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3.
The sea shouldn’t be as comforting as it still is. They’ve spent years out on her endless waters, away from families, safety, away from the simple joy of being in their homeland. They’ve lost dozens of men while out on the chaotic waves, have lost a good few just to the waves themselves - taken by the sea’s cold embrace, her damp claws clutching their lungs and hearts. Whether it’s the uncertainty that she possesses - her penchant for turning smooth horizons into the greatest storms - or because her damp fog brings with it illness and coughs, Bato knows that he should be tired of the sea, be disillusioned of her and her power.
Yet, he isn’t. For all the fear and terror the ocean inspires, Bato thinks that she tries to make amends with nights like these. Nights that have just a slightly cloudy sky, with the barest hint of wake, and stars shining so beautifully that it couldn’t be anything except an apology or a love letter. He thinks of the sea not as a terrible mistress but more like a petulant lover, one who, despite the fits she throws, does love them with all her heart.
He tells this to Hakoda, who stands silently, contemplating beside him. The theory earns him a chuckle, as he hoped.
“When did you become such a poet?” Hakoda asks, tilting his head to catch Bato’s gaze as he raises an eyebrow.
“Maybe I always was, and you just weren’t paying attention.” Bato huffs in fake offence, before breaking out into a grin. The decks of the ship are mostly silent, a few tribesmen milling around, but giving their chief and second-in-command a wide berth. They’re expecting to dock their ships soon, and their intelligence hasn’t indicated any sightings of Fire Nation fleets, so there’s a slightly unusual calmness in the air. A star twinkles down from the sky. Hakoda sighs.
“What’s wrong, Koda?”
He shrugs. “Nothing.” He catches Bato’s unamused expression. “Really, it’s nothing. I’m just, you know.”
“Thinking of Kya?” Bato asks, feeling his heart clench at her name. Even after all this time, Bato feels the loss of her presence like a missing limb, like a piece of ice pressing on the inside of his chest. He may not have loved her like Hakoda did (not like he loves Hakoda), but Bato loved Kya fiercely, with all his heart and soul. He only wishes he could think of her without feeling sorrow.
“Yeah, I’m thinking of Kya,” Hakoda confirms, smiling a bit at the sky. “She used to love nights like this.”
“I recall.”
Hakoda hums. “Remember that time she made us get on a canoe and ride out that iceberg to watch shooting stars? That night was a lot like this.”
Bato nods at the memory. Kya acting as a navigator at the front of the canoe, Bato and Hakoda both making the boat spin in circles to annoy her. Their laughter rang through the night and attracted the attention of tired seals and curious birds. When they made it to the glacier that Kya was trying to lead them to, the moon was high and bright in the sky, and stars rained across the dark canvas of space. Hakoda and Kya were already dating by then, and Bato looked away every time they kissed, ignoring the dark curl of envy that squirmed between his ribs and coursed through his veins. Ignoring Kya’s apologetic looks that she gave him in between fits of giggles and jokes. He regrets the feelings of resentment he harboured at the time, especially towards her. The envy was long gone by the time Sokka was born, but even now, thinking the anger he felt towards her brings with it a wave of shame.
“She was so mad when we kept rowing backwards,” Bato says, after a few seconds too long of silence. Hakoda laughs, tilting his head to bump it against Bato’s bicep.
“Spirits, she was! You’d think with all her shouting at us that our parents would have caught us.”
“They did catch us, Koda,” Bato reminds him, dryly. Hakoda rolls his eyes.
“Yeah but not because of her.” Hakoda presses his head against Bato’s arm again, and this time he leaves it there. After a moment Bato brings his arm around Hakoda’s shoulder, softly brushing some of Hakoda’s hair behind his ear. The strands are coarse by nature and by the salt spray of the sea, yet they feel soft and smooth beneath his roughened fingertips. They fall out of place, refusing to go where Bato directs them, prompting him to try again and again.
“I think she would have made us do something similar on a night like this,” Hakoda says. He doesn’t mention Bato’s hand in his hair or the fact that Bato is gripping him tighter. Wherever her spirit is, Bato hopes that Kya would be okay with this, that she wouldn’t be upset with how he still feels.
“Yeah,” Bato agrees, feeling Hakoda shift to look up at him. “I think she would too.”
“Maybe you would have more fun this time around.” Hakoda looks back to the sky, and Bato feels like a fish on the end of a line, mind reeling as he tries to decipher what Hakoda could mean by that. Before he can ask - before he can even think of how to ask what he means by that, one of their warriors approaches them, tearing them away from the beautiful sky and the safety of their memories. The warrior tells them that they’re approaching the town they mean to dock in.
Hakoda nods, steps out of Bato’s embraces as if it’s nothing (and, really, isn’t it nothing?) and goes to do his duties as chief. Bato looks at the sky once last time, looks at the playful waves, and the winking stars, wishing that he had done so all those years ago, before turning and stepping away too.
2.
Bato’s memories of Sokka and Katara are a bit jarring. He remembers them as young children, toddling around, needing help and saving from everything - especially each other. He remembers them as grief-stricken, forced to grow up too soon. They stayed like that in his mind for many years, unchanging, ungrowing, even though every year he and Hakoda tried to send at least a letter home in time for their birthdays. Neither of them is sure if they ever made it. And then, suddenly, the two of them appeared in front of him at the Abbey, so much older, taller, and wiser than he could have ever dreamed. Such little mirrors of their parents, certainly having inherited their attitudes. It almost made Bato feel guilty when he remembers that he got to see them again before Hakoda.
He knows that Hakoda struggles the same way he does when he thinks of his children. Despite their rational understanding that they’re older now, that they’ve fought hard battles, survived out in the world alone and without adult supervision, it’s so hard to separate that from the urge to treat them as the children they were, and still are.
It causes more than a little friction, and whether it’s because Sokka and Katara see Bato as part of their family (after all, he is over for dinner more than anyone else), or whether they would be willing to drag their heels in the snow in front of anyone, they’re not afraid to start arguments with Hakoda in front of Bato.
He tries to stay out of it but sometimes he just can’t help it.
“You can’t go boating tomorrow - it’s set to storm,” Bato says, replying to Katara and Sokka’s request to go out. Hakoda had already given a tentative no, but the two of them kept pushing for an answer.
“So? We’ve dealt with worse weather before,” Sokka says, raising an eyebrow and leaning his head against a hand.
“You don’t know that,” Bato replies, already regretting getting involved when he sees Katara’s pursed lips and drawn-in eyebrows. “You two know how hard it can be to navigate during a storm in the ice fields. And the other times you’ve piloted through bad weather it was in the sky, with other benders. Tomorrow, all you would have is Katara.”
“I can handle it,” Katara says confidently, crossing her arms across her chest.
“I’m not questioning your skill,” Bato tries to placate, knowing it won’t help him. “But all you need is to get caught off guard for a moment and that’ll be enough to throw you off or to capsize the boat. No matter how skilled you are, the water is cold enough to knock you out quicker than you can regain control.”
The two of them are silent for a moment before each of them launches into a spell of arguments and rebuttals. Bato sighs and glances over at Hakoda, who seems to have enjoyed his moment out of the hot seat, though his eyebrows are furrowed in thought. He catches Bato’s eyes, and smiles slightly, before looking back at his children, waiting for them to run out of things to say. It takes a minute.
“If Bato doesn’t think it’s a good idea, then it’s not a good idea,” Hakoda says, with a rare finality that shuts makes the teens huff and grumble, but not argue back. His gaze sweeps over the table, landing on Bato and softening, warming, like a frozen river in the spring. “I trust him. His judgment, I mean.”
The admission is enough to warm Bato’s face, making him get up and take his dishes outside to wash in the snow, to avoid having to deal with the pounding in his chest. As he leaves, he can hear Hakoda saying, “You know we both just care about you two-”
It storms the next day and when Bato battles his way through the wind and snow to go to Hakoda’s house to do some work with him, he sees Sokka and Katara sitting by the fire, annoyed but safe, and Hakoda looks at Bato like he’s the sun.
1.
The two of them barely get a moment alone anymore. Between having Sokka and Katara within arms reach now, and all the work that has to be done has to be approved, has to get started, it’s not uncommon to have at least one or two people in the room with them at any given time. Hakoda isn’t so childish as to be upset about this; he’s ecstatic about the fact that he has his children again, that his mother was waiting for him when he returned, and that there are so many willing and eager members of his village that want to help rebuild their strength.
But he does miss the quiet nights alone with his best friend. Misses the soft, innocent touches that he received when there were no prying eyes. Every time he thinks he’ll get a moment of peace with Bato, a moment to maybe sit down and talk and think about what they’re doing after all these years, something gets in the way. A proverbial - or sometimes real - fire that needs him to put it out. It would be kind of funny if it wasn’t so frustrating.
Because, and it’s shocking to admit it to himself, Hakoda wants to talk to Bato about the soft, innocent touches they used to share. He wants to talk about the playful, happy loving gaze that Bato looks at him with when he’s found something that Hakoda has done particularly amusing. He wants to talk about it because, as much as he hates to admit it, he feels old, too old to be playing this ‘will they, won’t they’ game that they’ve been playing for years - probably more years than Hakoda wants to admit or have even noticed.
How ironic, he thinks to himself when he’s awake too late into the night, with only the sounds of his family sleeping peacefully to remind him that he isn’t the only person left alive, that feeling too old is what stopped him from pursuing his friend for so many years, and now it’s what compels him to settle the matter once and for all. For so long, too long, Hakoda felt the weight of his wife’s death, the weight of his children’s lives, the fate of his village, pressing down on him, ageing him down to his bones, and pulling him away from the thought of finding another lover.
He had a life, he often told himself, a wonderful, happy life, with Kya and Sokka and Katara. It would be selfish, foolish, to ask for a chance at another one, to try and fan the spark in his chest into the burning ember that lived there now. Lovesick pining and pursuits were a young man’s game, a game meant to be played when the stakes were low and an endless war wasn’t raging.
Of course, Hakoda hadn’t banked on the war ending, certainly not in his and Bato’s lifetime, and with both of them surviving. Nor did he bank on the spark in his chest growing into a constant warm glow. And yet, here he is, survived a war with his family alive, and unable to get a moment’s worth of quiet to try and piece together feelings that he’s certain he and his friend have shared for decades.
Hakoda is so focused on his inner turmoil, that he almost doesn’t notice when he walks into a tent and finds it empty, save for Bato. The taller man looks up from his work, smiles when he sees Hakoda and jerks his head to tell him to come and sit.
“Where’s everyone?” Hakoda asks, almost wincing at the question. Just like him to look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth. Bato shrugs and scoots over so that Hakoda can sit on the floor cushion next to him.
“Some hunting groups went out and decided to show some of the foreign ‘diplomats’ around.” Bato rolls his eyes at the word ‘diplomats’, happy to not have to fake respect that he doesn’t hold. “Everyone else, I think, saw this as an opportunity to relax with their families for a day.”
Hakoda hums as he sits down next to Bato, all too aware that he’s close enough that he could bump knees with the other man. “What do you think it says about us that we’re here?”
Bato snorts. “It says that we’re some of the only men that came home and didn’t immediately sire more children.”
Hakoda lets out a small laugh at that, leans over the chabudai to get a closer look at what Bato is working on. They work in relative silence for a while, Hakoda passing his work over to Bato to be looked over, sometimes commenting on some of Bato’s, both of them trying to make some headway in the mountain of reports, requests, and agreements that need to be looked over and approved. If it wasn’t all necessary, Hakoda doesn’t know how he would stand it all.
It doesn't mean he has to like it. He groans in exhaustion, leaning over to rest his head on Bato’s shoulder, burying his nose in the soft fabric. Bato lets out a hum in acknowledgment before tilting his head slightly to get a look at Hakoda.
“Something the matter?” His voice is soft, gentle in a way that it so rarely is, such a departure from his usual deep candour. From this angle, Hakoda can see his face in such fine detail. The dip and deep colour of his lips, chapped and stress-bitten. The fine wrinkles that adorn his face, proof of a life hard and well-lived. The darkness of his hair, slightly wavy and soft, only now starting to get a hint of shining silver in the roots. Hakoda thinks back to Bato as a teenager, his face slender and smooth, hair dark and finely braided before it was shaved, eyes and wit sharp enough to stop anyone from arguing with any of his decisions. It’s almost funny how so much has changed, and yet Hakoda can so clearly see the ghost of their pasts in every detail of Bato.
“No, nothing is wrong,” Hakoda whispers, finding himself so much closer to Bato’s side than he remembers. He feels the whisper of Bato’s hair brushing his cheek, the warmth of his breath against his nose, and yet he still finds himself leaning closer, can feel Bato tilting his head down to meet him.
Hakoda feels a soft brush of lips against his own, gentle and shy despite the roughness. For a moment, Hakoda thinks that that might be all there is, before Bato leans down again, pressing himself against Hakoda with more force, more warmth, more everything . A hand goes up to cup Bato’s cheek, thumb rubbing the cheekbone gently, and he feels Bato’s slender fingers as they slide through his head, tugging it slightly before it comes to rest behind Hakoda’s skull.
The kiss is gentle, exploratory, and feels well won, less like a dam bursting open, more like a meadow receiving sunlight after a long, dark winter.
And like a cold snap, the warmth is gone, and Hakdoa feels Bato pulling away, trying to remove his hand from Hakoda’s hair without hurting, but certainly with a panic that wasn’t there before. He stands up quickly, without looking at Hakoda’s confused and hurt face and starts to leave.
“Bato,” Hakoda tries to call out, knowing that his friend’s stubbornness will stop him from turning. “Bato, come back-”
“I don’t want to deal with this right now,” Bato calls over his shoulder, voice a strangled mix of hurt, worry, and regret. “Just. Just let me think.”
He’s out the door before Hakoda can reply, and he sighs, body slumping against the table. The room already feels colder without Bato by his side, though his heart still beats fast and the flush remains on his cheeks. Everything haunts him. The ghost of the war, of the men that he boarded his ships with who never returned, the ghost of Kya, the ghost of his children who have grown up so much without him. He thinks that the feather-soft feeling of chapped lips against his own, the burning heat of breath on his mouth, the stillness of the air between them; he thinks that feeling with be another ghost that haunts him
Hakoda remains slumped against the table for a while longer before he finally pulls himself up to return to his home. He looks out at the sky when he leaves, the wind brisk but gentle, the horizon clear. It feels like a shame to waste what will sure be a beautiful night on self-pity.
1
The night sky glitters with stars, shining through the faint layer of cloud, and the tide is gentle, waves batting playfully against the side of the canoe. There’s a chill in the air - standard for this time of the year, this far south - but even after years being home, the years at war have tricked Bato into thinking that warmer weather was the norm.
A part of him is certain that he’s too old for this, to be rowing a boat so late in the evening, when the wind wants nothing more than to worm its way inside his parking, gnawing at his sore joints, in a way that he knows will be miserable tomorrow morning. He’s too old to have allowed himself to be goaded out onto the water.
Hakoda turns to look at him and he smiles so brightly that the stars look pale by comparison. Bato can’t help but smile back.
“I don’t think we’re going to find the glacier,” Hakoda admits, bringing his orr back into the boat, twisting himself so that he sits facing Bato.
“Of course we’re not,” Bato says, voice as dry as winter winds. He brings his oar into the boat as well, only barely resisting the urge to smack Hakoda with it. “It’s been, what? Twenty? Twenty-five years since we last went out to it?”
Hakoda huffs crosses his arms across his chest in a way that makes him a perfect mirror of his teenage self (and both his kids, Bato thinks, amused). In a voice that Hakoda would never allow Bato to categorize as a whine, he says, “I know.”
“Then why drag me out onto the water?” Bato pushes. Hakoda lets out a sigh and looks up at the sky again. His hair falls away from his face, the light highlighting the peaks and valleys of his face. He’s filled back out, now that they aren’t rationing food and being starved, and his strong cheekbones produce graceful shadows across his face. In the moonlight, Bato can only see the faintest hints of the wrinkles, crows' feet, and laugh lines that he’s memorized.
“I thought it would be nice, you know? To get back out on the water on a night like this.”
“A night that Kya would have liked?”
“Yeah.” Bato remains silent, but he too looks up at the sky. There are no shooting stars, no arctic lights in the sky, but it’s beautiful in a way that Kya always appreciated, and above all else, Bato and Hakoda both loved everything that Kya loved.
Maybe they loved more of what Kya loved than they thought.
“She would have liked this,” Bato finally chokes out. The wake of the sea feels comforting, like a mother rocking a child to sleep. He sees Hakoda tear his eyes away from the sky to look at him. “We would have had fun on a night like this.”
Gently, Hakoda brings his hand to Bato’s knee, letting it rest there for a moment. Bato freezes, unsure of what boundaries exist between them now. So many people think that his silence is one of understanding, yet after their kiss, after everything , Bato feels nothing but hopeful confusion.
“Even you?” Hakoda asks. “Would you have had fun too?”
“I always had fun with you and Kya,” Bato defends, finally bringing his eyes away from the heavens and back to Hakoda. He sees Hakoda’s raised eyebrow and sighs. Almost shyly, like he’s a teenager on his first date again, and not the old man that he is now, he places his hand on top of Hakoda’s. “Yes, Hakoda. I would have had fun.”
Hakoda smiles. Bato thinks that Kya would have smiled too.