A weight heavier than the world on one’s shoulders settled in then. A slow, but dawning realization of what Aang feared — truly terrified of having repeated again and again like it did many times before — appeared in Teresa’s eyes. Though they remained upon the stars hanging above like chandeliers, an emotion akin to contrition shielded her green irises.
The smile she brought forth to ease Aang’s worry steadily fell, restricted to contemplation. Still in thought, trying to imagine how to proceed with this new found realization. How to approach it in a way that wouldn’t scare him, or worse, force him to close up. She couldn’t do that to him. Nor could she leave him in silence after such an urgent plea. When she was in his shoes, she would feel the same about silence. Silence was terrifying on its own.
“Actually, I—“ A brief pause as she gently went to sit up, looking down where he watched with such worry and hesitation. She wanted to fulfill his wish - the small request of creating something of their own together to heal the wound she didn’t realize she placed, to smile again and pretend that nothing was wrong when all their worries remained unspoken through words of support and kindness - but they needed to discuss this first, before anything else.
Just how long did he feel so much hurt? Was it hurt she could have prevented had she stayed? Not all of it…but maybe enough where he wasn’t feeling scared now. Her hands lifted for a moment to reach for the scarf in her hair, but later decided to leave it in for now. Just for now.
And she realized, then, that she didn’t know what she could tell him to still his worries, the guilt that ate at him. The guilt that may CONTINUE to eat at him, long after these days have passed. It wasn’t easy to soothe it down. It never was. She should know — it was the same guilt she felt after hearing the news of his supposed demise, how she could have been there in Ba Sing Se. A circumstance that was near impossible, yes, but she still would have done anything to help him, to help him so he no longer carried such a heavy spirit in such a young heart—
“…Aang.” A tone gentler, hushed enough not to startle him. Shakily, she released a tender exhale, willing the fire within her core to warm her being as the back of her fingers reached to rest upon his temple, a gentle presence. For him to find comfort in the strength she prayed would come through for his sake, and her own to press on through a tough conversation. It was always tough, but for Aang, she would respect him and approach this seriously. She wouldn’t hide her own fears behind a smile, nor would she ignore his own. Let this bring him solace, so he wouldn’t feel responsible for something he wasn’t the cause for. “Was this how you felt all this time? Were you scared we would never see each other again?”
Monkey feathers.
This wasn’t what he wanted.
Aang had hoped, in some way, to dispel the discomfort twisting knots in both stomach and chest. Silently, he had been giving himself the reassurance he needed: a meditative reminder that everything was okay and he could breathe again if he only let himself. But somehow, no matter the amount of times his friends threw themselves into danger to help him, the sickening feeling never got any better. He didn’t want to feel guilty. And deep down, that voice of reason was telling him he didn’t have to. None of this was his fault.
To think that such crippling remorse had once been so much thicker a poison… Gradually, bit by bit, and with the teachings of Guru Pathik, the Avatar was accepting the idea that the weight of the entire world wasn’t on his shoulders. He was accepting that the war wasn’t on him. That he hadn’t failed. That the hardships and heartbreaks his friends went through weren’t something he could change or fix, but strive to simply be there for them no matter the cost.
Just like they were here for him.
So why could he still sit here, someone he held so very near to his heart alive and well and safe alongside him, and feel paralyzed as if that poison had crept back in—? Jeez, had he learned nothing?
She spoke to him softly—in that tone of hers that felt like a warm blanket tucking him to bed. His frustration toward himself and his lingering worry toward her stunted another exhale, and Aang tried his best to keep a stitch from bunching his brows. The hands tucked to his chest twitched feebly into slackened fists at the same time as her fingers drifted over his temple.
A flutter of his eyelids. Another measured breath chipped away at his despair. One little bit at a time.
“Shouldn’t I be sc—” Aang swallowed the word and replaced it. “—worried?” Energy (and a negative sort) hummed in his core, made his legs fidget like they wanted to move—maybe to run. But he’d always been good at that, and he forced himself now to stay. “Any ‘goodbye’ could be the last, couldn’t it? I didn’t know what they’d done to you, where you even were before Zuko…”
He bit his lip and forced a few of his nerves to settle. “If I had never figured it out, then…? You’d still be there. And maybe you would’ve—” No preventing the sour look on his face, mainly in spite of himself. “I hate thinking about that.”