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Language:
English
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Published:
2020-11-06
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1,517
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1/1
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take it slow (you'll know which way to go)

Summary:

Is she tired? Kyoshi thinks she is. There’s no other way to describe the weight on her chest— not the quick, seizing pain accompanying the coldness of her mind, but instead something slow and heavy and almost comforting in the way it sinks into Kyoshi and does not stop.

Notes:

content/trigger warning: grief/mourning, food, mentions of canon death, scarring.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

It’s just before noon when Rangi comes back, leaning against the doorframe and watching Kyoshi across their bedroom.

“It’s midday,” Rangi says. States it as a fact, waits for Kyoshi to respond.

“It is,” she says.

Her voice is lower than usual and weak. Her chest is heavy, pressing down on her lungs and filling her throat with something that feels almost like cotton. Eyelids heavy, Kyoshi does not move from her seat on the wooden floor and closes her eyes. Huli chitters from beside her, fur brushing against her sleeves, and she waits. 

Rangi leaves.

Is she tired? Kyoshi thinks she is. There’s no other way to describe the weight on her chest— not the quick, seizing pain accompanying the coldness of her mind, but instead something slow and heavy and almost comforting in the way it sinks into Kyoshi and does not stop. It took the great Avatar hours to open her eyes and hours more to swing her legs out of bed, but the moment her feet touched the cold floorboard, she remembered that weight pushes down and it is much easier to go down than it is to push up.

Easy. Nothing is easy , she can imagine Kelsang saying, smile warm and something to smile with, his fingers stroking through Kyoshi’s hair as they sat together in the courtyard. It sounds like something he’d say, and Kyoshi would simply nod because he is Kelsang and she trusts him. 

What would he say next? She can barely remember his voice. She remembers his calloused hand holding a dusty clay turtle, her own grimy fingers reaching out for it, and she remembers the way he stood ever so slightly in front of her, arms hanging loose but still at the ready, always ready to protect and defend her, but she does not remember what he would say.

Kyoshi doesn’t know what hurts more: the fact she remembers or the fact she cannot.

Rangi returns, padded footsteps echoing only slightly, and when Kyoshi opens her eyes, Rangi is standing in front of her with a plate of shaomai , the oily golden wrappers glistening in the sunlight. It’s comfort food, something Auntie Mui makes once a week when everyone is visiting and sitting outside in the courtyard, talking about everything and nothing, and Rangi knows Kyoshi slips a couple onto her plate when Auntie Mui isn’t looking and can’t chastise her for taking more than her share. Huli chitters from beside her, but a pointed look from Rangi is enough to have the fox scamper out of their bedroom.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” Rangi says. 

States. It’s a fact.

“Thank you,” Kyoshi says.

A pause, and Rangi squats down to place the plate in Kyoshi’s lap. She’s not in her armor this morning, instead donning a loose olive tunic and dark leggings, and from the way the sleeves have been pushed up and the leggings rolled and folded, Kyoshi can tell it’s her clothing.

“It’s one of those days,” Rangi says.

States. It’s a fact. Her eyes are glinting in the sunlight. Bronze is bright and shines, but her eyes are dark and stormy and overcast— dark bronze , Rangi says, it’s from my mother’s side of the family. My father’s eyes were bright and brilliant . Kyoshi can work with facts.

“It is,” Kyoshi agrees. She makes no move to pick up the wooden chopsticks. Rangi’s eyes flicker with something that Kyoshi is too tired to discern.

“Rangi!”

Hei-Ran’s voice rings out in the hallway, but Rangi’s eyes stay focused on Kyoshi, her gaze unwavering until it seems to soften minutely.

“At least two,” she murmurs. “Just for me.”

Two dumplings. Kyoshi swallows, muscles pushing past the cotton stuffed in her throat. For her Rangi.

“Okay,” Kyoshi says. It almost sounds like a promise, sealed by Rangi brushing her calloused fingers over Kyoshi’s ragged hands clutching the plate, and it takes another call from Hei-Ran for Rangi to straighten and stride out of their bedroom, leaving Kyoshi on the ground with a plate of cooling shaomai .

Kyoshi does not want to eat. Kyoshi does not want anything. Her limbs feel like lead, detached from the rest of her body, and there’s a hollowness inside her chest that she cannot describe. Everything is pushing down, and Kyoshi ends up placing a hand on the wooden floor to keep herself propped up and to prevent the food from slipping from her lap. It is one of those days, where Kyoshi remembers the way Kelsang crumpled to the ground in the prickling behind her eyes and where Kyoshi remembers the way Yun’s bright eyes widened only slightly before glazing over in the tightening of her throat. Where Kyoshi remembers the harsh rain lashing against her face as Jesa and Hark took off without even a glance back in the burning of her eyes and where Kyoshi remembers the cold of the shed’s floor when she collapsed from fever in the trembling of her fingers.

It isn’t the first time it’s happened, she reflects, when Kyoshi feels this weight burdening her chest and shoulders and clouding her mind. The first time Rangi noticed was when she woke up to Kyoshi unmoving and silent, heart rate so slow Rangi nearly threw herself into a fit trying to wake her up. Atuat said there was a word for it, when everything is too heavy , and when Rangi asked for a cure, Atuat shrugged. Love , she said simply. And a few days off .

Rangi comes back to Kyoshi still on the ground, mouth chewing through the second shaomai , and she closes the sliding door as waits patiently for Kyoshi to set down the chopsticks before picking up the plate and utensils and going to place them on their nightstand.

“It’s not good for your back to be on the ground for so long,” Rangi says, unbuttoning her tunic and revealing her dudou , soft red with gold embroidered flowers. “Let’s get you in bed.”

Kyoshi takes a deep breath before drawing her legs underneath herself and pushing up, swaying a bit as the blood rushes to her head from the sudden movement. “It’s not even sunset.”

“I’d rather you rest in bed,” Rangi answers, striding over to take Kyoshi’s hands and balancing them. “We can go for a short walk after dinner, just for some fresh air.”

Kyoshi relaxes and lets Rangi take charge, lets her gently push her into bed before crawling in and pulling the sheets over them. She settles on her side, head tucked under Kyoshi’s chin and loose hairs tickling her lips. Her topknot wasn’t put up today, Kyoshi realizes, hand drifting instinctively to wrap around her firebender. Her fingers ghost over a series of ridges, and Rangi stiffens for a moment before relaxing, only letting out a hum as Kyoshi’s fingers drift over her scar.

“I’m sorry,” Kyoshi says finally.

Rangi untucks her head and props herself up on her arm to look at Kyoshi at eye level, frowning slightly, and Kyoshi hurries to forgo any sort of scolding she might receive for apologizing blindly.

“For being like this,” she says. “So— useless.”

She chokes on that last word because she’s been working on it, she knows she’s worth every single breath she takes, but when she struggles to even breathe while she watches everyone around her float effortlessly, Kyoshi feels so, so small.

She has to close her eyes because she thinks she’s about to cry, that the prickling behind her eyes will come streaming out in a torrent of tears and she’s afraid she might never stop, and maybe she doesn’t want to see the disappointment on Rangi’s face because she’s let her down once again, but the only thing that happens is that Rangi’s calloused fingertips brushing against her cheeks.

“Look at me, Kyoshi,” she whispers, and Kyoshi’s eyes flutter open.

Rangi is looking at her with something Kyoshi cannot quite describe, something that is both fierce and tender at the same time, and Kyoshi trembles when Rangi leans forward to press their foreheads together.

“You defeated the Fifth Nation,” she murmurs. “You ended the Camellia-Peony War. And you saved me. You are so much more than a few days of illness.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get better,” Kyoshi says. “Or if I’ll be like this forever.”

“We’ll figure it out, Kyoshi.” Rangi’s voice is clear and unwavering, determination and faith interlaced throughout. “I will be with you for as long as it takes for you to get better.”

Kyoshi closes her eyes again, trying desperately to believe that it won’t always be this hard to breathe, and Rangi presses another kiss to her face, just on the corner of her eye.

“Where you go, I go, you big oaf,” she whispers. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

And Kyoshi remembers being sixteen and on the run, hundreds of meters up in the sky, Rangi curled up in her armor at the front of Pengpeng’s saddle and dark bronze eyes glinting in the weak sunlight, and Kyoshi believes her.

Kyoshi can work with facts.

Notes:

i know i said i'd go on a social media purge but then i wrote this entire fanfic so. yeah. anyways rangshi lives in my head rent free and yes this is heavy projection don't @me pls and thanks