A/N: This is a companion piece to the last one, "Breathe".

Kataang Week 2019

Prompt: Morning

The days following the stillbirth of their son were hell for Aang.

To this day he is not sure how he made it through them. Thank the spirits for Gran Gran and the Acolytes, who helped Aang and Katara make basic decisions like: eat today.

The evening of Gyatso's delivery was now a blur. When Aang looks back on it, most of what he can remember is the intensity of emotion. The details of what actually happened eclipsed by their utter devastation.

At some point Gran Gran had stepped in to take Gyatso from Katara. At first Katara had bared her teeth in a mindless growl, clutching the cold baby to her desperately. But Gran Gran had been firm, getting Katara to look her in the eyes, bringing her back to reality. "I need to take him, Katara. He is Quiet. And we need to get you cleaned up."

Katara, still in Aang's arms on his lap, had stared down at her empty hands for some time. Then she had turned to Aang and clutched him, letting him fill her arms in a way that he knew was entirely inadequate, but was all they could do. Aang knew that despite his utter heartache, he needed to be there for Katara, as much as he was capable.

He doesn't know all of what else happened that night. A bath. Change of clothes. The midwives cleaned up and left. Someone changed their sheets and left the room looking like nothing had happened there; like they hadn't just birthed a dead child.

At one point they had heard a lot of noise down by the dock. Aang supposed that news of their tragedy had probably made it to the reporters. He supposed it couldn't remain private forever. But something about this very personal loss being spoken on the lips of strangers left Aang with a hollow feeling; like people were scooping out his innards and putting them on display. He and Katara had not even spoken the words out loud to each other, and yet somewhere their son's death was making headlines.

Each of the nations had a different word for it: Quiet Birth, Breathless Child, Cold Baby, Stillbirth. But they all meant the same thing; and their son lay quiet, breathless, cold and still in the room next door.

Early the next morning Aang had woken to an empty bed. When he found Katara she was standing barefoot in the next room, the nursery, holding her belly and looking at the body of their son. He had been laid in the baby bassinet Sokka and Suki had given them as an early baby gift.

"I'm afraid I won't remember what he looks like…"

Aang had come to her, wrapping her in his arms, both of them looking at Gyatso, tears flowing as they desperately tried to commit him to memory.

Katara did not leave the house for the three days leading up to the funeral. She was dealing with a myriad of additional complications piled onto her grief. She had just delivered a baby, and her body was weak and in pain. But there was no soft warm baby snuggling against her to ease the recovery, to make it all worth it. Her body was prepared to feed a hungry infant, but there was no hunger to satiate, and so she was left with the pain of milk with no mouth to feed. Her emotions were everywhere. Everyone understood. Everyone understood, and no one could fix it.

Aang tried to be with her as much as he could, but being indoors wound up his anxieties like a spring. He often found himself escaping to the rooftop for a moment, just to feel the breeze on his skin, letting it dry his tears. He hardly noticed when he was crying anymore; it would be a more notable event when he was not crying.

Aang mourned, not just the loss of his baby, but he mourned the future that his son would never have. He mourned his empty arms, but also the games that would never be played together, the words they could never exchange, the sunny days they would never share. Perhaps one day they would have another child, but that would never give Gyatso his life again. And this weighed on Aang like a fetter.

Someone had arranged the funeral. Gran Gran, or Hakoda? He didn't know. Katara had wanted it to be a Water Tribe funeral. Aang had not protested.

They had floated on a ship out into the great ocean off of Yue Bay. Their closest family and loved ones accompanying them. After some words, Gyatso's tiny body, back on a board and mummy-wrapped entirely in furs, had been placed in the water. A weight attached to the board had pulled him slowly down into the endless depths, and he was gone.

Aang had looked away repulsed. How could they do that to him?! As an Air Nomad, he wanted to fly, not be sunk in the sea. The very thought made him feel desperate and claustrophobic. Katara had spoken of making a rock ring for him, down in the South Pole near her mother's. Aang couldn't pay attention. He was wishing he hadn't come on this boat. He wanted to be anywhere else.

As soon as they had docked the boat, Aang had snapped his glider open and flown to the house. He had gathered his brass bowl, ink, brush, and papyrus paper in a satchel and flow to the top of the peak on the island. There he had written with long sad strokes his prayers on the papyrus and burned them to the sky as an offering honoring his son. Watching as the burned bits of consecrated paper danced away, upward on the wind.

Aang contemplated what the Air Nomads had believed, that the soul of a child did not enter until they took their first breath. But Gyatso had never taken his first breath. So did that mean he was forever soulless? That he had never really been? As much as Aang had disliked the water tribe burial in the sea, he knew that Air Nomads had actually cared little for disposal of the body; they had a ceremony for it, of course, but all knew that what really mattered was the soul. The soul was sent into the skies in a flurry of color and music. But according to his culture, his son didn't even have a soul.

Aang tried to understand, but he could not reconcile this. He had felt his boy move in Katara's belly, had been kicked by his strong little legs when Aang had embraced his mother, his baby had responded to his voice. Aang had loved his son. Surely his son had had a soul.

If the Air Nomad teachings had been wrong about this; what else had they been wrong about? Aang felt like his faith was unraveling like a woven meditation shawl pulled apart by the wrong stray string; his beliefs feeling loose and scattered like a strand of prayer beads broken, the wooden beads rolling in every direction. What could he hold on to now?

Aang believed his son had had a soul. But where had his soul gone? To the Eternal Skies with all the other Air Nomads? Or to the Immortal Ocean? Wherever he had gone, Aang wanted to follow him. To make sure he was alright. To protect his boy. Aang had often resented being the Avatar, but losing his baby made him hate it for one more reason. Aang knew where he would go when he died; he would be reborn into some new identity somewhere in the Water Tribe. He would never get to follow his Gyatso, never get to find out where his son had gone; he would never be reunited with him. He would not even remember him. Aang cursed his own endless lives.

For all his power, he felt powerless.

As he watched the scorched bits rising and flowing on the wind, Aang hoped that in the Eternal Skies perhaps Monk Gyatso had found his son; maybe now they were making fruit pies together. At least, Aang hoped so. It would be fitting for his son Gyatso to be with the man he was named after.

The days following the baby's funeral were a dark time for Aang. Up until then he had managed to hold himself together somewhat, for Katara. But as he dealt with this loss, and his own crisis of faith, he seemed to spiral downward. He could still be dragged out of that black place momentarily, when Katara needed him. But most of time he was despondent.

Aang forgot to shave. He barely could bring himself to eat. Meditation was fruitless, and even his usual endless store of energy seemed drained dry. His footsteps were heavier than they had ever been. Aang didn't want to see people who came to the island. He stopped responding to hawks; didn't even read the scrolls they carried. The world would just have to take care of itself.

He remembered that one day a reporter had come to the door, pad of paper in hand, wanting to talk with the Avatar and his wife about their loss. Gran Gran had opened the door, and told the reporter to go away. Aang had been in the room, a short fuzz of black hair on his head and stubble on his chin, looking undoubtedly disheveled. He had locked eyes with the reporter for just a moment. In some distant sort of way, Aang was disgusted; disgusted that someone would come here, to his home, to pry into their private matters. But anger was more than he could muster for such a meaningless person. So Aang had looked away uncaring.

One night, in bed, Katara had pulled him close, peppering his skin with kisses. She spoke quietly, but earnestly, begging him to make her another baby. His brow furrowed. He didn't want another baby; he wanted Gyatso. He had turned away from her. He couldn't. Not now. He could not start that agonizing road again. He remembered more clearly than he wished the years of disappointment trying to make their last baby. And he was not ready to deal with that again.

Aang knew that he had hurt Katara; that his rejection that night stung her like a lash. But knowing he had hurt her just depressed him more. On top of the grief he now had guilt. Why couldn't he be better than he was? Deep inside, Aang was sure he would never escape this dark place he was drowning in.

But it was little things that eventually helped him reemerge.

After the loss, one of the Acolytes had offered to feed Appa for Aang. Gran Gran had let her, but as time went on, being the wise woman she was, Gran Gran had told the girl it was time for Aang to feed his own bison again. So twice daily, Aang had to get up and go out to feed his sky bison. There was something so simple about it. Appa needed him. He was hungry. When Aang came, Appa was happy to see him, nuzzling his friend with an oddly understanding empathy. After a while Aang began to talk to his friend again, telling him things, even some of his most horrible thoughts. Appa never judged him. Just snorted hot air into his clothes and licked his hair into a lopsided mess. And in those moments Aang began feel a little lighter.

He and Katara had been living together, doing their best to support one another, but in all honestly Gran Gran had been the one keeping them from falling to pieces. Neither of them quite able to be what the other needed.

But one evening, after returning from Appa's courtyard, Aang found Katara in the nursery, rocking in the chair, looking out with unseeing eyes at the darkening evening sky across the bay. Aang had approached her and put his hand on her shoulder. Katara had looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes. And something stirred in him. A feeling he had lost touch with. And like a wave Aang was suddenly filled with it. Pulling her up into a tight embrace Aang let his love for her wash over him like high tide.

They both had cried together. It was not the first time they had done so, but something was different this time. Like they were finally seeing each other again.

They made love that night. Not trying to make a baby, not trying to escape. No ulterior motive than to show one another that they were there for the other, and that they loved each another.

And from then on, they both tried a little harder. They tried to be available for one another again. And Aang was surprised by Katara's incredible strength. She was the one who really pulled him back from the darkness; she was the one who helped him wholly back into the light.

This loss was really something that only the two of them shared fully. Others had been near to support and mourn with them, to share in their grief. But Gyatso had been their son. Their long awaited beacon. He had been their hope for the future. And overcoming this together, helping one another to cope, to move forward, to let go of the pain, truly solidified their union in a singular and powerful way. Like muscles that are tested and torn, they came back stronger and more solid.

Aang remembered the first time they had really laughed again. He didn't remember what had been so funny, but he remembered the radiance on Katara's face, the way her early morning hair had glowed around the edges in the sunshine from the window, and her eyes had sparkled at him. And his heart had expanded for her, fuller than it could hold. Come what may, he wanted to be with this woman every day of his life.

As life began to be a life again, the two decided to leave baby making alone for a time. If it happened, it happened, and of course they would rejoice. But they wanted to focus on just being together, just doing what they loved, and giving themselves some time.

But in the end they were both ready sooner than they expected. Aang remembered, apart from the pain, the beauty of Gyatso; he had been so small and perfect. And they had made him together. It was no disservice to his memory to want another baby.

Deep down Aang had hoped that already having gotten pregnant once would somehow jump-start the whole process for them, making the next pregnancy easier to accomplish. But as the months rolled on, and they did not get pregnant spontaneously, they decided it was time they return to the Fire Nation to work with the Fire Lord's physician again.

One of their evenings while living at the Palace, while Zuko and Aang sat together sharing tea, Zuko had confided in Aang that Mai had actually been pregnant twice before they finally had Izumi. Both pregnancies had terminated early on, but it had been a difficult time for them. Aang had never known. No one knew. But Zuko had chosen to share it with Aang. Because he knew he could understand. Words are so often inadequate; but when someone lives through something like that, sharing in a similar grief, no words are needed. There is just understanding.

Aang knew the day that Katara suspected she was pregnant. Of course he knew it was possible, but he had tried not to get too involved in the day counting and cycle mapping – he felt it added too much pressure so he didn't involve himself in keeping track. But that day Katara had shone, trying to hide her smile like she knew the punch line to some secret joke no one else had figured out yet. Aang, never one able to resist a good secret, had finger-walked along her waist, pulling her against him and nibbled her ear making her laugh. "Come on, Katara. I know you're hiding something from me…" She had laughed again and kissed him soundly. "Perhaps, Papa, it is time to leave the Fire Nation now!"

Like last time, their days of pregnancy were filled with joy. Although this time there was a small apprehensive undertone that stalked the outskirts of their joy - a niggling worry that perhaps they would lose this baby too. But for the most part, Aang and Katara rejoiced in their coming child. They trying hard not to let past sorrow mar their anticipation. Their midwife had told them that Gyatso's death had been an unfortunate tragedy, but it had been no one's fault. In her opinion, there was no reason to suspect that something like that would happen again.

They chose names again: if a girl, she would be Kya, of course; for a boy they decided on Bumi. At first Katara had been a little reticent about naming their son after the crazy old King of Omashu. But when she realized the depth of how much it mean to Aang, she was happy to acquiesce. Although now the unbelievable age of one hundred and twenty years old, King Bumi was still kicking, and Aang's attachment to the man was stronger than Katara had realized. With the exception of Appa, Bumi was Aang's one living connection to his childhood. Bumi had lived when the Air Nomads were still around; perhaps he would even see them return…

They had debated a bit on where to birth the baby. The South Pole had been considered, but frankly it was just too cold, even in summer. Of course women who lived there had their babies there, and Katara had grown up there so she should be used to it, but now, having been away for so many years, even Katara found the cold uncomfortable. Given the choice? She preferred to deliver in a warmer climate. They had also considered an Air Temple, most likely Aang's home temple in the South. Aang liked the idea of being so high, but ultimately they felt it was too remote. What if something happened? They would be at least a day's flight away from anywhere and simply inaccessible for anyone to come to them. So in the end they had decided to stay at the island in Yue Bay.

Originally both Aang and Katara felt a little uncomfortable with delivering their second baby in the same place their first had died. But it was Toph who came in with a level head stating frankly that they were "being complete idiots" and that "bad things happened but it's not the damn place's fault". So they had decided to deliver at home again.

Aang had wanted to build another story to their house, for the sole purpose of being closer to the sky; but Katara had called him a superstitious airhead and shot down the idea. She would be fine in their room on the second floor. Aang had bashfully agreed, but also jokingly promised to one day build a soaring tower on that island for her to deliver all the rest of their babies in!

By the time Katara was nearing time for delivery, it had been two years since Gyatso's birth and five years since they had gotten married. The two were more than impatient to finally, finally be parents.

Unlike last time when Katara's labor had started in the morning and lasted all day, her delivery ending in the evening, this time Katara was woken in the dark hours of the night, not long after the pair had gone to bed. Unbeknownst to Aang, Katara had labored for some time alone, not wanting to disturb him. But as the contractions became difficult to breathe through and knowing that the midwife would need some time to arrive, Katara had finally woken Aang and asked him to send for her.

After two seconds of grogginess, Aang had shot to his feet, instantly awake. "What?! Now!?" He had speed-ran to the dormitory to wake Ling, one of his most trusted Acolytes, asking her to take Appa and go for the midwife. Then he had speed-ran back to his wife's side, startling her with his sudden reappearance.

"Aang! For crying out loud! You scared me."

"I'm sorry, Katara. I can't help it. I'm just so… well wound up. I can't tell if I'm excited or just anxious." A shadow of uncertainly clouded in his eyes. He sat by her side, and carefully took her hands in his, "Do you… do you think its going to be okay this time?"

Katara had to wait through a contraction before she could respond, but when she felt reprieve again, she turned her clear blue eyes on him, and breathing hard she admitted, "I don't know… but I hope so…"

Gran Gran, who had moved in with them as Katara's delivery approached, came in looking groggy and a bit grumbly. "I've never figured out why babies so often decide that the middle of the night is the best time to come into the world!"

Things progressed quickly, far quicker than with Katara's first birth. Aang had expected hours of walking the island or massaging Katara's back, but by the time Katara had woken anyone up, things were already in fast motion. Before he knew it, Katara was sweating hard and resisting the urge to push. Gran Gran took charge, getting Katara into position and barking orders to Aang, who was so nervous and excited he could hardly think strait. The midwife isn't even here yet! He thought as panic began to flit furiously in his stomach.

"The blanket, Aang! The blanket! Bring it to me." Gran Gran ordered.

Aang fought to keep his wits amid his concern, pulling himself together to do as Gran Gran ordered. The sky outside was just beginning to lighten as Katara began to push, gritting her teeth, and breathing hard in sporadic intervals. Aang allowed Katara to strangle his arm with both of her hands while his other arm supported her around her back.

"The baby is coming, Katara Darling…" Gran Gran had coaxed, "Just one more good push."

The great battle cry of women, the same one heard since the beginning of time, escaped Katara's lips, the sound hanging in the air. And then the baby appeared, dark haired and ruddy, caught carefully in Gran Gran's withered, experienced hands. A long moment passed. Aang feeling that he would suffocate in the silence.

And then a long, emphatic baby cry broke the air.

A sob burst from Aang's chest; he was sure that he had never heard a sound more beautiful than that baby cry! In that moment he could see why the Air Nomad's had put such importance on that first breath – his child's soul had arrived, and it was here to stay. He looked on in wonder and gratitude so immense he felt he would burst. There was his baby, his son, Bumi!, wiggling and screaming in Gran Gran's hand as she wrapped him expertly in the blanket.

Aang looked at Katara, she was crying too. And he kissed her, brushing her hair lovingly off her forehead, praising her, telling her what an amazing job she had done! She just sobbed louder, crying with all the gratitude of a mother who had waited years to hear that baby cry, and now could not believe that she finally had!

But Gran Gran kept her wits about her, her mind on the needs at hand; there would be time to fall apart with joy later. "Aang. Get over here. I need you to hold the baby..."

Aang rushed over and gingerly took his wiggling son from Gran Gran, keeping him low while Gran Gran cut the cord. One red leg with toes spread wide had kicked its way out from the white blanket, and Bumi was screaming heartily. As Gran Gran turned back to her work, Aang stood and stared in wonder at his child. He wanted to speak to him; welcome him to the world. But he couldn't find his voice. His awe nearly stopping his breath altogether.

Aang's eyes widened in amazement, lovingly roaming over the beautiful creature in his hands, so tiny, and absolutely perfect! His mess of dark hair, his tiny fists punching the air, his one little leg that had escaped from the blanket kicking tenaciously.

Carefully Aang rewrapped Bumi, pulling that rogue leg back inside the blanket as he gently brought their baby over to where Katara sat. Happy tears streaming down her cheeks, her arms outstretched to hold their son even before Aang was within reach.

As Aang sat down next to Katara, carefully placing Bumi in her arms, a sudden burst of morning sunlight shone from over the mountain peaks in the East. Aang smiled as he watched Katara cradle their son, her long-empty arms finally filled. As their hungry son's little mouth eagerly turned in toward his mother, Katara sighed in happiness. The sight filling Aang with a feeling like he had never quite felt before, like the universe had suddenly expanded, making room for more happiness than it could previously hold. Contentedly Aang climbed up on the bed, wrapping his arm around Katara, the other arm protectively holding around their baby, as yellow rays of sunshine lighted this now-sacred room.

The dark night had finally ended; morning had finally come, as the little family welcomed this most glorious new day!

…..

A/N: When I wrote that last sad story about Aang and Katara loosing their baby Gyatso, my husband made me promise to write a happier follow-up. So you have him to thank for this one; turning their mourning into morning. Hope you liked it!

Please leave a review – it always means a lot to me!