Archive of Our Own ^beta

A house is a home, when there is life lived within its walls. The sounds of voices and laughter, of chairs scraping across floors and the squeaking of beds as the inhabitants settle in for the night. The running of water, banging of doors and hum on newly installed electric lights. But, when the sounds stop and the lights flicker off with a pot still on the stove, a letter setting on the table next to an empty mug, is that when a house stops becoming a home? When it's walls are no longer filled with light and laughter. When it no longer hums like a heartbeat of its own.

Despite what some would believe, war does not pick its victims. It through them into the fight and waits to see who makes it out into the other side. In times of war, your home becomes where you are needed most, and that might not be the walls in which you are usually held. When the war is done, where do the survivors go? Do they return to their former homes and pick up right where they left off, or do they begin again. Some would say it is a matter of perspective, others of necessity. But, for others it is a matter of picking up the torn pieces, of learning where to belong once again.
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Long fingers curled around the doorknob. Cold. Lifeless. For weeks the door had remained shut, long enough that the occupants had forgotten what they had left behind.

The daughter, whose smile was bright as the stars and laugh just as tinkling, had been gone for months, studying music at the Conservatory of the Southern Earth Kingdom. The father, strong from his days in the forces, fiercely loyal and protective of his family but always with a comforting shoulder to lend. He had been gone only weeks to tend to his ailing grandmother. And so, that left the mother. Always the first to return it seemed, with only a quiet home to greet her.

Beneath her fingers the metal of the know was cool. It did not hum as it once did. She turned the knob once, twice, but it did not open. Keys. She would need keys now. Running her hand along the frame she searched for the spare. They always kept a spare hidden away so her non-bending husband would never find himself locked out, he was always losing his keys.

The lock clicked into place. Holding the key up to her face, she scoffed at the little piece. This would be her key now she knew, since the metal no longer moved at her whim. Stuffing the small piece in her pocket she swung the door open.

Moonlight shone in through the parted curtains and danced across the wooden floor. Aside from the moonlight the air was still. It no longer hummed with the familiar sounds of family and earth.

Slowly turning to shut the door, she noticed a pile of mail scattered across the floor. It would be old by now, but she found herself bending to pick it up anyway. Shuffling the assorted envelopes into some sort of order, she noticed many barring her name: Lin. Some were addressed with the title of Mrs. other simply Chief, and others barring no title, simply her name in a familiar looping script. Ru.

Lin shook her head. Of course Ru would continue to write. News still traveled slowly through the Earth Kingdom, she wouldn't have known of the war taking place in the city she grew up in.

A lump rose in Lin's throat. Her daughter wouldn't know of the effect the war had had on their family. Her letters would be full of her usual bubbling happiness and curiosity. She wouldn't know of her mother's loss of bending, the thing she had promised would never separate the two. It was a promise Lin had made when her daughter first bent, when she learned she wouldn't walk again, when she left home to pursue her love of music. They would always have their bending, the ability to recognize each other anywhere simply through their heartbeats. And yet, that promise no longer stood. Lin could no longer bend, and when she looked at the letters in her hands she couldn't help but feel they were from a different time, a different world.

Her hands shook as she put them back on the floor. She couldn't read them now. To her it seemed as if they were written to a different Lin, one that had been ripped from her.

She left the hallway and the letters behind, flicking on the kitchen light instead. Tea had always calmed her nerves she reasoned, tea would help now.

The kettle still sat on the stove from the last time she had been home. Weeks ago, perhaps a month even. She refilled the kettle and set it back on the stove. It would take awhile to boil, she should sit.

At the table she dropped her head into her hands. In the last weeks she has not had a moment to herself. One where she didn't have to worry about protecting or comforting others. She had to be the Lin who was strong, unbreakable. But now, now she could finally let her walls down. She was finally alone, and yet she quickly found that being alone was not what she wanted at all. She wanted someone else to comfort her, to tell her everything would be alright, but there was no one to ask. Everyone was busy with their own families, rebuilding their homes, she could not take them away from that. Lin was not selfish despite what other often believed.

The kettle whistled from behind her, causing her to snap her head up. Absentmindedly she grabbed the mug left on the table, only to brush a piece of paper onto the floor. She ignored it. Tea came first. Tea would make her feel better.

It wasn't until hours later that Lin thought of the paper brushed to the floor and the pile of mail left in front of the door. It was not curiosity per say that got her out of bed and padding down the hall, but need for some kind of order, even if that was picking papers off the floor. Or so she reasoned.

Scoping the mail from the door she walked to the kitchen and dropped it on the table. Bending down she grasped the paper from the floor and set it down with the mail as well. It was only out of the corner of her eye that she noticed the handwriting. Ru’s writing.

Turning back around she grabbed the paper and sat down. It was already opened she reasoned, she could read this letter.

Dear Mama,
Happy Birthday! How does it feel to be 50? Old I bet. I'm sorry I couldn't make it home, but I'm sure you and dad had a nice celebration (please spare me the details).
Things have been going well at school. I got invited to play at one of the mayor's dinners. All those manners you insisted I learned finally paid off, but I still wished I could sneak away from all the formalities like when I was little.
My friends and I are going to visit the beach this weekend. I'm starting to get better moving around on sand, but I still tend to fall over a lot. All the manners and formalities of the south still can't make me any less clumsy. Miri asked me to teach her to sand bend, I'm really looking forward to it.
Hopefully I can make it back home soon. I heard the avatar is in the city now, you'll need someone around to keep you sane!
Love,
Ru

It was short, and months old. Yet the simpleness of it brought a smile to her face, even if only for a moment. Not even thinking she reached for another letter from the pile, pulling off the seal, not caring about her earlier thoughts that these letters were no longer meant for her.

Dear Mama,
The purple flowers have begun blooming here. The ones you taught me to dry in the pages of a book when I was little. I forgot how much I love them, they're small but still let off the sweetest smell of any flower twice its size. They always have a way of making everything seem like it will be okay.
How are you? You never responded to my last letter. Hopefully Korra isn't causing you too much trouble so you're holed up in your office all the time.
Dad wrote saying he was going to visit his grandmother, will you be going with him? I know you always did like going to visit her.
I dried some flowers for you since they don't bloom in the city the same time they do here. I put one of them in the envelope, hopefully it didn't get crushed. I'll bring the rest on my next visit, we can hang them up around the house like we used too.
Ru

Lin reached for the discarded envelope, and sure enough one flower was pressed into the bottom. She laid it out on the table, it was a bit broken around the edges, but still beautiful. Ru always was much better at pressing the flowers than herself, always taking the time to smooth each petal.

One more letter sat in the stack. It was dated as the most recent. Three letters had been sent with not a word in reply. It made Lin feel sick.

Mama,
Are you alright? I haven't heard from you in almost two months. I hope you are alright, I hate not hearing from you. I'll be coming home soon and we can decorate the house with all the purple flowers okay. I hope you're okay, but I'll be coming home soon.
Love and wishes
Ru

Slowly she slid the letters back into their envelopes. Tomorrow she would call, tell her everything. She never wanted to disappoint her daughter. Ru meant the world to her, and she couldn't bare the thought of hurting her. But, as she looked at the small flower laid out on the table, seeming to glow in the moonlight, she realized it would be okay. She would be okay. A part of her was gone, but that didn't mean she couldn't fill its place. Fill it with something else she loved, and like Ru said, they would fill the house with purple flowers together. They would make it a home again, a home to begin again in.