t sure, but one way or another she learns more and more details about the months before the first strike at Stone Harbor. The lesser tribes around the area had been forwarding discrete shipments to the central city, fudging the log books so that any misplaced ammunition would go unnoticed. The question then becomes who exactly was leading the smuggling ring, and why.
Zhu is at her side through it all, always there as an ally and a friend. Katara doesn’t know how she would have made it this far without the air acolytes to help her. They are a reminder of home in this dangerous place, a reminder of the stability and warmth that this war has taken from her family.
“Are you going to tell him?”
Zhu takes to asking that question more and more often as the months drag on. Katara knows that she should tell Aang about the baby. At this rate, all of Agna Qel’a will know of her pregnancy before her husband does. And yet… she can never bring herself to write the letter. The more time that passes, in fact, the harder it gets to pick up the quill. Because with each passing day, the weight of her decision to keep him in the dark builds and builds.
When the baby finally starts to make itself unquestionably known, it turns out to be both a blessing and a curse. The pregnancy slows her work, limiting her movements, but it increases sympathy for her. How Sokka would laugh, seeing the way she has weaponized the northern tribe’s sexist views. She makes a list of known Stonehearted sympathizers, following their movements and keeping an eagle eye out for any tips or slip ups. Finally, she gets a name: ‘Panuk’. It feels like victory, a win that she can actually work with. The trouble is, though, that nobody seems to know precisely who Panuk is.
She combs through records day and night, traveling to the surrounding villages, taking any information that she can find and milking it for all its worth. Zhu and the other acolytes express their concern, the toll that this search is taking on her, her body, the baby. She knows that they’re right, that she should take a step back, but she can’t bring herself to do that. She knows she’s close, that the answer is just right around the corner. The time she spends now is critical.
She and her search party find Panuk’s camp almost by accident. It’s tucked away in the mountains east of Agna Qel’a, a forlorn stop on a winding road that most tribesmen don’t frequent. But, after questioning some of the outriders, any last shreds of doubt are whisked away. From here, it’s practically a straight shot by boat southeast to Stone Harbor. A journey easily made discreetly, quietly. Exactly the kind of route that a smuggler would prefer. Panuk is unmasked as the ringleader, the one who has been sending shipments to the town. He had been helping the Stonehearted stockpile for months, and now sends them just enough to hold out until King Kuei is ready to capitulate.
Katara makes the arrest herself, and word is sent to the negotiators, to Aang. Katara writes the letter, the first one she’s had the courage to write to him since they arrived in the north.
“Are you going to tell him?” Zhu asks again, as she watches her scratch out the words on the parchment. Katara doesn’t answer.
The Stonehearters’ stoic front finally collapses once their supply line is cut. A truce is negotiated, and on the day that Katara goes into labor, a sparrowkeet arrives from Aang saying that he's headed north to meet them.
Later, he will tell her that he knew as soon as his ship docked in the harbor. Maybe not that there was a baby, but that something had happened. “I felt it in the air,” he'll explain, cryptically.
Whether he knows for certain upon arrival or not, he knows for a fact when he bursts through the doors of the healing ward and sees a newborn baby in her arms. She flinches slightly as they lock eyes, unsure how he will react. What will he make of her decision to keep him in the dark?
He walks over to her slowly, still breathing hard from his scramble up the shore. He passes the other beds in the hall as if in a trance, not looking anywhere except at her.
And when he reaches her, he pauses for a moment, unsure. “Can I…?”
She nods, and holds out their as yet unnamed third-born to him, whom he takes gently, ever so gently, and rocks side to side in his arms.
“A boy,” he remarks, and she can see how hard he's trying to hold it together. “Does he have a name?”
“Not yet,” she says. “Bumi and Kya have a lot of ideas, though.”
He chuckles. “Of course they do.”
“Poopyhead has been a major contender. Kya has threatened to never speak again if we don't choose it.”
“Hmm, a compelling case,” he says, his tone overly serious. “But I don't think that this one's a poopyhead.” He boops the baby on the nose, relishing the little giggle that it gets out of him.
Katara smiles. “Bumi suggested ‘Tenzin’.”
Aang nods, weighing the name as he looks into the baby's laughing eyes. “Tenzin. I like it.”
They stay with the Northern Water Tribe while she recovers from the birth, which gives Aang plenty of time to catch up with Kya and Bumi. He commends Kya's growth as a bender, seeing the improvement that she's made in the year since he last saw her. Bumi shows off his burgeoning athleticism, and brags about a few of the riskiest pranks that he's pulled off since coming here. Despite his son's swagger, Aang doesn't fail to note the respect that Bumi has cultivated for the tribe's soldiers, the way that the boy hangs on their every word, does everything he can to impress them.
The four of them spend many an afternoon just sitting in the palace, playing games and telling stories while little Tenzin sleeps in the other room. It feels like a perfect bubble, a precious thread of laughter and love that Katara never wants to cut. Even when the healers give her leave to go, she hesitates to book passage home so quickly. She's seen how wonderful it is for her family here, and she doesn't want that to end.
But eventually, the bubble pops, because it has to. Missives come in from the air temple, saying that acolytes are leaving without Aang to guide them. Zuko sends word that they're needed back in the city, that crime rates are up and he's been struggling to get everything under control. Kya and Bumi even begin to tire of the cold, and beg Aang and Katara to bring them back south again. As their ship leaves harbor, Katara stands at the bow until Agna Qel’a is just a pinprick in the distance, wondering whether there will ever be a time when her family is as close as they were when they were here.
Upon their return to New Republic City, she tries to stop Aang from obsessing over Tenzin. He nods as she tells him the impact that his drive has had on their children, on her, and sits patiently as she advises him to keep his distance, to give the toddler time to develop on his own. He listens to all of it, and yet he does not hear.
He watches Tenzin like a hawk, as he did Bumi before him. Every wail, every yawn, every diaper change, even, is a potential moment of truth. He doesn't want to miss anything, and the hunger in his gaze betrays how desperate he is. This is likely their last chance to produce an airbender. He knows that he and Katara are getting older, that conceiving will only get more difficult with time. If his race is to live on, the evidence will present itself now, or not at all.
When, at four years old, Tenzin sneezes and shakes the entire house, Aang looks more relieved than she's ever seen him in her entire life. He goes around beaming like an idiot for days, hugging everyone he meets, walking through the city streets with him balanced on his shoulders. He tells anyone who will listen just how proud he is of Tenzin. Proud, of the child who still struggles to walk, not the son and daughter who are now into their teens, building whole lives and identities for themselves.
He brings Tenzin with him to the air temple, sitting with him, playing with him, testing his burgeoning abilities. While the boy sleeps, he meditates on the best way to train him, combing through tombs upon tombs of manuscripts recovered from the ransacked air temples. It's been over a hundred years since the last time that anyone had to think about the best way to train an airbender, and it is imperative that Aang overlooks nothing.
As Tenzin grows, he becomes even more centered in Aang's world, if such a thing is possible. Every milestone he surpasses, every skill he masters is a cause for celebration throughout the house. At first, Bumi and Kya join in, if slightly half-heartedly. They still love their brother, and there's no reason to not be happy for his successes. But slowly, their enthusiasm fades to the point that they roll their eyes at dinner whenever Aang regales them with the moments of his and Tenzin's day.
Being Aang's golden child means that Tenzin also inherits all of his father's anxieties, though. Katara and Aang find themselves fighting about this on more than a few occasions. She pleads with him to ease up on Tenzin, to let him go to school in the city with Kya and Bumi, to encourage him to make friends besides his own siblings and the air acolytes. Invariably, Aang always insists that this is what Tenzin wants. And when she asks Tenzin herself, he only confirms that, assuring her that he's fine, that he enjoys his training, that he has more than enough time to relax as is, and that he has no need to explore beyond the air temple. She can sense in his pulse that his words are truthful, but she sees in his eyes that there's something else motivating him. He's scared beyond measure of ever telling his father ‘no’, of facing a disappointed sigh, a furrowed brow, an upturned chin. The hopes of an entire nation are all pinned on him, and he can't risk letting them down.
Suddenly, Bumi is nineteen. It seems like just yesterday that the midwives of the Southern Water Tribe were swaddling him in furs and handing him over to her, yet now he is a man, and he has every intention of making that known. At dinner one night, he clears his throat and announces that he wishes to join the ranks of the Northern Water Tribe, to become a warrior. Katara figures that, perhaps, she should have seen this coming. He had so admired the soldiers when they had stayed there during the Stoneheart War, after all. But within his words lies a hesitancy, a trick, almost. He wants to see what their reaction is, weigh it against some set of scales in his head. Katara opens her mouth to ask what prompted his decision, but she catches herself. She sees that Bumi is not looking to her, but to Aang. It's his father that he's testing.
“We would be honored to have you train with the Northern Tribe!” Aang says, beaming. Katara's stomach drops, knowing immediately that Aang has failed, that that wasn't the reaction that Bumi had hoped for.
Bumi nods once, perfunctorily. She watches as his face falls, then drops. He looks down at his plate, pushing his rice around with his chopsticks. “Thanks, Dad,” he says, quietly.
“Of course, Bumi,” Aang replies, still somehow completely oblivious. “We can get you on a transport ship north as soon as you want, tomorrow even, if you're that keen to go.” Katara feels like punching him, screaming at him, but ultimately decides that now is not the time for a scene.
Later, though, after putting Kya to bed, Katara goes to Bumi’s room. “Knock, knock,” she says.
“I know it’s you, Mom,” he replies. “Just come in.”
She pushes open the door, and finds him laying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling through swollen, red eyes. His traveling bag lies open on the floor, though he hasn’t put anything in it yet. “Bumi, please don’t go,” she entreats.
“Why should I stay?” He asks, half a statement and half a genuine question. “Give me one good reason.”
She sits down on the bed next to him and squeezes his hand. He doesn't look at her, but he doesn't tell her to leave, either. “Because you don't want to go, sweetheart.”
“How are you so sure about that?” he challenges.
“Because I know you,” she affirms. “And because I know your father.”
He rolls his eyes. “And what does he have to do with me?”
“Everything,” she insists. “You’re more like him than you think you are.”
“I’m nothing like him,” he scowls.
It's like a gut punch, hearing him say those resentful words. “I can't convince you of something that you refuse to believe,” she says. “Your father isn't perfect, I've never claimed he was. He just… sometimes…” she fumbles, struggling to find the right words.
“I know, Mom,” Bumi says, sniffling slightly as he turns to look at her. “But I want to go. Even if it’s just to spite him, I want to go.”
She sighs. “Spite isn’t a good reason to make a decision as big as this, Bumi. If you go north to train, you might end up enlisting, and if that happens, then… I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” Bumi says. “Dad only confirmed it. He got rid of my last out.”
“I saw your face at dinner, I know that—”
“Mom, I said that that was the end of it, ok? Can you just… let me have this, please?”
He looks so sure of himself, and yet still so frightened. She clutches his hand, unsure what will happen if she lets him go. “Ok,” she says, eventually. “But… promise me that the second you hate it, the second you think you might want to come home…”
“I promise, Mom,” Bumi says, smiling sadly. They both know that he doesn't mean it, but it gives her some small comfort all the same.
Katara lulls herself into an uneasy sleep that night, her mind racing as she ponders all of the small moments that led to this massive hole in their family, these disconnected bridges that are now treacherous to cross. In the morning, she tells Aang about her conversation with Bumi, doing everything in her power to impress upon him how quickly his son is slipping away. Maybe it's regret, or self-awareness, or maybe the wisdom that comes with getting older, but this time he hears her more clearly than he ever has before. She sees it in his face, his grim expression. He knows that he has a steep climb ahead of him. Aang goes to find Bumi, but instead brings Katara back a note.
“He says that he was so excited to leave that he went down to the docks himself,” Aang reports, sullenly. “He'll be long gone by now.” He shudders, shaking his head as if trying to will away this new reality that he finds himself faced with. “How did it come to this, Katara?” He laments. “How did I become this person?”
And she can't answer him, because there is no answer, there is no one reason. It is just the result of moments upon moments stacking up, the decisions made everyday to forge certain paths while forgetting others.
Bumi does write to them, occasionally. He tells of his training, the new friends he's made. Sometimes, there's a little present enclosed for Kya or Tenzin, or perhaps a special note for Katara, but never anything for Aang. Aang does try, though, really he does. It's as if a switch has been flipped inside him, and now his eyes are open to how much ground he has to make up. He sends Bumi letters of his own, even though his son never replies. He visits Bumi on the infrequent occasions when his duties take him north, but there's always a tension, a sense that any relationship they have going forward will forever be haunted by Aang's past mistakes. But Katara figures that it might be the best that either of them can hope for.
Kya, still at home, feels Aang's second wind maybe a little bit more strongly. He offers to teach her for the first time, helping with her training when Katara is otherwise occupied. When the weather is nice, they even stage mock battles on the shore, just the three of them, no Tenzin, fellow waterbenders relishing together in their communal craft. Aang marvels at Kya's skill, commending Katara on how well she's trained her, how far she's come even since Agna Qel’a. And wife and daughter both smile, knowing that, as nice as the sentiment is, it's coming far too late.
Tenzin is still the heir, though, the inheritor of Aang’s great legacy. He turns six, and then seven, then eight, nine, ten… and still, the pressure haunts him, weighing him down perhaps more than ever before. Aang does his best to let him breathe freely, but there’s only so much that can be done by this point. They go on trips together, father and son, exploring the old air temples around the world, coming back with artifacts that they then spend weeks delicately combing over.
During Aang and Tenzin’s long absences, Katara takes to marking the passage of time by Kya’s moods. In the first few days after father and son have set off, Kya is bordering on ecstatic. Or, well, ecstatic for her, meaning that she smiles occasionally and sometimes doesn’t lock her bedroom door. Kya, much more than Bumi ever did, has embraced the angry hormones of teenagerdom with open arms, and so any shift in the opposite direction is a moment that Katara cherishes.
They’ll stay up late chatting, going to shows in the city, or sometimes — and these are Katara’s absolute favorite nights — they’ll just stand on the shore, silently bending the waves toward each other, creating little displays in the twilight.
But that will just be for the first two weeks or so. After that phase passes, Kya’s pattern will shift. She turns sullen again, retreating back into herself, even lashing out verbally on occasion. Katara has given up on trying to bring her back out again when she gets like this. The first few times, she thought that it had been just coincidence, this massive mood swing. Maybe homework was piling up at school, or she was having a fight with one of her friends. But once it becomes a habit, Katara is forced to admit that it’s because of Aang. She tries convincing Kya to talk to someone, a therapist, a teacher, anyone, but she always declines, often angrily.
Katara knows that Kya must get so in her own head. What else can she think about, after a certain point, besides how much fun Aang and Tenzin are having… without her.
And when they inevitably return, overflowing with stories, and gifts, and recovered goods, Kya smiles tightly and nods, her head bobbing up and down almost in rhythm, as if she had practiced her response. She acknowledges them, but everything about her body language projects that she is only barely paying attention.
When Aang settles in again, he is as attentive as ever to Kya. He waterbends with her, teaches her history, and encourages her growing passion for the medicinal craft. She peeks out of her shell again, laughing more, smiling more, digging into Tenzin without any undercurrent of resentment, just a sister making fun of her kid brother. But then, inevitably, whether in a month, or six months, or a year, Aang and Tenzin will traipse off again to some other corner of the world, and the cycle will repeat.
In those long interludes, Katara often finds herself doing some reflecting of her own. When Tenzin is gone, Katara can’t help but feel some sense of relief. Of the three, he is the one that she is the least close to, the one she never truly got the chance to know. She loves him, of course, spends time with him, and guides his training in her own way… but there’s a distance. A sense that both of them know that, for him, Aang will always be the first parent.
She wonders, though, if Aang even knows Tenzin. He knows a version of Tenzin, certainly, a boy who does whatever his father asks of him. But is that who Tenzin really is? Does he have a life outside of being an airbender? Katara’s most shameful secret is that she doesn’t know. Tenzin has never shown that side of himself to her, nor to Aang. And she can’t bear to resort to asking her children if they know their brother at all.
Bumi passes his final trials, and returns home for the first time in nearly six years. So much has changed while he’s been away, and yet, so much has also somehow stayed exactly the same. His presence breathes life back into the house again, and every time he enters a room, Katara resists the urge to hug him close and never let him go again.
He picks up right where he left off. He’s back to teasing Kya and Tenzin, creating mischief for himself, and flirting with the air acolytes. But, there are indeed differences. They’re subtle, certainly, but Katara picks up on them. He holds himself with greater purpose now. His movements are more deliberate, practiced. He has a sense of duty, and an understanding of the ways of the world that he had lacked before. Whatever he had been looking for up north, he clearly found it.
Aang had been more nervous for Bumi’s return than anybody else. He’s seen his eldest son on and off in the preceding years, having visited him when he could, but the weight of that dinner conversation, that test he failed, still hangs over his head. Every day, Katara sees how on edge he is, how anxious he is anytime he interacts with Bumi. He weighs every question carefully before responding, and when he speaks, his words are that of a negotiator, not a father.
He recognizes how critical this moment is, this chance to warm Bumi to him now that his son is an adult. It takes a while to build up some semblance of trust again, but one particularly sunny day, Aang asks him to go for a walk with him, and Bumi accepts. No ‘maybe’, no ‘some other time’, just a simple ‘yes’. They don’t come back until long after nightfall, having traveled nearly the length of the city and back again. What they talked about, Katara isn’t sure, and she doesn't feel it is her place to ask, but afterwards, they start spending more time together than they have since, well, since as far back as Katara can remember.
They go on more walks, showing each other their favorite sites around the city. At dinner, they’ll trade stories and jokes, or miss the meal entirely because they were busy with some other errand or event. They invent reasons for spontaneous competitions, of any variety that they can think of. Who can go the longest without blinking, who can do the most impressive flip, who can stack the highest tower of logs without it falling over, who can make Tenzin laugh the hardest — which quickly turns into who can make Tenzin laugh at all. Katara's heart warms to see them getting so close, making up for lost time. She hopes that now, Bumi understands what she meant when she told him that he and Aang really are quite similar. Of all of their children, she's always felt that Bumi took after him the most.
But duty calls, and eventually, Bumi receives orders to return north. He had enlisted, just like Katara had feared that he would, and it’s time for him to make good on his commitment. Even though Katara wants to cry and beg and plead with him not to do it, she knows that this is his decision; he’s an adult now. He makes promises to write to all of them, though, and the first and last person he hugs before he grabs his bag and runs to board his ship is Aang. It’s not forgiveness, it’s not even acceptance, but it’s something. It’s a sign that he knows Aang is owning up to his mistakes, and lasting encouragement to keep doing better. And even though this goodbye is more final than the last one, it doesn't feel anywhere near as sad.
Still, life goes on. New Republic City thrives under Aang and Zuko's combined leadership. The air temple gradually balloons in numbers as more acolytes join. Katara starts to spend more time in the south, playing an active role in the future of her tribe. Bumi writes them as much as he can, though his visits remain a rare event as his responsibilities start to multiply. Kya slowly turns her attention to healing, often joining Aang and the acolytes in the air temple for lessons on spirituality and bodily mechanics. Tenzin continues his training, just as motivated and diligent as he has always been. But Katara is far more delighted when, one night, he brings Lin Beifong to dinner and announces, quite red in the face, that they're dating. Aang looks confused, and Kya smirks, but Katara finds herself breathing a sigh of relief — she could not have wished for clearer evidence that her youngest intends to live a life of his own outside of his father's pressures.
Nowadays, it's a rare occasion when the five of them — Katara, Aang, Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin — are back together, just them, under one roof. But whenever it happens, Katara looks around at her three wonderful children and can't help but smile. For, although she knows that it's no easy task to be a child of the Avatar, all of them have worn it well.