Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender; Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko have me beat in that area. Those crazy geniuses.

Author's Note: How could I not participate in Sukka Week? Come on.

Please, review when you're done and tell me what you think! That new 'reader traffic' feature is interesting, but shows a lot of people read, but... you get the idea. Enjoy!


Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Rating: PG-13

Sukka Week, Day Seven: Erased

August 24, 2008


She sighed, her fingertip tracing the outline of the picture frame; her eyes were forlornly trailing over the picture. She felt despair as her head and heart ached with loneliness, as her eyes met those crystal blue orbs of the man she had lost. She didn't remember how she had lost him or why, but she knew that he wasn't hers. He didn't die, no, but he was unobtainable to her and would be until the day she died, it seemed.

She waited for that day with baited breath, hoping that it would come soon–to end this nightmare and move into a more peaceful place with a better state of mind.

It wouldn't come so easily to her–nothing in the world ever did. Suddenly, her eyes darted to the tip of her dagger with renewed interest that suddenly replaced the picture in her hand, the blood coating it too red, too beautiful to not watch glisten.

Suki gasped as she shot up quickly out of her sleep, tense and shaking as she grasped the bed sheets to her chest. She didn't know why her subconscious would be so cruel to her, taunting her with the illusion that her life was in shambles and she a horrible mess. She didn't like the suspicion that her life could, just as well, turn into being a nightmare, mirroring her dreams.

The only night she relied on Sokka sleeping like the dead, he sat up next to her slowly, a hand comfortingly on her back with a look of sleepy confusion on his face. He knew something was wrong.

The second she turned and met those haunting, beautiful blue eyes with her own, she couldn't stop the wall from cracking, her resolve crumbling as she launched herself into his arms. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but when she choked sobs escaped past her lips, she realized belatedly that she couldn't do anything to stop her breakdown. It was a long time coming.

Without saying a word, Sokka cradled her in his arms, rubbing her back as she cried.

She was embarrassed, to say the least, when her cries had quieted and silence hung in the air. She hoped he had fallen asleep, but she knew it was too much to ask when he lifted her chin so that she would look up at him.

Smiling sadly at her, he whispered, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She frowned, her eyes darting downward in shame. "It's silly."

"If it made you cry, it's not silly," he responded. He reached a hand up to run his fingers through her hair, looking at his hand as he followed through with the motion. "It must really be bothering you, otherwise you wouldn't be so upset."

"It's just me being irrational," she sighed. "My dreams tend to do that to me, since they seem so real sometimes." Way too real.

"Dreams trick you," he said as he pulled her closer to him. She placed her head more comfortably on his chest, her nerves being calmed by the sound of his steady heartbeat. She didn't want to think of the "real" dreams that he had that tricked him into believing something that wasn't there–her heart couldn't take that kind of punishment right then.

When she didn't respond, he tilted his head to see if she was still awake, and when he saw that she was, he spoke. "What... what was your dream–"

"Nightmare."

"–uh, nightmare... about?"

She sighed, her eyes transfixed on the smooth expanse of his stomach and the thin trail of hair that lead underneath the sheets–she knew that journey too well to wonder what the sheets hid.

"You."

As he was about to speak, she continued.

"Not... not anything wrong with you, just with me. My dream was so full of despair, like I had done something unspeakable to lose you, and then, in the end, I lost myself to idiocy of being so heartbroken."

"Lost yourself?" he dared to ask.

"I can't understand what my dream-self did, though... I was holding a dagger freshly coated with blood with no one around. I had been looking at an old picture of... you, us... and then it transformed. I don't know what it could mean. I was afraid to look at myself, and then I just woke up. My thoughts are a lot more coherent now, though," she added, staring off into the dark in their dimly moonlit bedroom.

"You think you wounded yourself?"

"I wouldn't hurt you, or anyone else I loved. I figure I would take my own life if I had, ultimately, hit rock bottom."

"Excuse me, what did you just say?"

"I'm not saying that I will–"

"I never want to hear that ever again, Suki. Dream or not, I don't want to hear anything remotely similar come out of your mouth. Understood?"

She chanced to look up at him, seeing that his eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "Oh, Sokka, no... I..."

"Erase that thought from your mind. Erase anything that will even make you think of leaving me, especially if you have control over it," he said, his eyebrows furrowed, forcing himself not to be weak in front of her. "I know it was just a dream, but the thought alone almost shatters me." His grasp on her almost hurt, but her emotional level overshadowed the discomfort.

"Erased. I'll never be far from you, I promise." She whispered those words as she moved closer, pressing her bare chest against his–she noted the desire in his eyes, as she always did, and appeased his thirst.

He had kept her in his arms so tightly while he took her, his bruising kisses matched her own as their sweaty bodies grasped and moved against each other.

He would never let go of her, and she was grateful. Her dreams were empty and meaningless, the way she would rather them stay.