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When Hakoda closes his eyes and thinks, even his oldest memories are colored.
They meet as children. He’s always thought Kya was pretty, but it isn’t that kind of love, not at first. At first he’s not even sure what he’s seeing, the colors pale-edged and faint, the way a burst of fondness from a parent or sibling can trick the eye—not true soul colors, but there, phantom flickering.
The colors resolve as they grow older. The way the ice tints purple in the early morning light, when she takes his hand for the first time. Walking the brilliant blues of the glaciers, looking in her eyes and just knowing. The soft orange glow of the hearth. Sokka’s soft round face, so much like his mother’s that it makes his chest ache with fondness. Katara’s shining blue eyes.
And then Kya dies, and his world goes gray again.
It’s dark on the water. The crew is celebrating. They’re spread out on the deck, laughing, distracting themselves by telling stories they’ve told dozens of times before. Bato crosses his arms over the railing. The macabre lighting of the smoldering Fire Nation ship sinking beneath the waves won’t last much longer. They burn quickly. It’s mostly metal after all, and once the most flammable bits have gone up, they slide beneath the waves like shadows.
They’re enjoying the cool night air before the light totally goes and they’re forced back into the stuffy cabin below deck, where the acrid stench of the smoke clinging to them is harder to ignore. Hakoda is leaning against the rail near the bow, and Bato can’t help how his eye keeps getting drawn his way, like a magnet to its pole. There’s a streak of soot on his cheek, and the angle of the light makes him look otherworldly, cast in deep shadow with the bright glint of his gaze flickering with the dying fire.
Nanuk lays a hand on his shoulder, and Hakoda startles like he’s only just realized he isn’t alone. He tilts his head slightly, and the shadow slides away.
“You should join us,” Nanuk says. Bato traces his thumb along the rim of his cup. He tries not to focus too obviously on the way Hakoda’s arms flex against the rail as he turns back toward his men. He considers them for a moment. Bato can almost hear him counting heads in his mind. They’re a few men shy of the full crew, right now—a couple of men are below deck, having their wounds seen to. Overall they were lucky tonight, and the injuries were minor, just a couple burns, and a cut that was slightly too deep to leave untended, courtesy of one of the enemies’ nonbender crew, and which Kolom insisted was just a lucky shot.
Only a couple of the men are lagging, and they have plenty of liberated food and drink to go around. Hakoda still finishes his count, sighs through his nose, and waves Nanuk off with a genial smile.
It’s not that Bato’s surprised, because Hakoda has always put his people first, and even with the stress of leading the fleet, that’s never wavered. He’s always admired that about him—and been frustrated by it, if he’s being honest with himself, because Hakoda’s the first person to challenge him when he needs to cut himself some slack, and the last person to ease up on himself.
It’s such an innocuous moment, barely seconds of conversation exchanged between the two men. But now in the dying light of the fire Bato looks at him, and the careful way Hakoda’s gaze lingers on the rest of the men even after Nanuk has wandered back to rejoin the merriment, and he can’t help the emotion that tightens in his chest, fondness, yes, but more than that—
Hakoda makes a wounded sound. It’s so quiet that it’s nearly swallowed by the creaking groan of the sinking ship. Grief washes over his face so quickly Bato almost misses it. The look shifts to confusion. Then he stiffens, and turns to look right at Bato. The bewildered wonder on his face is unmistakable, and Bato’s heart rises in his throat.
Oh.
Hakoda is a good man, so he tries.
In some ways, things don’t change. Hakoda is still his best friend, and they’ve loved each other for years, even if it's not quite the same. When Bato tries not to act any differently, to keep their friendship the same, Hakoda is mostly willing to let him take the lead. That doesn’t mean he can’t see what he’s doing to him—what his best friend is doing to himself—in every considering look or too-heavy silence.
He still loves Kya, and Bato wouldn’t expect anything less. But he’s still mourning her, too, and Bato knows that that’s where the problem lies. He’s not ready.
They’d been tailing a Fire Nation vessel for days. They’d managed to catch up with it just as it was glancing along the waters near an Earth Kingdom port.
Most likely, the ship would have left them alone, but the port was undefended and Hakoda hadn’t wanted to take the risk. Bato’s pretty sure the captain must have shit himself when he’d seen the Water Tribe ships descending on him like vengeful spirits, because in their panic to escape they’d managed to run themselves aground on the reef.
All the better for them. The Earth Kingdom had sent their own representatives conveniently as soon as the fighting had ended, but they’d been happy enough to let them pick over the scuttled ship when they were done. The ship wasn’t large, but they had food and fresh water, and Hakoda is always looking for ways to avoid indebting themselves too much to the local Earth Kingdom authorities, lest they get the wrong expectations about their alliance.
Food and water is all well and good—though some of the things that the Fire Nation seems to deem as acceptable to serve to their Navy hardly seems edible. Bato’s not even sure he’d feed it to the fish—but it was the special goods in the hold that had the crew’s spirits up tonight. One of the younger men had made quick work of tracking down the ship’s stores of apple plum brandy, and Bato had done a little exploring of his own.
He’d wandered off toward the stern after that. The crew is always a bit riled up after a hard earned victory, but the easy fights don’t even have the decency of wearing them out. They’ll settle down eventually, once the adrenaline has worn off some. For now, even back here by the rail where the wind carries the sounds of the deck away from him, the boisterous conversation is loud enough to rattle teeth. Bato pulls his find from his pocket—a bit of ashroot from the captain’s desk, and the only good thing to ever come out of the Fire Nation, in his opinion—and occupies himself with eavesdropping on the too-loud conversations while he rolls the shredded root with one of the papers he’d snagged with it.
“There you are,” Hakoda says. He’s carrying a lamp in one hand. Bato leans in as soon as he’s close enough to reach, and Hakoda stops obediently, long enough for him to get a light. He sits down when Bato’s done and gestures for him to hand it over before he’s even finished exhaling.
“This is becoming of a ship’s captain,” Hakoda jokes. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, though he’s considering the lit joint with great gravitas as Bato offers it up.
“Eh,” Bato waves dismissively, slicing through the hazy cloud with his palm. The ashroot has been infused with something sweet, and the cloying scent of it is almost enough to cover the acrid smell of the smoke. He’s not sure he’d pick it if he had the choice, but it’s not the worst thing he’s ever had. “If we didn’t find it, one of the men would have. And then who knows what they’d get up to. Really, this is the responsible thing.”
Hakoda snorts and takes a drag. He holds it for a moment before cutting a considering look in Bato’s direction. He exhales gustily.
“That excuse didn’t work when we were kids,” Hakoda says. “Not sure how well it’d work now.”
“Run it by Kuik, let me know how it goes,” Bato says.
Hakoda barks a laugh, and the sound of it, combined with the image of the healer’s perpetually-sour face that floats into his mind, is enough to make Bato’s schooled expression crack into a grin.
They pass it back and forth a few times, with their backs pressed against the rail, enjoying the privacy while they have it. After a while, Hakoda reaches out to turn the lantern light down, and Bato blinks until he can make out more than the single point of brightness in the dark. Hakoda is staring at the lit end of the joint, rolling it between two fingers.
Idly, Bato wonders what it looks like in color. He’s not normally a jealous person, but he is curious every time something catches his friend’s attention. He can’t help but wonder what it's like to be able to snatch more than a few muted glimpses of color at a time. He reaches out to take it from him, if only to grab his attention again.
Hakoda turns his head with languid slowness. They should probably call it a night soon. The revelry of the rest of the crew may only be getting louder, but they’re getting too old for this. Bato turns toward him, too, and realizes that Hakoda is watching him.
He’s got that same dumb look on his face that he’s always wearing these days, like he’s trying to decide if Bato is sad, or something equally stupid. As if he could ever be unhappy when he has moments like this.
“You can, if you want to,” Hakoda says. He leans forward just slightly when he says it, like he thinks Bato’s not going to get his meaning otherwise. They’re getting far enough north that they’ll need to swap their warm weather robes for something thicker soon. That’s not why he shivers when Hakoda leans close enough that a warm puff of air ghosts over Bato’s cheek. “I don’t mind.”
Bato traces his gaze over Hakoda’s face, down to his lips. One of Hakoda’s hands drifts up to his arm, encouraging, or maybe just steadying. His heart beats treacherously faster at the touch. He does want to. He wants to, and by the look on Hakoda’s face—relaxed and patient, loose from the smoking, and maybe, he thinks, as his eyes flick down to Bato’s lower lip, maybe a little curious too—he really wouldn’t mind.
“I know,” Bato says after a moment. The thing is, Bato really is happy. There’s no need to push things between them. They aren’t broken, and there’s nothing to fix. He shoots Hakoda a half smile, stubs the joint out against the rail, and flicks it over the side. “I don’t mind either.”
Hakoda leans back and considers him, like he’s trying to decide if that’s true. He sighs, a short gusty sound, and it’s close enough to relief that the creeping self-consciousness in the back of Bato’s mind, wondering if that was the right thing to say, eases. Hakoda’s shoulder bumps against his. Bato leans over to grab the lamp, and when he glances back, he’s already turned his gaze toward the sky.
“Thank you,” Hakoda says, and they leave it at that.
Out on the open sea, there’s nothing between them and the stars. On a clear night like tonight, even with only a slivered moon cutting across the dusk, it should be easy to find their way. They’ve been sailing so long that Bato had almost forgotten how dark it could get with the forest canopy looming over them. The few scattered gaps in the leaves cast spotted shadows over the uneven ground. It’s hard enough to keep his feet moving, let alone to make out the shadowed shapes of the brush and detritus littering the forest floor.
He’s drifting. Distantly, he’s aware of it. He’s sure that the hazy gap between his body and his thoughts is the only thing keeping him moving. Everything hurts, but it’s a one-note agony; he’s not even fully aware of how bad it is until his foot catches on something in the dark, and his shoulder wrenches forward as he stumbles. He doesn’t come around until minutes later, retching on his knees with Hakoda’s strong arms curled around his waist to hold him up.
He’s not sure what the extent of the damage is, only that it’s bad. He’s too focused now on watching his feet to look too closely—he’d tried to look, once, when they’d broken out into a dappled sliver of moonlight, and after one quick glance at the raw, blistered skin, he’d decided that leaving the mystery of it to the darkness was probably for the best.
Bato’s not sure where the rest of the men have gone, only that it’s quiet now, aside from Hakoda’s strained breathing in his ears. The night feels… slippery. He’s not sure how else to describe it, only that he blinks and the trees have moved around him, trunks and rocks and brush he’s sure weren’t there moments ago. His lungs rattle wetly. He’d choked on a pained gasp when the firebender struck him, and the heat had been near unbearable in his lungs. His throat aches with it.
“Where?” he croaks. He’s not fully sure what he’s asking, if he’s asking about the ship or the men or the enemy soldiers, if he’s asking where they’re going, plunging into the dark alone when Hakoda should be gathering the men and fleeing before the Fire Nation finds them again.
Hakoda doesn’t look at him, doesn’t take his eyes off the forest in front of them. Bato can’t tell if it’s a path he’s following—it’s too dark to see, nothing but black and gray shadows, but Hakoda’s gaze rakes over the brush like he’s seeing something there that Bato isn’t. It’s getting harder to make his eyes focus. He’s more than used to feeling cold, but the numbness he feels now is a stranger to him, nothing like the fresh bite of the wind off the icy water. It just makes him feel slow, and clumsy, like falling asleep.
“We’re going to get you help,” Hakoda says stubbornly. “So just hang on.”
Bato closes his eyes, tries to take a steadying breath. Hakoda stumbles suddenly, and the motion is enough to jar Bato’s burned shoulder. He gasps, eyes snapping open. Hakoda’s already staring at him, wide-eyed. He sucks a strangled breath through his teeth.
“Bato?” he asks hesitantly.
He looks so afraid that for a moment Bato’s breath catches, too. Are they being followed? Have they been found?
But no, the wild look eases from Hakoda’s face. His mouth tightens into a thin line, and he shifts closer like he’s going to bear up under more of Bato’s weight. It’s not practical—almost comical, really, with Hakoda so much shorter than him. He grunts but doesn’t fight him. He’s not sure he has the energy, even if he wanted to push him away. He’s sure that Hakoda’s steady grip around his middle is the only thing keeping him upright.
Bato hums a little acknowledgment, too out of breath for words, and Hakoda squeezes his hip.
He still looks anxious, but he manages to find his footing again. Bato wonders what tripped him, if he’d briefly lost the path, but then he realizes—no, he’d stumbled because the colors had started to flicker from his vision. It’s dark enough that the shadows are hard for Bato to parse.
The thought makes his stomach churn. He takes a deep, rattling breath. He needs to… to stay awake, to breathe, to put one foot in front of the other, because…
He’d seen the fallout the last time Hakoda’s vision faded back to gray. Bato won’t do that to him again.
There’s a light up ahead. Hakoda starts murmuring encouragement as soon as he spots it, and Bato holds out for it like the sunrise.
It feels like Hakoda pounds on the closed gate for hours before the wood groans inward. He’s not as knowledgeable of Earth Kingdom customs as he’d like, but he recognizes enough of the symbols around the gate to know this is an abbey.
It’s surprisingly lively for this time of night, although it must be hard to sleep with the way Hakoda is shouting in Bato’s ear. For a moment he thinks he’s imagining the sweet, floral scent hanging in the air, but then an older woman in a white head covering rushes up to them with two girls in tow, and the smell is nearly enough to make his stomach churn.
One of the girls moves as though to grab his other arm, and then freezes. The grim look she shares with the Mother Superior isn’t particularly reassuring. His first instinct is to make a joke about it, but they usher Hakoda inside so quickly that all he can do is clench his teeth against the pain, and focus on keeping his feet beneath him.
Hakoda half-drags him over the threshold, steering him into a cramped bedroom. The blankets are rumpled at the foot of the bed, the sheets still faintly warm, and it's such a relief to lie down that he can’t even bring himself to worry about who’s bed he’s stealing.
“This isn’t a hospital, but we’ll do what we can,” the Mother Superior murmurs to Hakoda. The second nun grabs the lamp off the far table, and he nearly flinches when she brings it closer. The flame is behind a glass, but he imagines he can feel the heat against his skin, anyway.
She and Hakoda suck in twin breaths, and then the girl mutters something that’s not very nun-like at all under her breath. Her superior shoots her a warning look, before she sweeps out of the room. Bato clenches his teeth, and risks a glance at his shoulder, and—
Yep. He doesn’t need to do that again. He squeezes his eyes shut instead.
“I’ll fetch something for the pain,” the girl says, and Bato hears the door close behind her rushed footsteps. It’s quiet for a moment, but it's not until he feels calloused fingers brushing against the back of his unburned hand that he realizes he’s been holding his breath.
He doesn’t want to see the look in his eyes, panicked, almost wild, but Bato forces himself to meet Hakoda’s gaze anyway.
“I’ll be okay,” Bato says, because he knows Hakoda needs to hear it. It’s too much to bear the weight alone. His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, and he forces back the urge to cough, because the concern on Hakoda’s face is already too much. He squeezes his hand. “You can go. You have to go. The men need you.”
Stubborn bastard that he is, Bato immediately sees the fight rise in him. Hakoda brushes his fingers over the curve of Bato’s jaw, his calloused thumb resting against Bato’s cheekbone.
“I’m not just going to leave,” he says. He can practically feel the bones in his hands creaking, with how tightly he’s holding on with his other hand. It's… almost enough of a distraction. Hakoda tips his forehead against Bato’s temple, and his heart skips at the closeness.
“I’ll catch up,” Bato says, around the sudden lump in his throat. Hakoda scoffs. It takes him a few moments to lean back again, enough to give Bato another stubborn look. He looks so damn serious. It’s not fair that the world has put him in this position. Hakoda is kind, and funny—he’s supposed to be smiling, he’s supposed to be fixing Bato with that shit eating grin of his. Hakoda is a good leader, but it still feels like this sort of gravity doesn’t fit on his face. He tries to meet that stubborn look with one of his own, because one of them needs to be there, and they both know it.
Bato probably gets extra points, for looking all pathetic, but even if he doesn’t, Hakoda has never been able to out-stubborn him. He sees his resolve break a moment after the Mother Superior rushes inside with two girls behind her, carrying bandages and water and medicinal tea.
“We’ll find a safe place to meet,” Hakoda says. He ignores the woman who sets a pail beside the bed with a heavy thunk, even though that’s as clear a message to move as he’s ever seen. “So promise me. When I send for you, you’ll come.”
“Of course,” Bato says. It would be an easy lie, but looking at Hakoda’s face, he knows that it's not. It can’t be. He’ll be there, because Hakoda needs him. And he’ll make that promise, because Hakoda won’t leave without it. “You know I will.”
Finally, he nods. For a moment Bato is sure that his eyes flash blue in the lamplight. He closes his eyes and breathes until Hakoda’s grip on his fingers slides tentatively away.
The sisters at the abbey are beyond welcoming. Bato is grateful to them. He also can’t get out of there fast enough.
The quarters they lend him are too quiet. The ground is too still. It doesn’t matter what he hangs on the walls, or how much he tries to make it his own. When he closes his eyes, he can almost picture the phantom rocking of the waves beneath their ship, the quiet murmur of the men settling in to sleep below deck, the muffled thumps of the night crews’ boots pacing the deck above them. It’s never truly silent on a ship. He’s sure the restful quiet in the abbey is good for his convalescence. Certainly the women who’ve made their lives here seem to find some kind of spirituality in it, but to Bato the quiet only makes his mind race with worry, wondering after Hakoda while he’s stuck here, alone, waiting for a letter he’d promised would come.
Hakoda had left one of their smaller crafts behind for him, and it’s been ready to sail since the day Bato was back on his feet again. There’s nothing left for him to do but wait for news, and check on his ship, and wait some more.
He’s pacing, restless and unable to sleep, when he hears a voice call out up ahead. His stomach swoops. He knows that voice, but it can’t be…
“Sokka?”
Sokka and Katara’s eyes light up at the sight of the sea prunes. He’s been saving them for the trip, but the looks on their faces are worth a little rationing. Sokka digs in so eagerly that he burns his tongue, hissing through his teeth around a too-hot mouthful. Bato chuckles and turns to check on Katara, and finds she hasn’t even started eating. She’s peering into the bowl of sea prunes like she’s seeing them for the first time. She looks so much like her father in that moment that his heart twists with homesickness.
“Something wrong?” Bato asks.
Katara’s eyes dart up, embarrassment flickering over her face, and she shakes her head so forcefully that her hair whips her brother in the face. Sokka squawks in annoyance. Katara glances at the Avatar and away so quickly that Bato almost misses it, but…
Ah. Well, that explains some things. She’s looking at the food like she’s never seen it before, because she hasn’t. At least, not in color.
The Avatar and his soulmate have always seen their colors the first time they lock eyes. It’s more than love at first sight. It’s a look that says, ‘I’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes,’ one that goes beyond two souls connecting. Or… that’s how all those old songs go, at least. Bato can’t say he’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing, more spirit tales and legend than anything. At least, it had been, when the Avatar was still just another story, too. Bato considers them both.
By the looks of it, they’re still deciding what that means for them. Soulmates don’t have to be romantic to be meaningful. Bato would be willing to hedge a guess on that not being the case here, if the bashful looks they keep flicking in each other’s direction are anything to go on, but they’re young, and there’s no sense in rushing into the future. He knows that better than anyone.
Sokka has been glued to his side since the moment he’d found their camp in the forest. Bato had chalked it up to excitement. Sokka has always been impatient to follow in his father’s footsteps, trying to grow up too quickly, eager for approval. He looks at Hakoda like he’s hung the moon, and he tries to copy him in every way imaginable. The kid overthinks everything, and Bato’s sure it hasn’t escaped his notice that his dad and his sister both found their soulmates easily, as children.
It’s not hard to feel at least a little left out, when your two best friends are soulmates. Bato rests a hand on Sokka’s shoulder and squeezes.
“Why don’t you tell me about your travels so far?” he suggests lightly. Sokka puffs up with an eager grin, and Katara deflates with a small smile and a sigh, relieved by the change of topic. “I’m sure you’ve got some stories of your own to tell, by now.”
He pulls them both into a crushing embrace when they part ways, and for the first time since he’d been burned he thinks that it may have been worth it, after all.
It’s a long way to Chameleon Bay. The water is calm, and this close to shore cranefish wheel overhead as Bato navigates his little ship to come alongside Hakoda’s, right where he’d promised they’d be. His heart stumbles at the sight of it. It’s not the first time Bato’s vision has flickered with phantom colors, the excitement of seeing his best friend again after so long rising in his throat. They’d spotted his approach from a way’s off, and he can see the men gathering excitedly at the rail now. Hakoda doesn’t wait for Bato to climb aboard—doesn’t even use the ladder. He throws himself over the side, landing hard enough in Bato’s little craft that he has to brace himself against the side to keep from tipping them both overboard.
Bato huffs an exasperated laugh, but he barely climbs to his feet again before Hakoda crashes into him, strong arms winding around his back, careful to avoid the bandages. He hugs him so fiercely that Bato’s breath leaves him in a rush. His face splits into a grin when Hakoda finally lets go.
“I ran into the kids,” Bato says.
It just slips out: not your kids, but the kids. The words fit so naturally in his mouth that he might as well have said our, and he instantly regrets them. Not because they aren’t true—Bato would do anything for those kids, and he’d claim them in a heartbeat in every way that matters. But he’s promised himself he isn’t going to make things any more difficult for Hakoda than he already has. He doesn’t mean to pressure him. It’s the last thing he wants, when what he really needs is this, his best friend, bright eyed and flushed with excitement, hugging him so fiercely that his ribs creak.
Hakoda draws back to look at him. For a moment he just stares at him in stunned silence.
Bato sees him draw a breath, feels the way Hakoda’s hands tighten where he’s gripping his forearm, holding him close, but he can’t hear past the rush in his ears. A riot of color slams into him, too fast and too many to make any sense of them. He has to squeeze his eyes shut against the assault, and he braces himself against the headrush.
“—Bato?” Hakoda asks.
There’s a fragile note to his voice, and he only realized how badly he’d been distracted when he catches sight of Hakoda’s expression, notices the grip tightening on his sleeve.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
Bato has memorized the shadowed line his braid traces over his cheek when he leans forward, the way the light glints over his irises when he turns toward the fire, the slightly darker dappling of the skin on his shoulders, sunspots from their years at sea. He was sure, after all these years together, that he knew every inch of him by heart.
That was nothing compared to this, brown skin, dark hair, and his eyes, brilliant blue and shining with fondness, the weary contours of his face soothed with the yellow light of dawn. Hakoda has had years to describe the colors to him, but he doesn’t think the words exist to describe seeing them himself for the first time.
Hakoda sees it on his face, and he’s too clever not to understand what just happened. For a second he looks almost as surprised as Bato, and his startled rabbit deer expression makes Bato laugh.
Hakoda grins, too happy to be annoyed at being teased. Bato catches that look with a thumb and forefinger. There’s a dare in Hakoda’s eyes, and before he can lose his nerve, Bato leans down and kisses him.
He expects the surprised whoops from the men, the jeering. He thinks Hakoda might make a rude gesture over his shoulder, because a scattering of laughs break through the initial shouting. Bato ignores everything but the warm slide of his lips, the rasp of stubble against his skin.
“Are you two staying down there forever, or are you gonna let me have a look at you?” Kuik calls from above. Hakoda glances back up at them, and then shoots Bato an embarrassed look, like he’s just remembered they have an audience, a whole crew eager to welcome him back, and a healer impatient to examine him.
Hakoda catches the ladder easily, and climbs up first. When he reaches the top, he leans down to reach for him. He’s fine, he’s healed, he doesn’t need the hand, but Bato clasps him around the forearm anyway, and lets Hakoda pull him up.