SWEET ★ HONEY ★ BLOGGING

Chapter 12

The room was dark except for one low lamp and moonlight through the shutters. Drip… drip… drip off the eaves. The baby made that small, testing whine again.

Onji lay against the pillows, eyes closed. Body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry. She wasn’t sleeping. Just resting. Su was in the antechamber, door cracked. Present, but not hovering. Smart enough to know Onji needed quiet more than help right now.

Aang sat on the edge of the bed with the baby swaddled against his chest. 40 minutes he’d been frozen there. The baby wailed. Small at first, then louder.

“Onji?” His voice cracked the quiet at 2am. “Onji, she’s doing the noise. Is this hungry or wet? Suri used to make a face before she— wait, did Suri make a face? Or was that Soren? I wasn’t there for that. You sent letters. I still have them. In a box. Labeled ‘important.’”

Onji didn’t open her eyes. “Mmm.”

“Mmm means yes? Or mmm means ‘stop talking’? I can never tell.” He tried rocking. Left foot first. Su’s rule from earlier. He was actually following it this time. The baby hiccuped, then screamed for real.

Aang shot up 3 inches off the bed. “Onji! She’s escalating! What do I do? Walk? Bounce? The midwife said gentle but what’s gentle? Is this gentle?” He did a tiny bounce. The baby’s face went redder.

From the antechamber: “My lord, that’s not gentle, that’s airbender evasive maneuvers. Use your knees. Like meditation. Not like you’re dodging lightning.” Su’s voice, sleepy but amused.

“I’m not bouncing, I’m— fine.” He sank back down. Stared at his daughter like she was a puzzle. “She’s probably cold. Or hot. Her head’s warm. Onji, do babies run warm? I read that once. In a book. Maybe.”

Onji sighed from deep in her chest. “Aang.”

“Yes! Listening! What does she need?” He leaned in, desperate for instructions.

“She needs you to stop narrating and let her sleep.”

He shut up. For 15 seconds. A record.Then the baby sniffled. Aang broke. “Onji, is she sniffing because she’s congested or because she’s… feeling things? Do newborns feel things? She can’t be mad at me. She’s 3 hours old. But what if she is? What if she knows I missed the twins and she’s disappointed already?”

Onji opened one eye. Deadpan. “Aang. She’s fussy because she’s a newborn. Suri screamed for 6 hours straight night one. Soren only slept if I walked circles for 2 hours. You don’t fix it. You endure it.”

“But what if I’m holding her wrong?” He looked at his arms like they’d lied to him. “Su adjusted me. What if I forgot the adjustment? What if her head—”

“Su,” Onji called, voice rough.

Door cracked open. Su, hair a mess from napping on a chair, robe half-tied. “Yes, my lady?”

“Is he doing it right?”

Su glanced at Aang. Baby supported, elbows locked like he was carrying the Avatar State in swaddle form.

“Yes, my lady. He’s fine. For someone who learned parenting from letters and guilt.” She gave Aang a bright, honest smile. “You’ve got good hands, my lord. They hold the world up. They can hold one baby.”

Aang blinked. “Thanks, Su.”

“Thank me after she spits up on you,” Su said, already retreating. “You’re washing your own robes. I work for her, not you.” Door clicked shut.

3 minutes of silence. Aang rocked. Left. Left. Left. The baby’s breathing evened out. Fist unclenched on his chest.

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the first contraction. “She’s asleep,” he whispered, awe cracking his voice. “Onji, look. She’s asleep.” He tilted so Onji could see without lifting her head.

Onji turned her head a fraction. The baby was scrunched, peaceful. Milk on her chin. Aang’s grey eyes weren’t on the baby. They were on Onji. Watching.

“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly. No panic now. Just fact. “She’s got your brows. That ‘I’m about to win’ look, even asleep.”

Onji’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “Don’t get comfortable. She’ll be up in 2 hours. Then 3. Then every hour until she decides you’ve suffered enough.”

Aang’s face dropped. “Every hour?”

“Welcome to it,” Onji murmured, eyes closing again. “You missed it twice. Now you live it.”

He winced. But nodded. Adjusted the blanket with shaking fingers. “I’ll stay up. I’ll learn the cries. Hungry, wet, bored, existential crisis. I’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t figure it out,” Onji said, voice fading. “No one does. You survive it. With tea. And Su telling you’re doing it wrong.”

“I can survive,” Aang said, too firm. Like he needed to believe it. “I survived the Comet. I can survive this.”

The baby burped. Tiny, victorious. Aang froze. Stared at her. Then at Onji.

“Onji… was that good? Do I clap? Do babies like applause? Should I—”Onji pulled the blanket over her face. “Aang. One more question and I’m throwing this pillow. My aim is still lethal, even now.”

Silence. 5 whole minutes. A new record.Then, barely a whisper: “Onji?”

She didn’t answer.

“Onji, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the twins. I’m sorry I was off on missions when you did it all alone. Twice. I’m here now. I’m not leaving for the Council. I’m not flying to the Temples. I’m right here. Annoying you. But here.”

Onji didn’t answer. But her hand came out from under the blanket. Found his knee. Squeezed once. Hard. Then dropped away.

Aang stared at his knee like she’d branded him. He rocked the baby. Left. Left. Left.From the antechamber, Su, muffled: “My lord, if you wake her again I’m putting chili in your tea. My lady likes her sleep. And her revenge.”

Aang zipped his lips. Looked at the baby. She stared back with unfocused storm-grey eyes. His eyes. Onji’s brows.

“Okay,” he whispered to her. “Just us. No questions. We’ve got this. Left foot. Breathing. Like the Avatar. But quiet. Very quiet.”

The baby yawned. Aang’s whole face softened.Under the blanket, Onji let herself drift. Not sleep. Just rest. Listening to her husband fumble through fatherhood at 2am, loud and late and trying. It was exhausting. It was 8 years too late.

But he was here.And for tonight, that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn came grey and soft through the shutters. The storm was gone. All that was left was wet stone and the smell of rain on the roof. Inside, the room smelled like milk, herbs, and a man who hadn’t slept.

Aang was still rocking. Left. Left. Left. He’d been rocking for 6 hours. His arm had gone numb 4 hours ago. The baby — their daughter, unnamed yet — slept against his chest, tiny mouth open, drooling on his robe. He hadn’t dared move her. Hadn’t dared breathe too loud.

Onji was under the blanket. Eyes closed. Not asleep. Just… buffering. Her body ached. Her throat was sandpaper. Every time she shifted, something pulled and reminded her she’d pushed a human out 7 hours ago.

The door burst open.“SURI, DON’T RUN IN THE HALLWAY!”

“YOU’RE NOT MY FATHER, YOU’RE JUST DAD!”

Two tornados in human form exploded into the room. Eight years old. Fire in their veins and zero concept of volume.

Suri hit the room first. Black hair in a messy braid, Onji’s sharp brows already set to “I run this place.” She skidded to a stop when she saw the baby. Then saw her mother. Then saw her father looking like he’d been through a war.

“MOM!” She whispered, but whispering for Suri was still louder than most people’s shouting. “YOU DID IT! YOU MADE THE BABY!”

Soren followed, quieter but only by comparison. He had Aang’s eyes and Onji’s stubborn mouth. He walked in on his toes like that would make him silent. It didn’t. “Is it a girl? Can we hold her? Did you name her yet? Can we name her? I want to call her Typhoon. That’s a cool name.”

Aang’s eyes went wide. Panic. “Shhh! Shhh! She’s sleeping! Use your indoor voices! Your whisper voices! Your library voices!”

Suri immediately whispered: “SORRY DAD.”

Soren whispered back: “IT’S OKAY SURI.”They were not whispering.

Onji pulled the blanket off her face one inch. Looked at the chaos. Looked at Aang, who was now making frantic “sit down sit down sit down” gestures with his free hand. Looked at her twins, vibrating with energy at 6am.“Come here,” she rasped. Voice like gravel.

Both kids were at her bedside in 2 seconds. Suri gentle. Soren too. For once. They’d been raised by a woman who didn’t tolerate nonsense. They knew the rules.

“Mom, you look tired,” Suri said, reaching out but stopping before she touched. She remembered the rules from when Soren was born. “Does it hurt? A lot?”

“Like I got hit by a rhino,” Onji said honestly. Then softer: “But I’m okay. You’re both okay. That’s what matters.”Soren peeked over the bed at Aang. At the swaddle. “Dad, can I see? Please? I’ll be gentle. I practiced on my stuffed bison.”

Aang looked at Onji. She gave the smallest nod. He stood, knees cracking, and shuffled over. Arms still locked at 90 degrees. Like the baby was made of glass and lightning.

Soren’s whole face went soft. Eight years of bravado gone. “She’s so small,” he whispered. Actual whisper. “She has your eyes, Dad. And Mom’s angry brows.”“She’s not angry,” Aang whispered back, too proud. “She’s just… thinking very hard thoughts.”

“She looks like she’s judging us,” Suri decided, nose scrunched. Then she looked at Onji. “Mom, did it hurt more than when Soren came out? Aunt Kazumi said you screamed for hours when he was born. Dad said you didn’t scream at all this time. He said you’re the strongest person in the world.”

Onji closed her eyes again. Aang had said that. At 2am. When he thought she was asleep. Guilt made him honest.

“Strongest person in the world is busy being tired,” Onji said. “So you two are in charge of being quiet until she wakes up. Understood?”

“Yes, Mom,” they chorused. Then immediately started negotiating in whispers that were still too loud.

“Can we touch her hand?”

“No, Dad said no touching.”

“But just one finger?”

Aang mouthed “NO” from across the room, eyes bulging.

The door opened. Su slipped in with a tray. Tea. More hot water. A plate of rice porridge she knew Onji could actually keep down. She took one look at the scene — Aang frozen holding the baby, twins vibrating next to the bed, Onji pale and done — and sighed.“Right,” Su said, bright and brisk. “Twins. Chairs. Now. You can look, you can whisper, you cannot touch until my lady says so. My lord, you’re turning blue. Breathe. The baby breathes when you breathe. She’s not going to fall if you blink.”

Aang inhaled like he’d been holding it since dawn. Sat back on the edge of the bed. Careful. So careful.

Suri climbed into the chair Su pointed at. Soren copied. Both leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at their sister like she was the 8th wonder.

“She doesn’t have a name,” Suri observed. “Dad, what are you gonna call her?”

Aang looked at Onji. “I… we hadn’t decided. I thought… maybe you’d want to choose? Since you did all the work.”

Onji shook her head against the pillow. Too tired to think. “Not today. You pick something temporary. Something quiet.”

“Quiet,” Aang repeated. Looked down at the baby. She scrunched her nose. Sighed in her sleep. “Lira. Like… lullaby. For now. Until she tells us her real name.”

Soren nodded seriously. “Lira. I like it. Lira means she’ll be sneaky like me.”

“She means air,” Suri corrected. “Dad taught me. From the old language.”

Aang blinked at them. “You remembered that?”

“You talk in your sleep when you’re guilty,” Suri said matter-of-factuality. “We listen.”

The room went quiet. Not the tense quiet from last night. Just… tired quiet. The baby, Lira, shifted and made a tiny mewling sound. Aang froze. Onji opened one eye. Su moved toward the bed.Before anyone could panic, Lira burped. A massive, indignant burp for a 7-hour-old. Then settled.Soren giggled. Clapped a hand over his mouth. “She’s like Dad! Loud!”

Aang deflated. “I am not loud.”

“You’re very loud,” Onji and Su said at the same time.

Aang looked betrayed. Then looked at Lira. Then at Onji, exhausted but awake. Then at his twins, whisper-shouting about whether Lira would be a firebender or airbender.

He was tired. His arm was dead. He’d had 0 sleep. He’d spent 9 years being absent and 7 hours being frantic.

But his wife was alive. His daughter was breathing. His twins were here, fierce and curious and already protective of the new, loud, tiny person.“Okay,” Aang said quietly. “Okay. This is good. We’re… we’re okay.”

Onji watched him. Really watched. The frantic Avatar from 2am was gone. This was just a man. Tired. Trying. Holding their daughter like she mattered. Because she did.Su set the tea on the table. “Drink, my lady. Then sleep. I’ll guard the door. The twins can stay, but if they go above whisper-volume, they’re banished to the courtyard.”

Suri and Soren nodded solemnly. Like they were being entrusted with state secrets.

Onji sipped the tea. It was hot. Not too hot. Su’s work. She looked at Aang, rocking Lira left-left. Looked at Suri copying him in her chair with an invisible baby. Looked at Soren whispering “Typhoon” to the air like he was testing it.

Nine years of arranged marriage. Nine years of distance. Nine years of him being gone when it mattered.But today he was here. Loud, clumsy, overbearing, and here.Onji closed her eyes again. “Su. If he asks me one more question before I sleep, you have permission to hit him.”

Su grinned. “Already loaded the pillow, my lady.”

Aang zipped his lips. Rocked Lira. And for the first time in 9 years, the silence in the room didn’t feel like distance.It felt like a family figuring itself out, one noisy, exhausted dawn at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 2. The room still smelled like herbs and milk and a man who’d forgotten how to sleep. Onji hadn’t left the bed. Her body wasn’t ready. Every shift sent a reminder through her ribs that she’d been torn open and put back together. So she stayed propped on pillows, pale and sharp-eyed, watching the chaos she was too tired to stop.

Aang was in charge. On paper. In reality he was in charge of panicking and asking questions.

Lira fussed in the bassinet. Not a full cry yet. A warning. Aang’s head snapped up from where he’d been folding swaddles. He’d been folding them for 20 minutes. They all looked wrong. Su’s folds were sharp, hospital corners. His looked like deflated airbender kites.“Onji?” He crossed the room in 3 steps. “Lira’s making the noise again. Is this the hungry noise or the ‘I’m bored’ noise? She can’t be bored. She’s 36 hours old. But Soren got bored when he was 2 days old. You wrote that in a letter. I have it memorized.”

Onji opened one eye. “Aang. If she’s rooting, she’s hungry. If she’s staring at the ceiling, she’s bored. If she’s red and screaming, she’s gassy. Pick one.”

He stared at Lira. She was rooting. And staring. And starting to go red. “She’s doing all three?”

“Congratulations,” Onji said, voice dry. “You have a gifted child.”

From the corner, Su didn’t look up from sterilizing bottles. “My lord, pick her up first. Then worry. Babies don’t explode if you’re 5 seconds late. They just get loud.”

Aang scooped Lira up. Awkward. Too much arm, not enough support. Lira immediately wailed like he’d insulted her ancestors.The door opened without a knock.

Her eyes went straight to Aang fumbling with Lira. Then to Onji in bed, exhausted. Then back to Aang.

“Aang,” she said. Flat. No title. No respect. “You’re holding her like she’s a sack of rice.”

Aang froze. “Kazumi. You’re back. This is Lira. Our daughter. She’s—”

“I know who she is,” Kazumi cut in. She crossed to the bed, set down a. Perfect. “How’s the pain, sister?”

“Manageable,” Onji said. Her voice softened 20% for Kazumi. Only 20%. “Tired. Annoyed.”Kazumi picked up the cup of water Su had left. Held it to Onji’s lips. “Drink. Slow.” Then she turned. Full glare on Aang. “Let me see.”

Aang, still holding a screaming Lira, didn’t move. “I’ve got it.”

“You don’t,” Kazumi said. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. “Su. Show him.”

Su wiped her hands, stepped over. “My lord, arms like this. Elbow under her bottom. Other hand supporting the head. Yes. Like that. Now bring her to your chest, skin to skin if you can. She needs your heartbeat. Not your panic.”

Aang adjusted. Lira quieted from screaming to indignant huffing. He looked up, relieved. Kazumi’s expression didn’t change. “Good. You can follow instructions. For 10 seconds. Let’s see if you can last a minute.”

“ Kazumi,” Onji warned, low.“I’m not talking to him,” Kazumi said, fluffing Onji’s blanket. “I’m talking to the air. The air is incompetent.”

Aang’s jaw tightened. “I’m trying.”

“Trying is what you did for 9 years,” Kazumi said, then immediately turned back to Onji. “Eat this. Rice porridge. No spices. Su said your stomach’s sensitive.” She fed Onji one spoonful. Like she was 8 again and Onji had a fever. Gentle. Familiar. Zero patience for anyone else in the room.

Lira started rooting against Aang’s chest. Mouth open, searching. “Onji?” Aang’s voice went high again. “She’s doing the mouth thing. Is that hunger? Do I feed her? How? The midwife showed me but I forgot. There were too many steps. Step 4 was ‘confidence’ and I don’t have that one.”

Onji chewed, swallowed, then sighed. “Su. Instructions.”

Su was already moving. “My lord, sit. Chair. Good. Now unswaddle her top half. Keep her legs warm. Kazumi, can you—”

“I can do better than ‘can you,’” Kazumi said. She took the small bowl of warm milk from Su, tested it on her wrist like she’d done for the twins. “Temperature’s right. Aang, lean back. Support her head on your arm. No, your other arm. Yes. Now bring the bottle to her mouth. Let her latch. Don’t shove it in. She’s not a Fire Nation soldier.”

Aang followed every word. Sweating. Lira latched. Started drinking. Her tiny fist curled around his finger.For 3 minutes, the room was quiet except for the sound of feeding and Kazumi’s spoon against Onji’s bowl.

Then Lira paused. Looked up at Aang with storm-grey eyes. Burped. Milk dribbled down his robe.Aang looked down at the mess. Looked at Onji. Looked at Kazumi, who was already holding out a cloth without him asking.

“She spits up,” Kazumi said, deadpan. “All babies do. Even the ones whose fathers show up for it.”

Aang took the cloth. Wiped Lira’s chin. Wiped his robe. “Thanks.”

Kazumi didn’t answer. She turned back to Onji. “More? Or rest?”

“Rest,” Onji whispered. Eyes closing.Kazumi adjusted the pillow again. Pulled the blanket to Onji’s chin. Then sat in the chair beside the bed. Didn’t leave. Arms crossed. Eyes on Aang.

Aang rocked Lira. Left. Left. Left. He could feel Kazumi’s stare on the back of his head. Judging every rock, every breath, every time Lira squirmed.

“Su,” he whispered, desperate. “Is she supposed to squirm like that after eating?”

Su didn’t even look up from washing bottles. “Yes, my lord. That’s called ‘digesting.’ If she doesn’t squirm, then we worry.”

“Right. Digesting. Good.” He rocked more. Kazumi spoke without looking at him. “Onji. Do you want me to take the night shift? So you can sleep. He can ask Su questions. Su actually knows things.”

Onji didn’t answer. She was already drifting. But her hand found Kazumi’s wrist under the blanket. Squeezed once. Thank you.

Kazumi’s face softened for half a second. Then hardened when she glanced at Aang again.

Day 3 blurred into Day 4. Same pattern. Aang: “Onji, Lira won’t stop crying. I changed her, I fed her, I rocked her, I sang her the airbender lullaby and she cried louder. Is she broken?”

Onji, eyes closed: “She has colic. Suri had it for 3 weeks. Walk. Bounce gently. And stop singing. Your voice is nice but she’s tired.”

Kazumi, feeding Onji broth: “He’s walking in circles like he’s pacing a battlefield. Sit down, Aang. She can feel your anxiety through your arms.”

Aang sat. Lira hiccuped and fell asleep.Day 4 evening. Aang tried to change Lira’s swaddle alone. Su was boiling water. Kazumi was brushing Onji’s hair. He got the fabric twisted. Lira started crying. He called: “Onji? Onji, the fabric’s stuck and I don’t want to pull—”

“Su,” Onji said without opening her eyes.Su was there in 2 seconds. Untangled the cloth, showed Aang the fold again, slower this time. “See? Like wrapping a gift. Not trapping a prisoner.”

Kazumi didn’t say anything. She just watched. Every time Aang fumbled, her eyes narrowed. Every time he listened and got it right, she looked away, like she hated admitting it.

That night, Lira finally slept 3 hours straight. Aang slumped in the chair, asleep with her on his chest. Onji watched him from the bed. Kazumi watched him too.

Kazumi kept watching Aang. Watching his hands, big and clumsy, cradling Lira’s head like it was the world. Watching him twitch awake every time Lira sighed, ready to panic.

“Fine,” Kazumi muttered. “He can stay. For her. Not for him. And if he wakes you up one more time, I’m throwing him out the window. Avatar or not.”

From the chair, Aang mumbled in his sleep: “Left foot… breathing… quiet…”

Kazumi rolled her eyes. Su smothered a laugh behind her hand. Onji closed her eyes and finally, finally slept.

Day 5 morning. Aang decided he was ready for Lira’s first bath. He’d watched Su do it yesterday. He’d memorized the steps. He had confidence now. Step 4.

He filled the basin. Tested the water with his elbow like the midwife showed him. Felt right. Warm.

Kazumi was at the bedside, feeding Onji mashed fruit. She heard the water. Her head snapped up.

“Water temperature,” she said. Not a question.

“Feels good,” Aang said, proud. “Not too hot, not—"

Kazumi was already off the chair, across the room, dipping her wrist in the basin before Aang could stop her. Her face went flat. “This is too hot, Aang. You’d scald her skin. Newborn skin burns at 100 degrees. This is 110 at least.”

Aang blinked. “It felt— I thought—”“You thought,” Kazumi said. She dumped half the basin and refilled it with cool water, tested again. “Wrist. Not elbow. Elbows lie. Wrists don’t. Like this.” She grabbed his hand, pressed his wrist to the water. “Feel that? That’s right. That’s safe.”

Aang swallowed. Nodded. “Right. Wrist. Not elbow.”Su handed him the cloth without comment. Kazumi didn’t leave. She stood there, arms crossed, watching every move while she held Onji’s bowl in one hand.

Aang lowered Lira into the water. She startled, then relaxed. He washed her with trembling fingers. Kazumi’s eyes tracked every swipe of the cloth. Every time his hand shook, her jaw tightened. Every time he paused to check Onji’s face for approval, Kazumi’s glare intensified.

“Rinse her hair last,” Su instructed from the corner. “And support the neck. Always the neck.”

“I know,” Aang whispered. He did. This time. He rinsed. Wrapped Lira in the towel Su warmed by the fire. Held her to his chest.

Kazumi took the bowl from Onji, set it down. Crossed to Aang. Looked at Lira, damp and pink and blinking up at her father with trust she was too new to know she shouldn’t have.Kazumi said nothing. Just took the damp towel from him, handed him a dry one. “Dry behind the ears,” she said, low. “Water sits there. Causes rashes.”

Aang did it. Kazumi watched. Then she stepped back. Arms crossed again. “You didn’t scald her,” she said. It sounded like an insult. Like she was disappointed she couldn’t yell at him.“I didn’t,” Aang agreed. Quiet. No defensiveness. He was too tired for that.Onji watched from the bed. “Kazumi.”

“What.”

“Enough.” One word. Soft, but final.Kazumi’s mouth pressed thin. She looked at Onji. Really looked. At the dark circles, the way she was sitting up for 10 minutes now instead of 2. At the way her eyes kept drifting to Aang, not with love, but with… acknowledgment.Kazumi exhaled through her nose. Sat back down. Picked up the brush. “Fine. He can stay. For her. Not for him.”

Aang didn’t argue. He sat with Lira, drying her behind the ears like Kazumi said. Rocked her. Left. Left. Left.

Su brought tea. The twins were allowed back in after lunch, on the condition they whispered and didn’t touch until Onji said so. Suri immediately started teaching Lira how to “be dramatic” by gasping loudly. Soren taught her how to “look intimidating” by squinting. By Day 6, the pattern was set. Aang would panic. Onji would give one tired sentence of advice from the bed. Su would give directions and step in if needed. Kazumi would sit, feed Onji, fluff pillows, and scrutinize every move Aang made like she was grading him.

He failed sometimes. Forgot the wrist test once and Kazumi dumped the whole basin without asking. Tried to swaddle Lira too tight and Su had to re-do it while Kazumi’s stare could’ve peeled paint. Called for Onji at 3am for the “existential crisis cry” and Kazumi threw a pillow at his head from across the room.

But he learned. By Day 7, he could change a diaper without calling for help. By Day 8, he knew the difference between hungry cry and gassy cry 60% of the time. By Day 9, Lira slept 4 hours straight and Aang didn’t wake Onji once. He just rocked. Left. Left. Left. And whispered “quiet” to himself like a prayer.

That night, Onji was finally allowed to sit up for longer than 10 minutes. Kazumi propped 3 pillows behind her back, perfect angles, and handed her Lira.

Aang froze across the room. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there.

Onji held Lira against her chest. Looked at Kazumi. Looked at Aang. Then patted the empty space on the bed beside her.Aang stared. “Is… is that for me?”

Kazumi didn’t answer. She just adjusted Onji’s blanket and said, “If you wake her, you’re sleeping on the floor.”Aang sat. Careful. Lira transferred from Onji’s arms to his without crying. He froze again, breathing shallow.Kazumi watched. Then, very quietly, so only Onji could hear: “He’s still an idiot. But he’s your idiot. And he’s her father.”Onji leaned her head back against the pillows. Exhausted. Still healing. Still not in love. But not alone.

She looked at Aang, frantic and clumsy and 9 years late, holding their daughter like she was the only thing in the world. Looked at Kazumi, sharp and protective and loyal to a fault, keeping watch. Looked at Su, bubbly and steady, refilling the tea without being asked.Nine years of distance. Four days of chaos. One week of learning.

The first few days were messy. Loud. Full of tired advice and Su’s directions and Kazumi’s glares.

Chapter 11

The storm did not break with a roar; it began as a sickness in the air, a heavy, sulfurous pressure that crawled into the bedroom and settled between us. I stood by the high window, watching the horizon bruise into a violent, unnatural purple, my knuckles white against the stone sill. Behind me, she was quiet, adjusting the heavy velvet folds of the gown I would wear tomorrow to meet him. Every breath she took felt like an accusation. The air tasted of copper and rain-soaked earth, the distinct flavor of a beautiful thing beginning to rot from the inside out.

I could feel her eyes on the back of my neck that soft, intuitive heat. She knew. She could taste the dishonesty on my skin, could feel the sudden, icy distance in the way I let her fingers linger on my laces. A low, vibrating thunder rattled the glass in its frame, a suffocating vibration that mirrored the panic clawing up my throat. Look at me, I prayed silently, staring at my own ghost-like reflection in the glass. See right through me. See the coward I am and scream at me. I was suffocating under the weight of my own silence, desperately wishing the wind would shatter the windowpane, that the tempest would rip through the chamber and violently unmake the lie I was forcing us both to live.

But the sky only deepened into an impenetrable, claustrophobic grey. A single, jagged line of lightning fractured the sky, silent and permanent, cleaving our world into a before and an after. I turned to look at her in the dimming light, my heart fracturing as I offered her nothing but a cold, distant nod of dismissal. I was drowning her in my silence, letting the incoming deluge wash her away, praying she would catch me in the act of destroying us before the first raindrop even hit the glass.

She did not move…she stood. A few moments passed. I looked back, I didn't speak, didn't question. I just stared at her assessing her. My stance powerful, posture straightened and the air around me harsher than I would allow it to be with anyone I cared for…especially her. I almost crumble when I sense her heartbreak.

“DO NOT SHOW WEAKNESS, YOU ARE HER LADY NOT HER FRIEND. DEMONSTRATE YOUR DOMINANCE, SHE'S A PEASANT, SHE SHOULD FEEL LUCKY THAT SHE WAS FORTUNATE ENOUGH TO BE CHOOSE BY YOU!!” a voice…my voice keeps getting in my head repeating these words to me. It sounds just like me and it words itself just like the but it's not me I would never utter such words nor think that way about those close to me, especially her.

“I am your lady and I have dismissed you…why do you still stand in my presence.” I said trying to grip any form of authority, courage and confidence I could muster but the volume and slight tremble in my voice betrayed me. It shone upon my cowardice, my fear and weak. I felt so betrayed by every fibre of my very being, cursing how much power she had over me without even so much as lifting a finger. If she would ask me to burn everything down for her…I wouldn't have to hesitate and that was the problem.

“I just wanted to thank you, my lady for the letter of recommendation and better…opportunities. I am grateful.” the woman's tone oozes sadness, anguish, torment and most of all bitterness. A rampant, scornful wave of bitterness. Thought the woman's words seemingly where to convey her gratitude at her ladies offer and allowing her to not waste away as a handmaiden. She knew she truth, the real truth.

Silences passed between the women again, this time Onji just decides to turn around and leave the woman to see herself out.

“So you are really going to do it…” the woman just blurted out her voice cracking. Onji doesn't need to inquire what the woman behind her is referring to.

“I am.” Onji answered calm,cool and calculated.

"You won't be happy. And You know it. He will never truly make you happy. You'll just waste away becoming a shell of the women you were meant to be. And you shall see in your final moments that you truly would have accomplished nothing and just let fools and wolves dictate your life and you will go on to hate the cage you have locked yourself in and loathe the life you would have had as you die alone and cold with no one that had truly ever loved you and allowed you to be you.” the woman's words are filled with nothing but love and grief as she stares daggers at Onji with her blood red eyes. The hierarchy of a lady and her handmaiden has already corroded away between the two long before this conversation but those times were sweeter, lovelier and happier.

Onji does not respond for a hot minute. Just lets the words sink in. Every word imprints itself in her mind and she can already envision it. And she accepts her fate.“And you think, you will give me…happiness?” Onji finally builds up the courage to respond. Her tone lacks any warmth; it's now colder than titanic water. The woman is flabbergasted at how she could even question that, how the woman she loved with all of her being can even have such a thought. She is about to answer her when, she's cut off.

“Let me tell you the truth in this moment…you will not be able to give me or provide me this happiness you speak off. I admit what me and you had was rather interesting but that's all it was a momentary and temporary. It's quite common for noble ladies to have such involvements with those below them to pass time, so don't try to put importance into yourself. You are nothing special and are as replaceable as the maid next to you. What was between was all in casual fun.” Onji says behind a mask of indifference not dare to look directly at the woman as she knows it would instantly crumble.

Silence is what follows again.

Until the woman's laugh feels the entire room. It is not pleasant. It is broken, laughing at this entire situation. “Is that the best you can do? Come on Onji I have heard you do far better than that. I have given you a chance to speak so please respect my turn to speak. You are lying not only to me and everyone around you but you are most especially lying to yourself. Telling yourself this over and over in hopes you believe it and can live with what decision you have chosen to stand by. And that has always been my favourite thing about you, your tenacious, strong willed, stubborn and resilient. I have always admired that about you…it is part of the reason why I love you so much and made me wonder what the girl behind all of that was like. You have taken your decision and I respect you for sticking by it. But please don't disrespect our love and call it casual…it is everything but casual or a fling. If you want to break it up just say it straight and forward and do not try to tell me indirectly. I have pride and would never beg to stay where I am not needed. I won't grovel.”

“I will most certainly not, and I am not hurt that you are ending it with me. I am just hurt that you could not have the courage and decency to tell me directly. To sit down with me and talk to me. Instead you have chosen to treat me like I am some stray dog that you can call and kick as you please, my lady. You are treating me as if you weren't the one who had begged me and cried in my arms for me to not leave you. I am hurt that you dared to treat two years of love, memories and passion like it's what under the bridge.”

“You don't need to remind me that I am below you, lady Onji I have never forgotten nor doubted it. I know my position in society and you can't shame me for it. I just want you to know that the path you have chosen for yourself will never truly fulfill you. Tomorrow you will put on that band on your hand ceiling securing your family and father's legacy but you will only bind yourself to nothingness. You'll stay up at nights looking at that band and you'll feel nothing but emptiness.”

“You think that sending me away will do you any good. But I promise I will only haunt you and I will be nothing more than a figment of your imagination.” the woman finally airs all her griviences out her tone in the entirety of her speech was hollow and agonizing. She waits for Onji's response and once again she's meet by silence.

She bows, one last time. “Thank you for the opportunity, lady Onji. I promise to work hard to not disappoint you and your family name.” she raises her head and grabs the document on the side table and turns to leave the room. Stopping at the door to to look back at her former lover and leaving her with just two words before closing the door, “Good luck!”

A few more moments pass before Onji crumbles down to the floor and breaks down to sobs. Grateful that the storm outside carried one helping her mask her cries with each roar from the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The storm continues to roar through the sky as Onji's grip on the sheet under her tightens, as sweat drips down her entire body, pain rips throughout her body threating to split her in half and her cries are drowned out by the Sky's stormy roars as lighting cracks through the sky as if gods above will jump out any moment.

“Push, my lady. You are almost there! Just a little more and it will all be over!” the midwife encourages her to give it her all.

Onji doesn't know if she can continue anymore, she has lost count of how many times the midwife has been feeding her these words. She may has lost count but her body hasn't, but it continues to push. Su has placed her head in between her thighs as she holds a damp cloth on to her ladies forehead, motivating her to not give up. She doesn't know how long she has been on this mattresses and how long she has been pushing but she was starting to feel her body starting to quit on her.

The storm outside releases a new wave of dangerous winds, heavy rains and wild lighting strikes, that mask most of Onji's blood curling screams.

This goes on for a few more moments until finally a high pitched, unapologetic cry is heard through out the room and the storm outside finally clears up.

The crying stopped.

Aang collapsed forward like someone cut his strings. The room still smelled like copper and boiled herbs, but the screaming was done. Thank the spirits.

He looked up at Onji. She lay against the pillows, pale and sweaty, staring at the ceiling like it owed her money. Classic Onji.

“Daughter,” the midwife said, wrapping the baby and dropping her into Aang’s arms like she was handing him a live coal. “Strong and adorable.”

Aang clutched the baby to his chest and shuffled to the bed on his knees. He’d practiced this. Eye level. Gentle voice. No airbending. “Onji. Hey. You did it. You’re amazing. You’re literally the strongest person…”

“Hot towel, my lord.” Su appeared at his elbow like she’d been hiding under the bed. She thrust a steaming cloth at him. It was too hot. It was always too hot when she did it. “For her forehead. Don’t burn her. She’s fragile now.”

Aang took it carefully. “I know how to…”

“You’re holding the baby wrong,” Su said, already adjusting the blanket around the newborn without asking. “Her head needs support. See? Like this. Not like you’re carrying a sack of rice.”

“I’m the Avatar and her father, Su.”

“And I’m her loyal handmaiden of nine years,” Su said brightly, then turned back to Onji. “My lady, shall I fetch the tonic? Or would you prefer Lord Avatar’s breathing exercises to soothe the shaking? He’s very good at those. Very… windy.”

Aang’s eye twitched. “I’m just trying to help, my wife.”

“I know, my lord,” Su said with the kind of smile that meant she absolutely did not know and also thought he was terrible at it. “It’s just, I’ve been holding cold cloths since before you learned her tea order. Takes practice. Would you like a demonstration?”

Aang reached for Onji’s hand. Su reached for it at the same time. Their fingers bumped.

“Sorry,” Aang said.

“No, my apologies, my lord,” Su said, but she didn’t let go. She just started patting Onji’s hand with the cloth while Aang was still holding it. Like she was giving him a hand massage he didn’t ask for. “See? Gentle circles. Not squeezing. You’re cutting off circulation.”

“I’m not…”

“You are, my lord. Three squeezes per second. I counted.”Onji stared at the ceiling. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t stop them. Just let her husband and her handmaiden bicker over her hand like it was a contested piece of laundry.

Aang gave up and kissed her knuckles instead. “I’m so proud of you, Onji. You’re incredible. You did this for our family. I’m here. I’ll always…”

“Tea!” Su announced, suddenly appearing with a cup she absolutely did not have 2 seconds ago effectively cutting off Aang. “Chamomile. No honey, because my lady said last Tuesday honey makes her tongue feel ‘fuzzy.’ I wrote it down. In a book. A very important book.”

She shoved it toward Aang’s free hand. “Hold this. Don’t spill. If you spill, the carpet screams.”

Aang took the tea. Stared at it. Stared at Su. Stared at Onji, who still hadn’t blinked.He was trying to be a husband. Su was acting like he was a servant for her to boss around.

Chapter 10

The time had moved and settled into the estate like dust. Seven months had been round and high. Onji could still pretend the weight wasn’t real. Nine months was different. The baby sat low now, pressing against bone. Noble wives didn’t complain, if not Aang. Su was not always within arms reach. Onji just paused a second longer before standing, one hand at her lower back, before smoothing her robes and moving like she hadn’t felt it.

Kazumi arrived mid-morning. No letter. No servants announcement. The side door opened and there she was, blunt and sharp-eyed, carrying nothing but herself and the weight of clan history.

Suri saw her first from the courtyard. “Aunt Kazumi!” A fire blast went wild and nearly singed the grass. Soren sent an air gust to blow it out, laughing.

Kazumi’s face changed. All the sharpness softened. She dropped to their height right there on the stones. “Suri. Soren.” She ruffled Soren’s hair and caught Suri’s hand. “Show me that new form you wrote me about. The one with the spiral.”

Suri beamed and started moving. Soren copied her, tongue between his teeth. For them, Kazumi had nothing but warmth. Aunt first. Always.

Aang was outside with them, correcting Soren’s stance. He straightened when he saw Kazumi. His hand moved before he thought about it, finding Onji’s lower back as she came to the door. Reflex now. Claim. “Kazumi. You came.”

Kazumi stood and faced him. The warmth for the kids shut off. Polite. Distant. “Avatar.” Just the title. Nothing more.

Onji welcomed her sister inside. Su brought tea. Then Su stepped back, quiet. The room narrowed to just the two sisters and the steam rising between them.

For a while, no one mentioned Aang. Kazumi helped Onji shift a cushion behind her back. Onji winced when the baby kicked, then smiled like it was nothing. They talked about clan gossip. About Kazumi’s garden in the lower district. About the last time Onji defended Kazumi when their uncle called her “adopted trash” at a family gathering. Onji hadn’t raised her voice then. She never did. She just looked at him until he looked away.

Real sister time. Slow. Heavy with things unsaid.

While pouring the second cup, Onji reached for the pot and her robe slipped at the collarbone. Kazumi saw it. A dark mark. Faint, but there. She didn’t accuse. She didn’t stare. She just asked, quiet, like she was asking about the weather.

“Hickey?”

Onji’s hand went to her neck like she’d forgotten it was there. She touched it and smiled. Small. Regal. No flinch. “Mosquito bite,” she said. Polite. “The rains were bad last week.”

Kazumi took her cup. Studied the steam instead of Onji’s face. She was old enough to know what a mosquito bite looked like. She’d been bitten her whole life in the estate gardens. This wasn’t that. She said nothing more. She didn’t have to. She read the room and understood.

Aang came in then, wiping his hands on a cloth from training the twins. He saw the two sisters sitting close and something in his chest tightened. Panic hadn’t left. If anything, it had dug in deeper overnight.

He crossed to Onji and his hand found her shoulder. Not her back this time. Shoulder. Safer. Still a claim. “Kazumi,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Kazumi nodded. Polite. Distant. Her eyes flicked once to Onji’s neck, then away.

Lunchtime came. Onji stood slowly and Su was at her elbow before she asked. “To eat with the children outside in the garden” Onji told Suri and Soren. The twins groaned but went. Su helped Onji to the door, hand steady at her back. The door closed behind them. Aang and Kazumi alone.Silence stretched. Aang broke it first. He started better this time. Calm. Reasonable. An olive branch before the fight.

“I know me and you aren't the closest in laws but it won't change my being here, the same as it won't with yours,” he said. “I don’t want there to be tension between us. For Onji’s sake. For the kids’ sake. They’re happy right now. I want to keep it that way.”

He paused. Then he delivered the line he’d rehearsed in his head since Kazumi walked in, thinking it made him the bigger person.

“I am your sister’s husband and I don’t want us to share any animosity between us, of course. Your sister is happy. The kids are happy. I wouldn’t want you and your sister to fight over small things.”

He said “small things” like the mark on Onji’s neck was nothing. Like his hand on her shoulder was nothing. Like Kazumi’s stare was a petty sister drama. He's Patronizing her!

Kazumi set her cup down. No sound. “I was there,” she said. Flat. “Suri’s birthday. I came to drop off the carving I made her. I wasn’t supposed to hear anything. I heard you anyway. On the other end of a conversation. Private. Not public. Just you, broken. And a woman telling you it was over.”

Aang went still. Blood left his face.

“You didn’t know anyone knew,” Kazumi said. “Good. Onji doesn’t know it's over. She only knows you had an affair for eight years. She doesn’t care. She’s not that into m…She’s not attached to you. But I care.”

She stood. Many years of Onji standing between her and the clan whispers. When Kazumi’s own marriage fell apart and everyone had opinions, Onji stood by her. Silent. Steady. No lectures.

“So now you’re here,” Kazumi said. Voice low. “After you were empty. After rejection. And suddenly you can’t stop touching her. She's nine months pregnant with your children and you’re putting marks on her and calling her your wife because you’re terrified she’ll leave too. But that’s not love, Avatar. That’s panic, the refusal to be alone.”

Aang’s fists clenched at his sides. Guilt hit first. Then Panic Love surged harder, trying to drown it. “You don’t understand my marriage.”

“I understand what it looks like when someone latches onto the first steady thing they can find,” Kazumi said. “Onji is steady. She won’t leave. That’s what you want. Not her.”

She turned toward the door. No slam. Just quiet. Final.

“Keep your hands off my sister. Unless you mean it. And we both know you don’t.”

Chapter 9

Aang watched Onji pour his tea. The steam curled up between them, slow and steady. The way her wrist turned, the quiet focus on her face.

Katara.

A name that has been ringing in his head for a while now…a figure he could not forget about. She was starting to morph into his life invading his mind, his routine, his life, his…marriage. And everytime he reminds himself she is not here and hasn't been for a while. She doesn't even check up on him but can he blame her when he has not reached out either. But he wasn't the one who threw away all those years together,all his care,all his love,all his vulnerability,all those memories she did! Not him!

The scent of ginger, rosemary and… jasmine lingered in the room and his entire senses took it in and for a heartbeat he was 19 again, in a tent in the South Pole, Katara pouring tea after a long day of bending practice. She’d looked up and laughed at something he said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

Guilt stabbed through him. Sharp. Ugly.

He forced his eyes back to Onji. Onji was here. Onji didn’t leave. Onji built him a home. Onji stayed up with him, brought him tea, managed the estate so he didn’t have to. Katara fought beside him, was what his childhood self wanted, what he thought he needed and in the end… she left. He did not leave she did. Onji… stayed for him.

“Thank you,” he said. And meant it. Meant it more than he should.

Onji nodded, polite. “Of course, my lord.”

“My husband,” he corrected softly. Testing the word. Liking how it sounded when she was the one saying it without him asking. “Say husband.”

Onji’s fingers paused on the teapot for half a second. Then she smiled. Small. Regal. “Of course, husband.”

The word landed warm in Aang’s chest. He told himself it was love. That this — her steady hands, her quiet presence, the way the estate ran smooth because she was in it — this was what love felt like when it wasn’t on the run.

“Katara was water. Refreshing and drowning him. Onji was fire. Warm and lighting his path. One flooded and changed with the tides. The other consumed and remained constant. One needed air…the other did. Plus air always made fire burn greater.” his mind had been repeating these words over and over again until he'd finally believe them.

He reached out and covered her hand where it rested on the table. Not demanding. Just… holding. Relishing the contact. Relishing that she didn’t pull away. Relishing that she was “his”.

“Stay,” he said. Soft. Almost a plea he didn’t recognize in himself. “Just… stay like this a little longer.”

Onji didn’t answer. She just let him hold her hand. Sitting next to him as he pulled her closer and started to explain the contents of the scroll in his hand to her like she doesn't know how it all works. Her intelligence almost feels insulted but doesn't act on it.

Day Four

Morning letters came with the courier. Three of them. Eastern Temple grain shortage. Northern acolytes requesting new prayer mats. The headmistress at Suri’s school asking about her mother’s signature on a permission slip.

Onji handled them at the low table while Aang pretended to read. She wrote fast, neat, decisive. No hesitation. This was her work. She’d been doing it for eight years while he was “busy saving the world.”

Aang watched her seal the last letter with wax. Her focus was total. Lips pressed, brow faintly furrowed. She looked nothing like Katara. Katara would’ve teased him while writing. Onji didn’t tease. She handled.

When she stood, one hand braced on her lower back for half a second before she smoothed her robes. Noble wives didn’t show strain. “Rest,” Aang said before she could move to the kitchen.

“I’m not tired,” she said. Lie. The third one today.

Aang stood and took the stack of letters from her hand. Their fingers brushed. She didn’t pull back. He didn’t let go fast. He liked the weight of the paper. Proof she trusted him enough to let him hold her work. “I can send these,” he said. Quiet.

Onji blinked. Surprised. “You don’t have to, husband.” The word. He made her say it. And she did. And he relished in it. It felt like she was choosing him. Not duty. Him.

He sent the letters. Felt useful. Felt needed.

Day Five

Rain. The estate smelled like wet stone and wood.

Onji moved through the halls checking for leaks. Seven months pregnant and she still climbed the small ladder to inspect the rafters. Aang found her there, sleeves pushed up, hair damp from a drip she missed. “Get down,” he said.

“I’m nearly finished,” she answered. Calm. Competent. “If the archive room floods, the children lose their history.”

Aang caught the ladder before she could descend. Held it steady. When she came down, her robes clung to her belly and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. She looked… capable. Built. The word he’d used to push her away years ago. Now “built” meant she didn't break.

She reached for a rag. He caught her wrist. Light. “You’ll catch cold,” he said. “Let the servants do it.”

“They’re entertaining the children,” she said. Then, softer: “I’m used to it, husband.” Husband. She said it without him asking this time.

Aang’s chest tightened. He pulled her away from the draft and draped his own cloak over her shoulders. His hands lingered. Adjusting it. Fingers brushing her collarbone. She stood still. Allowed it.

He told himself it was concern. It was. It was also relishing. Relishing that she let him fuss. Katara would’ve laughed and shoved him off.

Onji let him care.

For a second, steam from her damp hair reminded him of Katara after sparring. Wet, laughing, alive.

Guilt hit like a stone. Aang stepped back fast. “I’ll have someone bring tea,” he said, voice too rough.

Onji nodded. “Yes, husband.” He walked away faster than he needed to. Panic love said: Stay. She's here. She won't leave like she did.

Day Six

Dinner again. Just them. The children ate with the servants early. “So you and your mother can talk,” Su had said, eyes sharp.

Onji served him first. Always. Rice, then vegetables, then the fish he liked. She remembered. Of course she remembered. She’d been memorizing him for eight years. She poured his tea. Wrist tilted. Steam rose. Katara.

Aang’s chopsticks froze halfway to his bowl. Same angle. Same quiet. Same…

No. He set the chopsticks down and picked up the cup instead. Drank. Let the heat burn his tongue. Ground himself in Onji. Onji was here. Onji stayed.

“You’re quiet,” Onji said. Not accusation. Observation.

“Just thinking,” Aang said. Then, because he wanted to hear it again: “Say my name.”

Onji’s eyes flicked up. Confusion, then understanding. Noble wives didn’t use names casually. Names were intimacy.

“Aang,” she said. Soft. Careful. Like testing a word in a foreign language.

He exhaled. Sounded like relief. “Again.”

“Aang.”

He smiled. Small. Real. “You make this place feel like home.”

Onji didn’t answer. She just refilled his cup. But her hand stayed near his for a second longer than necessary. Not touch. Proximity. Wives stayed close.

Aang took it as affection. He relished in it.

Day Seven

Night. Lamp low. Scrolls abandoned.

Onji fell asleep in the chair again. Three nights in a row now. She’d claim it was “light rest.” Aang knew better. She was exhausted from running an estate + pregnancy + playing perfect wife.

He watched her sleep. The way her mouth relaxed when she wasn’t performing. The way one hand rested on her belly. Protective. Fierce. That was the Onji he never saw when he was avoiding her. The mother. The builder.

He stood and crossed to her. Draped the Fire Nation blanket over her shoulders. His hand came to rest on her shoulder. Thumb brushed once, twice. Testing. She leaned into it in her sleep. Just a fraction. Acceptance.

Aang sat on the edge of the desk beside her. Close enough that her breathing touched his knee. “This is nice,” he whispered. To her. To himself. “Quiet. Safe. You… you make it nice, Onji.” He thought he saw her smile in her sleep. Probably imagined it. But he chose to believe it. Panic was loud tonight. She’s steady. She’s constant. She won’t leave. This is love. This has to be love.

Katara’s laugh echoed once in the back of his mind. Distant. Fading. Guilt twisted.

Aang pressed his forehead to his knuckles for a breath, then straightened. Looked at Onji again. No. Onji was here. Onji chose to stay. Onji loved him. Had to. Why else would she do all this? He stayed until dawn. Hand on her shoulder. Relishing the warmth. Mistaking duty for devotion.

When Onji woke, he was already at his desk. Tea steaming. Her blanket folded neatly beside him. Like nothing happened.

“Good morning, husband,” she said. Perfect. Polite.

“Morning,” Aang answered. And meant it.

The estate was quiet. The letters would come. The children would laugh. And Aang would keep relishing these moments. Calling them love.

Chapter 8

Aang woke to the sound of porcelain settling on wood. Soft. Careful. The sound Onji made when she was trying not to exist too loudly.

He didn’t open his eyes. He could feel her already. Not touching him. She never touched him while he slept. Regal wives didn’t presume. But she was there. In the chair by his desk. Again. Third night in a row.

“Morning, my lord,” she said when his breathing changed. Voice hoarse from disuse, but sweet. Smoothed at the edges. “I brought tea. Ginger. For your stomach. You barely ate yesterday.”

Aang sat up. She didn’t look at him. Not directly. Her eyes stayed on the cup, on the steam, on anything but his face. That was her tell. When she looked at everything except him, she was bracing for rejection.

He took the tea. His fingers brushed hers. She didn’t flinch. She never flinched. But her hands were warm. Always warm. Even now, three days into this quiet performance, her skin held heat like she was storing it up for him.“You didn’t sleep,” he said. Not a question.

“I rested,” she answered. Same lie. Same regal tilt to her mouth. “I slept when you did. Lightly. That’s enough.”

Seven months pregnant. Back aching. Ankles swollen. And she called that “enough.” Aang looked away. Guilt sat heavy in his chest. He’d spent eight years running from responsibility. Now responsibility sat beside him with tea and didn’t ask for anything.

“You promised to walk with me,” Onji said after a minute. Soft. Not a demand. A reminder. “For the children. They asked if we would walk together today. They like seeing us… together.”

He hadn’t promised. But he must’ve said something close to it. Some mumbled yes to make her smile fade slower. Now she was holding him to it. Not with words. With expectation.

So he stood. She stood too. Slow. Measured. One hand pressed briefly to the small of her back before she let it fall. Regal wives didn’t show pain. Not where he could see.

The gardens were empty. Morning mist still clung to the grass. Su had taken Soren and Suri for calligraphy. No witnesses. No audience for their performance.

Onji linked her arm through his without asking. That she did ask, in her way. The way her fingers only rested against his sleeve. Light. Ready to let go if he pulled away. She wasn’t clinging. She was offering. There was a difference.

They walked.Step after step. Silence, but not the sharp kind from the last eight years. This was a softer silence. The kind that came from two people pretending they knew how to be quiet together.

Onji spoke first. About nothing. About the lotus blooming early this year. About Suri’s handwriting improving. About the way Soren stood when he threw air — just like his father. She kept her voice even. Honey-soft. The voice she used for court. For diplomacy. For keeping the peace.

Aang listened. He realized he liked the sound of it. It filled the empty space he’d left in this house. For eight years it had been too quiet. Now she talked and the quiet didn’t feel like accusation anymore. It felt… comfortable.

Too comfortable.

“You should sit,” he said when she winced. Small. Covered by a breath. But he saw it.

“I’m fine,” she said. Smile tilting up at him. “Walking is good for the baby. The midwife said so.”

“The midwife also said you need rest.”

Onji’s laugh was soft. Bitter, but she hid it fast. “Rest is a luxury, my lord. I’ve had eight years of it. I’d rather be useful.”

Useful. That word landed like a stone. She’d spent eight years being useful to a ghost. Writing letters he never answered. Raising children he loved but was mostly a legend to them. Keeping the temple running while she waited all the way from her. . .their estate. And now he was back and she was still trying to be useful to him.

Aang stopped walking. She stopped too. Always one step behind. Always ready to follow.He looked at her. Really looked. At the shadows under her eyes. At the way she held herself like her spine would shatter if she slouched. At her hand resting on her belly. Not protective. Possessive. Like she was reminding herself the baby was still there. Still hers. Still his.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. Voice rough.

“Do what?” she asked. Genuine confusion.

“Dote,” he said. The word felt ugly in his mouth. “Wait on me. Smile when it hurts. Pretend we’re…” He couldn’t say it. Pretend we’re fine.

Onji’s eyes flicked to his, then away. “I’m not pretending, my lord. I’m being your wife.”

That word. Wife. She said it like a vow she’d memorized and couldn’t stop repeating. Like if she said it enough, he’d believe it too.

Aang exhaled. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. He reached out. His hand hovered near her shoulder for a second. Then settled. Light. Just the weight of his palm.Onji didn’t move. Didn’t lean in. Didn’t pull away. She just… accepted it. Like she’d been waiting three days for him to choose. Her eyes closed for one breath. Relief flickered across her face before she smoothed it away.

“You’re tense,” she said instead of thank you. Her free hand came up. Fingers brushed his forearm. Not gripping. Just resting. Warm. Always warm. “You carry it all here.” Her thumb pressed lightly into the muscle of his arm. A wife’s touch. Habitual. From years of tending a husband who wasn’t there. Muscle memory.

Aang didn’t tell her to stop. He should have. He knew he should. But her touch didn’t feel like fire. It felt like… home. The home he’d run from. The home he’d broken. And for the first time since he returned, he didn’t want to run.

“I’m not your lord,” he said suddenly. The words surprised him as much as her. Low. Uneven. “I’m your husband.”

Onji stilled. Her hand on his arm didn’t move, but her breathing changed. Shallow. Careful. “Husband” wasn’t a title she could hide behind. “Lord” was duty. “Husband” was intimacy. And intimacy was dangerous.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. So she just kept her hand where it was. Warm on his arm. An answer without words. An agreement without promises.

They stood there a long time. Mist burned off the pond. Somewhere far off, Suri laughed. The sound floated over the garden wall and Onji’s mouth softened at the corners. Real, for half a second.

Aang’s hand stayed on her shoulder. He told himself it was guilt. That he owed her this much. But guilt didn’t make him memorize the weight of her. Guilt didn’t make him want to keep his hand there.

Content. That was the ugly truth. He felt content with her doting. With her quiet. With her warmth.

Chapter 7

The koi pond was still. Late afternoon light turned the water gold and made the air shimmer with heat.

Soren stood at the edge, eight years old and trying not to look proud. He threw a punch. Air rippled. A pebble skipped across the pond.

“Did you see that, Mom?” he called. “The masters say I’m getting faster.”

Onji sat on the stone bench. Seven months pregnant. Firebender blood ran hot in her veins, but right now it felt like fever. Braxton Hicks squeezed low in her belly. Stress made her core burn too hot. She pressed one hand to her lower back and smiled anyway. Regal. Perfect. A Fire Nation princess smile she’d learned at six.

The other hand let Suri braid a strand of her hair. Her fingers were warm even at rest. Always warm.“I saw,” Onji said. Voice honey-soft, but with that Fire Nation cadence underneath. “Very controlled. Your father would be impressed.”

Suri giggled, tugging Onji’s hair. “Soren’s not as good as Father. Father could make the whole pond wave.”

Soren stuck his tongue out. “Takes more than air to be strong. Mom says control matters more.”

“But mother is not an Airbender so her opinion does not truly matter on the subject.” Suri smugly proclaimed to her brother who only huffed at his sister's comment.

Across the garden, Su stood near the lantern post. Onji’s handmaiden since they were twelve. She wasn’t watching the children. She was watching Onji. Folding laundry with sharp, angry creases.

“Su,” Onji said, still smiling. “The children would like help picking lotus.”

Su didn’t move. “They’re fine. I’m watching you use that Fire Nation smile again. The one that means your blood’s boiling but you won’t let anyone see the flames.”

Onji’s fingers froze in Suri’s hair. Firebenders didn’t flinch. But for one breath, heat spiked off her skin. Then she banked it. Sickly sweet back in place. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not twelve anymore, Onji,” Su said, low. “I’ve seen you burn your own palms to keep from burning someone else. Don’t do it for him.”

Suri leaned into Onji’s side. “Mom, why was father gone for so long? Eight years is longer than we’ve been alive.”

The baby kicked. Hard. Right under Onji’s ribs. Her core temperature spiked a stress response. She exhaled and the air around her mouth fogged, then heated. She pressed her palm to her belly, cooling it with control she’d learned in the palace.“That’s a big question,” she said. Voice steady. “Your father was traveling. Learning. Making the world safer so you could have this pond.”

“But he missed everything,” Soren said.Silence. The pond went flat.Onji’s smile stayed. “He didn’t miss…you. He came back.”Suri tugged her sleeve. “Is he mad at you? Because you sleep in separate rooms sometimes?”

Onji’s fingers tightened, then loosened. Heat pulsed under her skin. She had to breathe to bank it. “Married people need space. Daddy loves us.”Su scoffed. “Love doesn’t leave scorch marks on wood, my lady. I mended that chair arm this morning. Fire Nation craftsmanship. I’d know.”

Onji went cold. Not temperature-cold. Firebender-cold. The kind that came before an explosion. For one second her eyes flashed gold. Then she blinked and it was gone.“Go play,” she said. Voice still sweet. But the air around her shimmered. “Both of you.”When the twins ran off, she pressed both hands to her belly and breathed. In. Out. Bank the flame. Don’t burn. Don’t break.. She couldn’t. Not now. Not with his guilt fresh.

Su didn’t leave. “You’re seven months pregnant and your core’s running fever-hot. You’ll trigger early labor if you keep this up.”

Onji stood. Slow. Every movement precise. Firebender control. “Say nothing more.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside, Aang sat at his desk. Not the chair by the window. Distance.

Onji entered. Tea steaming in her hands. Ginger. Her palms heated the cup without touching the flame. Rare moment of her using her fire convenience. Also a tell — she was running hot.“My lord,” she said. Knelt beside him despite her back screaming. Heat rolled off her in waves. “The children asked about your absence. Su noticed the chair.”

Aang’s eyes flicked to her hands. To the faint red glow under her skin where hs burned hottest. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” she said. Lied. Set the tea down. Her hands moved to his shoulders. Warm. Always warm. Firebender warmth meant comfort, safety, home. She used it like a weapon now. “Let me carry it. That’s what wives do. You were lonely. Anyone would reach for warmth. I shouldn’t have made you feel like a monster for it.”

His muscles locked. “Onji, you’re shaking.”

“From cold,” she lied. Firebenders didn’t shake from cold. “Let me. Please. A wife tends her husband’s burdens. You reached for me. I said no. But we’re past that. Aren’t we? Say we’re past it. For the children. For the baby who needs its father to stay.”

She massaged his shoulders. Her heat sank into his muscles, loosening knots. A firebenders touch is equal to healing when controlled. Apologizing when used like this. Her thumb brushed his neck and the skin there pinked from her temperature.

“Walk with me tomorrow?” she whispered. Heat in her voice now. “Show them we’re fine. We are fine, my lord. Say it.”

Aang grabbed her wrists. Her skin was too hot. Dangerously hot. The kind that burned if you held on too long. “You’re going to hurt yourself. And the baby.”

Onji blinked at him. Eyes glossy. Gold flickering at the edges. “Then let me burn, if it keeps you here. Mother's burn for what they love, Aang. It’s what we do. If I cool down, you’ll leave. And I can’t raise them alone in winter again.”

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Her heat soaked through his tunic. A womens most intimate apology — sharing warmth when she had none left for herself.

Aang didn’t push her away. He sat there, her furnace-warm hands on his back, while guilt told him to move and relief told him to stay.

Thank you for liking my story you guys.

Questions

Is the story understandable?

Is it moving too fast?

Should I continue making Aang the bad guy?

Do the characters make sense

Should I center around ATLA characters more?

|TW: Aang is scummy. Dub Con and gaslight. You read at your own discretion|

Chapter 6

Onji sat in the vanity because sitting was the only way her back didn’t scream. Seven months pregnant meant even standing to brush her hair hurt. The brush lay abandoned on the table beside her, hair half-done. The mirror reflected both of them without permission.

Aang stood behind the chair. Same spot as he’d stood three weeks ago when his hands had been careful. Asking without words. Tonight his hands weren’t asking.

He pressed his lips to hers from above, leaning over her, trapping her in the chair. A desperate kiss. Like a man who’d waited eight years and decided he wouldn’t wait for permission now.

Onji went rigid. For half a second her lips moved from shock, not want. Then her brain caught up. This wasn’t her lover from eighteen. This was the stranger she was married to. The one who left for eight years.She felt overwhelmed and rushed. The baby pressed against her lungs. No air. She started to tap on his chest, needing to catch her breath. Once. Twice. Her fists are weak but insistent. “Stop. Can’t breathe.”

Aang continued. Panic was louder than her tapping. He kissed harder, his weight pinning her to the chair. Like if he took enough she’d stop being a stranger.

She endured. Shoulders locked. Tears burning but not falling. Until Aang stopped to catch his own breath.

He cupped her face, panting. His thumbs traced her bottom lip like he was mapping territory he’d stolen. “You are so… beautiful. I don’t deserve you.” Aang said before leaning in for another kiss.

“Stop…” Onji protested. Voice thin. A plea, not a command.Aang then stopped. Half an inch from her mouth. But his hands didn’t leave her body. They rested on her shoulders, fingers digging in.

“What is it? Is everything okay?” Aang asked, puzzled. “The midwife said intimacy was permitted. Closeness helps. I though…”

“I’m just tired… I want to sleep please.” Onji said. She stared at his chest.Aang nodded. But his hands stayed on her shoulders one second too long. Weighing her words like they were a trick.

He didn’t let go. Instead he just looked at her. For a really long time. Eyes locked on her face in the mirror, her mouth, her belly stretched under silk, then back to her eyes. Not blinking. Breathing hard through his nose like he was trying to memorize her against her will.

Onji went still under his hands. Seven months pregnant and pinned to the vanity chair, with a man who’d just ignored her tapping and her “Stop.” Her skin crawled. The silence stretched. Unsettling. Heavy. Like he was deciding if he’d take more now that she was too tired to fight.

Before he could decide.“Dad!” Soren burst through the door without knocking. Staff clattering against the frame. “Suri ate the last bun and said I can’t have any…”

Aang flinched. The spell broke. His hands dropped from Onji’s shoulders like she burned him. He turned to Soren, but his eyes stayed wrong. Not dad eyes. Caught.

“Go get another bun from Cook,” Aang said, voice rough. Too loud. “Tell him I said it’s alright.”

Soren blinked between them. “Mom,are you alright? You look weird.”

Onji forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m tired, sweetling. Go eat.”

Soren left. The door didn’t quite close. Aang didn’t sit back down. He stared at the floor, hands fisted at his sides like he was holding himself back from her with his own fists.

“I’ll… I’ll be outside,” he said without looking at her. Then he left. The door closed soft. Aang’s shame.

Onji exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes. Her hands went to her belly. The baby kicked. Hard. Like it had been holding its breath too.

She stared at the closed door and thought: He’s not safe when he looks at me like that.

{The following days}

Aang still hovered. He was in every room she entered. Sitting by her bed while she napped. Standing by the window when she read. Present, but silent. Like a guard told he wasn’t allowed to speak to the prisoner.

He didn’t touch her. Not once. When it was time for her bath, he left. Every time. “Su,” he’d say, not looking at either of them. “Manage it.” Then he’d be gone before the water steamed.

Su took the job with grim satisfaction. And every time Su’s hands touched Onji, her eyes flicked to the door. Waiting for Aang to burst back in. He never did.A week passed like that. Seven days of quiet hovering. Seven nights of Aang sleeping in the chair instead of their bed.

{Late night, one week later}

Onji walked out of her bathroom. Hair dripping, robe tied loose around her belly. Steam followed her. Su stood with a towel.

“Go to bed, Su,” Onji said quietly. “I’ll manage.”

Su hesitated. Her eyes went to Aang. He was sitting near the balcony doors, back to them, staring at the dark sky. He hadn’t spoken to Onji in a week. Hadn’t touched her in a week.

“Are you sure, my lady?” Su asked, low.

Onji nodded. “Go.”Su left. The door clicking shut soft.

Aang reached for the towel on the table. He came up behind her, slower this time. Asking without words.

He started drying her hair. Gentle. Careful. Like he was handling glass that had already cracked once. For a long time neither spoke. Then his voice, low, like he’d rehearsed it for seven days:

“I just wanted to spend some time with you.” Not an apology. A justification. Onji didn’t answer. She stared at his reflection in the dark glass.

“The kids are so precious…” Aang continued, combing through a tangle. “Soren asked me today why you don’t smile at me anymore. I didn’t know what to say.”

The comb snagged. Onji flinched. He loosened his grip but didn’t stop.

“I did not realise being attracted to you repulsed you so much,” he said next. Quiet. Hurt. “Midwife said closeness helps. I thought… I thought if I was gentle, it would be alright.”

Onji closed her eyes. Suddenly she was the one who’d done something wrong by saying “Stop” and “I’m tired.”

He switched to the braid. “Quality time with my wife. That’s all I asked for. Seven days of silence. Seven nights of you turning your face away. I waited.”

The braid pulled tighter than necessary.

“You want to know what hurts?” he said. “With Su, you’re always smiling. Joking. Laughing. You call her ‘love’ when she brings you tea. ‘Thank you, love.’ With me, your husband, you’re silent. You flinch. You say ‘I’m tired.’ You say ‘Stop.’ She gets your laughter. She gets ‘love.’ I get your exhaustion and your fear. I am the father of your children, Onji. Or you’re always tired. But somehow you’re never too tired to laugh for her.”

Onji’s stomach twisted. The baby kicked hard.Aang let go of her braid and stepped back. “Goodnight, Onji.” He turned toward the balcony.

Onji watched him go in the reflection. Guilt ate her up. _I did not realise being attracted to you repulsed you so much.nYou’re always tired._

“Aang,” she said. Voice small. “At least come back to bed. Please.”

He stopped. Didn’t turn around. Then he walked back. Lay down on his side of the bed. Stiff. Staring at the ceiling. Not touching her. But his words stayed in the room, filling all the space between them.

Onji pulled the blanket to her chin. Her hands went to her belly. She stared at the dark and the night.

The guilt didn’t listen. It just sat there, heavy, while Aang breathed beside her like a man who’d been wronged.

Chapter 5

The courtyard was chaotic before sunrise. Twins at eight don’t do quiet.

"Lower!"

Aang called, ducking under Suri's fire whip. She was all flame and frustration today. Her fire roared when she missed. She missed a lot.

"You're thinking too hard," Aang said. He caught her wrist, gentled the flame until it was just warmth.

"Fire doesn't need force. It needs breath. Watch."He turned as Soren came at him with a staff. Air whooshed. Same age, opposite element. Where Suri was heat, Soren was movement. Aang redirected him with one hand, feet shifting like water. Earth would have stopped him. Fire would have met him. Air just moved.

"Like that," Aang told Suri.

"Your brother isn't an enemy. He's wind. You don't fight wind. You move with it."Soren grinned, eight and fearless. "Dad, show her the disappearing one!"

"Show him the one where you don't burn the courtyard down," Aang shot back.Suri stuck her tongue out. Then tried. Her next flame was smaller. Steadier.

Aang crouched, breathed, and for one second air bent around him and he wasn't there. Then he was behind Soren, tapping his shoulder."Gone!" Both twins shrieked at once. Eight years old and still amazed by it.

Onji watched from the balcony above. Seven months, and heavy. One hand on her belly, the other on the railing. The baby kicked like it recognized them. Their father. Their bending.

"Here you are, my lady," Su said, handing her lady a cup of tea. "Fresh and hot just like you enjoy it." Onji took the cup and sipped. "Thank you Su, it's perfect. If you do not mind me asking, Su. Why has my morning tea time changed?"

Su fixed her posture, trying to hide bitterness with playfulness. "Oww you know my lady. I am trying to be useful since it seems like someone is trying to take my role… that's all." Su threw a quick glare at the Avatar as he continued training with the twins. Onji snickered, sipping again. "Is this person… Avatar Aang by any chance?" Her tone was teasing.

"Forgive me, my lady but yes! It's a good thing you two spend more time together but he seems to be pushing me out. Serving you tea is my job! Giving you foot rubs is my job! Setting your bath is my job! Drying and styling your hair is my…"

Onji sipped her tea, eyes drifting back to the courtyard. Aang was showing Soren how to plant his feet. Same stance he'd used eight years ago when he taught her how to stand her ground. She blinked. That was before.

"He's just being selfish, strange and SUFFOCATING!" Su clamped her mouth shut at the volume. "I am sorry, my lady, I shouldn't speak like that of the lord…" Onji looked down, the sun warm on her face. She handed Su the empty cup. "No it's okay, love. You are right, he is being strange… Go prepare the children for school, I think they'll be ready soon." Su bowed and went back inside.

Then the lesson ended. Suri ran off yelling for breakfast. Soren chased her, staff clattering.

The courtyard went quiet. And Aang looked up.He saw her. He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just stood there, breathing hard, like he'd forgotten what to do with his hands once the children left. Like he needed a reason to stay in the room now that his reason had run off.

Onji stood up and turned before he could decide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her back ached. Seven months made everything ache.He was in her study when she arrived. Again.Not working. Folding a blanket she hadn't dropped. Testing the ink on a brush she hadn't used. Existing in her space the way Su did, except Su had eight years of permission and Aang only had three weeks of panic.

"The twins were loud this morning," he said without looking up. "Suri said your back hurts at this hour. She's right. You're rubbing it."

Onji lowered herself into the chair slowly. Seven months made chairs an enemy. "She's observant."

"She's yours." He set the blanket down. Didn't leave. Stood by the window instead, watching the empty courtyard. "I'll bring tea at four. You like it weak. Less nausea."

"I didn't tell you that."

"You didn't have to." He finally turned. His eyes were wrong today. Not Avatar eyes. Not calm. Man eyes. Raw, like he'd been awake too long. "You've been managing seven months alone. You shouldn't have to."The words weren't romantic. They were drowning the silence.

Before Onji could answer, Su entered with fresh tea. Saw Aang. Her smile went sharp at the edges.

"Avatar duties must be forgiving this month, my Lord," Su said, setting the tray down harder than needed. "My Lady has managed seven months alone. She isn't used to company."

Aang didn't flinch. "Yes, my duties have been quite generous, plus my wife shouldn't have to manage alone anymore."

Su's gaze flicked to Onji. Checking. Onji said nothing. She opened the ledger. "The tea is fine. You can go."

He didn't. "I'll stay until you finish. Hot tea and a cold room is illogical."

Su left. The door closed louder than necessary. Bitterness without yelling. That was Su's weapon.

An hour later Onji stood. Her lower back seized. Seven months meant the baby was all weight, all demand. She gasped, hand flying to her belly.

Aang moved before the sound finished. Hands on her back. Warm. Steady. One thumb found the knot near her hip and pressed. It helped. That was the problem. It helped.

Three days ago he'd been in the healer's wing. Voice low, asking questions he thought were improper. "For a woman seven months along… is it safe for a husband to be close? To touch? To share a bed?"

The midwife had smiled gently. "My Lord, intimacy between husband and wife is permitted in the later months, if she is comfortable and you are gentle. The child is strong. Your closeness eases her burden." He'd taken that answer like orders from a general. Gentleness. Presence eases strain.

Now his forehead almost touched her shoulder. Not a kiss. A lean. Like Katara's absence had knocked the air out of him and Onji's spine was the only solid thing left."Better?" he whispered. Not to her. To the midwife. To himself.

Onji closed her eyes. The baby kicked. She didn't feel attraction. She didn't feel anger. She felt seven months pregnant and too tired to fight a man who finally decided to stay.

"Yes," she lied. Soft. Practical. Because telling him to stop would mean explaining why. And she didn't have the energy.

Aang's hands stayed one second longer than they should have, moving up to her upper back. Then it slipped out, unguarded: "You look so amazing…"

Onji didn't answer. Amazing was a word for Suri's fire forms. For Soren's air tricks. Not for a woman whose ankles swelled and whose spine felt like cracked stone. She chose silence. It was easier.

|Warning English is not my first language and I am not a writer. Thinking of love drought in this chapter.|

Chapter 4

Steam clung to Onji's skin. Water dripped from her hair onto the stone floor, each drop echoing in the quiet of her chambers. Su had wrapped her in a robe and vanished without a word. Young handmaidens learned early when to become invisible.

The doors to her chambers stood open.

Aang sat on the edge of the eastern bed.He didn't look up when she entered. His shoulders were rounded. Not the Avatar. Not the man who could bend the air in a room just by laughing. Just a man who looked misplaced, like he'd walked into the wrong story and didn't know how to leave.

He waited.The room felt wrong with him in it.

Onji crossed to the vanity. Her vanity. The wood was cool under her thighs when she sat. She pulled the brush from the drawer. The bristles caught on wet strands near her scalp. Pull. Stroke. Pull. Stroke. The motion was automatic.

She tries to focus on herself rather than the man behind her who she doesn't know how to address.She continues trying to brush her hair and then another hard kick. She puts down the brush and tries to manage the pain. “Where's Su when you need her?” she mumbles to herself.

Aang stood. Three quiet steps brought him behind her. She saw him in the mirror. He saw her seeing him. For a moment neither of them moved. The air between them held its breath.He took the towel from the stand. He didn't ask. He lifted a section of her wet hair and pressed the towel to it. Gentle. Methodical. Like he was handling old parchment.“I'll assume she left because of my presence…allow me to serve you then.”

"You're both restless tonight," he said. His voice was low. It wasn't directed at her. It sounded like he was talking to the mirror. To himself. "The kicks are stronger when you're tired. I remember that. From before."Onji paused. "The baby is active," she said. The words were flat. A report, not a conversation.

"I can feel it," he said. He squeezed water from the ends of her hair. His fingers were warm against her scalp, working through the damp in slow passes. "When I was twelve, I used to get stomach aches before council meetings. My whole body would jump. Like this." His palm settled over her hand for half a second. Just the weight of it. Then he lifted it away. "It passes. Usually.”

“Did you just compare carrying an entire life to eating the wrong meal?” she accuses. “Just trying to give you some comfort.” Aang replies calmly while tying her hair to a braid. “What are you doing to my hair?” she questions disapprovingly. “A friend of mine said it helps the hair grow and be more bouncy.” Aang replies, continuing with his action. “Well I do not like it, so you can sto…” she is cut off. “Trying new things is not awful, give it a chance.” Aang dismisses her complaint.

After finishing his braid he takes the towel from her shoulders noticing how her hair still drips water. "You bend fire," he said after a while. "Your body should be warm. The hair should dry faster. It's illogical that it's still dripping."

"Illogical things happen," she said. Dry. The word felt thin in the room.

"Apparently," he murmured. He twisted the towel, wringing water into the basin. The sound was too loud. He did it again. And again. Like he needed the noise to fill the space. "I thought the eastern room would be quieter tonight. I thought I wanted quiet. But it's just empty. Not peaceful empty. The other kind. The kind that echoes.”

She stood. The robe fell straight around her ankles. She moved to the bed.Her bed. She pulled back the sheets. Cold linen. Smooth. Undisturbed. As it had been every night for eight years. She sat on the edge. Then lay down. The ceiling was the same cracked plaster she'd counted a thousand times. Nothing had changed.

Except the footsteps behind her. Soft. Hesitant. Stopping.

Confusion wrote itself across Onji's face. She turned her head on the pillow. Her brows pulled together. Not anger. Not yet. Just the look of a woman watching a rule break in right before her eyes.

Aang didn't ask. He didn't explain. He didn't look at her. He lifted the edge of her sheets and slid in beside her. On the wrong side. Her side.

The mattress dipped under his weight. Cold linen became warm in seconds. He lay on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the same ceiling. He didn't touch her. He didn't turn his head. He just... entered. Like the room had always been his too.The silence stretched. It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't hostile. It was new. And new things in this house made Onji's shoulders tense.

"You're quiet," he said finally. Still staring up. Still speaking to the ceiling more than to her. "Quieter than the eastern room. I thought that would help. But now I can hear my own breathing. And yours. And the baby."The baby kicked. As if on cue. Onji's hand pressed down harder.

"I forgot," he said. The words came out slow, like he was remembering something mid-thought. "How energetic they are. Suri and Soren. When the house is this quiet, you forget how loud they make it."Onji's fingers stilled on her belly. The chain of thought snapped. Why am I not pushing him off? The questions died before she could finish them.

"Suri didn't sleep last night," he continued. Still not looking at her. "She kept bending little flames in her sleep. Scorch marks on the blanket. The help said it's normal. Firebenders do that when they dream.”

"And Soren," he went on, quieter now. "He floated off his bed again. Just three inches. But he woke up laughing. Said the air was 'bouncy' tonight." He paused. "They have beautiful eyes, you know. Gold and grey. Hazel, I think it's called. Mixed. Like river water in sunlight."Onji turned her head on the pillow. Just enough to see his profile. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the space where his words had been. About Suri's flames. About Soren floating. About eyes that were both hers and his.

"They asked for you at dinner a few days ago," she said. It was the first thing she'd said since vanity. Her voice was steady. Practical. "Soren wanted to know if you'd teach him the staff form. Suri wanted to know if fire could melt ice without steam."

Aang's mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just the ghost of one. "I forgot how much they ask questions," he said. "The eastern room is too quiet for questions."

The baby kicked again. Onji rubbed the spot. The six inches between them on the mattress felt smaller now. Not because he moved. Because she wasn't calculating the distance anymore.

"I don't know why I'm here," he whispered. The ceiling was still his focus. "The eastern bed looked wrong tonight. It's been right for eight years. Why would it be wrong tonight?"

Onji didn't answer. She listened to his breathing instead. In. Out. Steady. A man who didn't know where else to go.Eight years of east and west. Eight years of careful distance. Gone in the space of wet hair, a towel, and two children's names.

|Warning this person is not a writer and English isn't her first language|

Chapter 3

Onji's breathing is finally settled down,her muscles are relaxed and her mind is steady. She has finally calmed down from her climax. She looks at the rooftop of the cave as she lies flat on the ground, her left hand covering half of her face. “Being grumpy and gloomy will not solve any of your worries.” a woman cuts Onji's train of thoughts. “So I guess swimming will?” she retorts sarcastically with a raised eyebrow to the entire suggestion.

The woman only reacts with a snort. “No but it will help you cool off resulting in a better train of thoughts…you won't think right if you are hot z. You never know if a cooler self can result in more rational thoughts, my lady” the woman speaks up continuing her swimming. “I bend fire, I think you can tell my usual temperature.” Onji retorts rather dryly.

Silence engulfs the two for a while only being broken by the sound of water splashing. “I did not bring you out of here to just be sour.” the woman protested after a while of her lover's pessimistic behaviour. Onji only sits up having regained some energy back and finally decides to at least dip her legs into the pond. “See that is better, right?” the woman says optimistically. “I might have to marry…”

Onji says out loud and creates a tense and awkward atmosphere in the cave.“Do not look at me like that, you know how noble houses operate.” Onji said rather defensively before the woman even voiced up to say anything.

“What is your father…” She's cut off by Onji. “His hands are tied in this situation. If the family elders and some court and ambassadors refuse to commute and work with his precious, silly and stupid daughter. No matter how much managerial experience I have I won't do much cause I am not male, it's unfair! I have worked so hard only to be stripped of my birth right, this business has been in our family for generations and now it is being threatened.” Onji says frustration and anger but most of all hurt.

She has worked so hard to understand her family's position and power within the fire nation. She thought that her family being neutral during the war would have helped her family gain wealth, influence and political power but the bigger miscalculation was the fact it made them more enemies than allies, surrounding them with wolves who after the war are desperate to put a political stamp on their names and use the chaos of the post war world to solidify themselves amongst the nations and come out on top into the new world.

Fire nation nobles feel as though thanks to their refusal to not stop their trades with other nations weakened resources for their nation resulting in them losing all their hard work especially after the defeat of Firelord Ozai. The Earth Kingdom who were their biggest trade ally, some nobles again felt wronged accusing the family of trading food supply to them at “high and unfair prices” during the war. Lies obviously,her family would never risk masses of people dying of starvation because of his prices, he wasn't that corrupt. The water tribes seemed to only be the non-satisfied ones but they held too little political power to offer any much assistance and would much rather not intervene in things that did not call for them. The Air nation had issues of their own to worry too much about politics of the nations.

“Can your family not ask for help from the Firelord, I mean your family is amongst his biggest supporters afterall, your father is also one of his most crucial ministers.” the woman questioned her love. Onji looked at her lover and wished it was as simple as she suggested, “It's not as simple as that. Firelord Zuko was only crowned four years ago, he is still considered politically unfit by many and a pushover by many of his nation's people due to his efforts of reparations and restitution to the other nations. So my father can not fall to him in this as it would put the firelord in a very difficult position and even gain him more disapproval ratings by other nobles.” Onji is frustrated at the Firelord's seeming weakness and bystander actions as her family is being actively torn apart but another part of her understands his position in this mess and sees how his hands are also tied.

“WOW! Noble people!!” the woman only compliments. “This is a matter of up-solute seriousness, Li…!” Onji never finishes the girl's name here…she can't afford or let herself do that. Onji is stressed and terrified of what the future can mean for her family, their legacy,her and the worst part, THEM.

The woman takes Onji's hands into hers and gives her small kisses on her knuckles, “Hey, everything will work out in the end. Do not kill yourself with worry. I still need you and so does everyone else.” The two women look at each other, something comforting about being it just being them it almost gives them hope for better circumstances where they are together for life. Things they don't need to say between the two of them. The two finally share a passionate kiss, before the woman can take Onji into the pond with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“My Lady? The water is cooling. Should I add more?”Su cuts through the silence.Onji's eyes open. “No, this is perfect.” steam rises in the bath. Onji sinks until the water touches her chin. The heat loosened her muscles after a day of strenuous activity and stress but at least her twins were finally asleep down the hall and soon she would be able to rest, kick…if someone doesn't stop her that is, she thinks as she starts to stroke her belly.Su sets the pitcher down, then hesitates.

Young handmaidens notice things.

Su musters the courage to break the silence in the room "Um... the Avatar went to your chambers earlier. After the guests left. He said he'd wait there if you weren't busy, my lady.”

"Tonight?" Onji says it quietly. Flat. Just fact-checking. "He's waiting in my chambers tonight? "Yes, my lady. He looked... lost. Not like the Avatar. Like he didn't know where else to go." Su replies, adding her observations.

Onji sinks lower until the water's at her lips. The baby kicks, hard. She rubs the spot, grounding herself.