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Iroh taught him many things, like how a good game of Paisho could garner help from unexpected places, and how to learn a lesson or two from regrets and mistakes.

Tea

He would start the fire; rummaging through his things for a battered teapot and its stand.

They had tea on cool evenings, when Aang and Katara would go off together for some privacy; Sokka would be out as well looking for small game to hunt.

They had tea for absolution, for a life lost.

They had it as a gesture of respect, to honor the passing of a wise old man that had given up everything for the love of his nephew.

It didn't matter that he could never get it just quite right. She didn't mind, she knew that in heaven, he was probably wincing at the thought of her drinking his nephews tea.

They would converse over the soft crackle of flames until they were on their last cups. Quiet words that neither would remember the next morning, only the feeling of being connected, together in a serene kinship that only existed in that moment between the two of them.

So when their cups were empty, Sokka would return, either grumbling over a failure or beaming over a success. Katara would return attempting to act innocent; Aang would be unable to get his stupid grin off his face.

Standing, she would smile at him, a small silent gift only for him. She knew she wouldn't see him smile back if he did; but his quiet voice would hold a soft tenor, far from his usual arrogance and command.

"Thank you, it was good tea."

Her voice would be soft, different from her usual brash cynicism; and with a shift of her feet the earth would rise and put out the fire, leaving the camp in moonlight as they retired to their respective beds.

fin