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Hello, there, ladies and gents! Sorry this took so long to update. I'm really, terribly sorry! It took a while for ideas to this to hit me again, and I wasn't exactly sure where to go with it. But now I have a plan! Well, I hope I do, at the very least…

Thanks a lot for all of your nice feedback. Now, enjoy the chapter! And tell me what you think.

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Inspector Iroh – Tales of Republic City

Chapter IV

…

I blinked harshly, wincing as the cold cloth touched my wound. I tried to squint my eye, and even now my skull was throbbing relentlessly. Headquarters is always full of noise, officers going back and forth to bring in cuffed perps, detectives discussing their current cases in low murmurs, papers rustling as overdue requests and reports are filled out. It's nice to have background noise like this. Easier to keep awake and work overtime.

When you're probably concussed, your mind still slightly fuzzy, and all that pleasing background noise is now worming its way into your brain like a buzzing mantis-bee? Not as much fun, I can tell you that.

"I have to admit I'm impressed," Mai pronounced after a moment. "You managed to get yourself injured in a single morning's work. That has to be a new record."

I hissed out a breath of pain as she carefully dabbed at the bruise near my eye with a towel dipped in warm water. "Really, Mai? Is now really the time to read me the riot act?"

"I've found that pain sharpens the mind," Mai said drily. "People tend to listen when you're right in their face and causing discomfort. Isn't that why cops use reasonable force when you arrest someone?"

I scowled at her. "Mai, if you're trying to make me feel guilty again—"

"Don't frown," Mai said sharply, not bothering to look me in the eye as she cleaned off the blood from my face. "The cut gets all bloody and distorted if you scrunch up your face."

"I'm not frowning. This is my normal face."

"Try to look happier than you ever have in your life, then. Or drugged out of your mind, that works too."

I glared at her with the only eye that wasn't usually hemmed by my burns, but she ignored it as she carefully wiped off the blood caked on the unscarred half of my face. Realizing it was no use, I just huffed out an annoyed breath, closing my eyes and enduring her ministrations.

Well, 'enduring' is perhaps the wrong word. While it certainly wasn't pleasant – it hurt, after all – it wasn't uncomfortable per se, either. Mai had always had gentle hands. And after getting smacked in the face with a thrown boulder, that gentle touch of her fingers on my skin felt more like heaven than anything else.

I heard her sigh. "Honestly," she muttered. "Why do you always have to come in all banged up like this? Do you enjoy getting hurt?"

"Yeah, sure. It's not exactly my idea of fun, you know."

"Hmm. Well, if it was, that would explain why the two of us never worked out. I was never really into all that dominant-submissive business, after all."

I spluttered out some indignant protest, but her free hand gripped my chin and held it, the girl not even bothering to look at me as her fingers clamped like a vice. "Hold still, or this is going to take forever and a day. I have lots of paperwork to fill out, you know, thanks to that little stunt you pulled."

"Why does everyone blame me for this mess, anyway?" I grumbled, trying to stay still as Mai cleaned the wound with a cotton wad. I smelled alcohol and winced as a sharp spark of pain lanced through my head. Spirits, near-concussions are annoying.

"You set half the street on fire."

"She was throwing it at me! Self-defense! I was only doing my job! If you have to blame anyone, blame the perp!"

"Hey, it's not me you have to convince."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," I mumbled sarcastically. "I still have to explain myself to our most lovely and kind Chief Bei Fong. Best part of my day is still coming up. Thanks for reminding me, Mai."

"You're welcome."

I blinked again, trying to look at her more clearly. She was drying off the last the last of the caked blood, and—

"Mai, are you smiling?"

The corner of her mouth fell again, and she peered at me over her thin spectacles with a blank look. "What?"

"I could have sworn you just smiled."

"Oh, sure," Mai muttered as she rummaged in her first aid kit. "I think your perp must have hit you harder than I thought."

"I'm sure that you were just smiling at me. A little bit, at least."

"Yes, of course," she replied, her face the picture of deadpan as she cut out a large enough bandage to cover the cut on my forehead. "That's me, the picture of happiness, rainbows and good humor. There are so many things to smile about. My paperwork, the overtime, the crappy pay—"

I smirked. "The fact that you can run your hands over my skin again—Ouch!" I glared at Mai as the secretary more or less slapped the bandage in place, viciously tying it around my forehead. "What was that for?!"

"Hallucinating is a bad sign, you know," Mai said blandly. "So are bad pick-up lines directed at your ex. You might want to see a doctor."

"Detective Zuko!" a loud voice boomed across the room. We both looked up to see a grey-haired woman in black armor scowl at us. Or, more specifically, scowling at me in particular. "My office. NOW." She turned on her heel, marching away.

"Well, after the Chief's done with me, I might not actually need a doctor," I said under my breath, wincing at the various bruises. Ooh, I would feel that one later.

"Should I call the morgue, then? Reserve a nice coffin for you?"

"You know, that would be funny," I said with a grimace, "if I wasn't walking to my death right now. A little sympathy would be nice."

"I'll get one which we can sweep all the little pieces into, then."

And with that last parting shot, Mai walked away to return to her crowded desk. I looked after her, slightly puzzled.

I really could have sworn that she was smiling. Even if only for a moment.

"Detective! Any time now would be nice!"

I flinched, pulling a face as my muddled brain was assaulted by far too many decibels. I closed my eyes, opening them again to walk to my doom with a sigh.

I stepped through the door and closed it behind me, turning around to see my boss glaring at me from behind her desk. I tried to smile.

Her scowl only got grimmer, and she pointed sternly at the chair before her desk. "Sit down, Detective."

Note to self: no trying to smile anymore. There are many adjective that apply to me, and 'photogenic' isn't one of them.

I sat down in the chair (it's notoriously uncomfortable – there are even rumors floating around in HQ that the Chief had it specially designed that way to make rookies and veteran cops equally uncomfortable) and sat up straight, facing my doom. Boss. Whatever.

Chief Bei Fong folded her hands and leaned her elbows on her desk, her cold green eyes boring into mine.

"Now. Would you care to explain—" her sharp chin jutted out at a thick stack of gutted letters to the side, "—why I got a complaint from the City's Traffic Department because someone gutted an entire stretch of road, pavement, and three traffic lights, another from the Western Bay Neighborhood Association's ranting at me for destroying the quarter's peace and distinctive architecture, a bunch of others asking for compensations for damages going well up to three hundred thousand yuans, and another one from…"

The Chief snatched up one of the letters, her left eyebrow climbing up as she read aloud. "The 'Republic City's Secret Gramophone Brotherhood' for recklessly damaging one of their members' shops?"

I blinked at her. "There's a secret brotherhood of gramophone makers?"

"Not the damn point I was trying to get at, Detective, though it confuses the hell out of me as well." She threw the letter down on the desk, glaring. "How on earth is it that I now have three metalbenders in the hospital, about half a dozen dignitaries of the city howling for my blood, and the Avatar herself stuck down in one of my cells?

"There had better be a story behind this that makes some sense, or I'll be forced to bust some heads to sort it out. Preferably, I'd start with yours."

Yup. So dead.

I grinned weakly at her. "Would you believe me if I told you I was passing by and just minding my own business?"

The glare didn't go away. In fact, I think it only got worse. If friction could have set the Chief's eyebrows on fire, her head would have probably been aflame by now.

(I once knew someone who could do that. He was a firebender, though. One heck of a party trick, I can tell you that.)

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Well, I'd better start telling you this from the top down. My day started out normal enough…"

Or as normally as it ever does, I neglected to add. Lucky me.

…

When I left Councilor Hakoda's home, I was lost in my thoughts.

Most of it involved rattling down a list of contacts, acquaintances, and friends I had in the shady side of the city's nightlife that I might pump for information, possible theories as to who could have possibly wanted to bump off a nice lady like the Councilor's wife, especially when there was no obvious motive for it, and imagining the headlines of this evening's newspapers and the general hullabaloo that would come from it.

Another part of my brain—the sensible part, I guess—was furiously trying to think of a place I might get some breakfast. It sounded very convincing, too. If my brain was a parliament, it probably would have been labeled the vocal minority. Doesn't take up much space, but really loud nonetheless.

It was only when I took a peek into my wallet that I remembered that I had to spend the last of my cash on an informant's lunch yesterday. His say-so had been the last thing I needed to nab those smugglers that put Jee in the hospital last night.

So not only didn't I have any cash for breakfast, but I couldn't even hail a cab. And if the metalbenders' usual frowny faces were any indication, they weren't particularly inclined to give me a ride, either. Joy.

"Hey, Zuko!"

I turned around to see Sokka walk out of his father's house. "Hey, Sokka. Aren't you gonna stay with your dad?"

The young tribesman grimaced and shook his head. "Nah. My dad hates it when others see him cry. It's a man thing."

"Huh."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. So, what's the plan?"

I raised my eyebrow. Since it was the only one I had left, it tended to make an impression. "Sorry, what plan would that be?"

"Well, the plan to catch the guy who killed my mom, obviously! Aren't we going to do something about it!?"

Ah. Now I understood what he meant. I scratched the back of my neck, trying to think of the politest way to break it to him that we wouldn't be doing much. "Um, Sokka—"

"Oh no, man," he said, making an 'X' with his arms and scowling. "You are not leaving me on the sidelines for this! Look, I know you have problems with letting me help you out, but this is way too important to me! And don't give me that usual 'cop/civilian' crap! This is family business!"

"And that's exactly the reason why I can't let you help me, Sokka," I interrupted him. I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to be comforting. Yeah, I know, laugh it up. "Look, I get it. You're angry, you're sad, you want to do something. But this is your mother that got killed."

"Yeah, so?"

"What are you going to do when you find the bastard who did this, huh? Lose your temper and snap? Are you going to kill him right back? That's how the Southern Water Tribes handle the murder of one of their own, if I recall correctly. Blood for blood."

"But—"

"Sokka, I get it." I looked him in the eye, hoping that this would convey more than words could that I really did understand. "But I'm not going to run the risk of having to arrest you for murder as well. Your life would be over."

He still looked mutinous, so I tried a different tactic. "How are you going to explain to that girl of yours that you're doing twenty to life? Do you really think she'll want to marry a jailbird?"

I threw an arm over his shoulder and steered him away from my friendly-faced colleagues to hiss into his ear. "I never knew her, but what would your mother have thought about you snapping and becoming a murderer, Sokka? Because of her?"

That seemed to finally hit something in him. He looked startled, then briefly ashamed, then suddenly very sad and tired. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "She wouldn't have liked it," he muttered.

"See?" I squeezed his shoulder, then let go. "Seems that you're thinking straight again, huh?"

"…I guess. But, look, I can't just sit here and do nothing," he pleaded. "Are you sure I can't do something to help you?"

I frowned. Vigilantism was something you have to be wary of as a cop—there's nothing quite like having inexperienced civvies running into the line of fire to get you closer to a pre-retirement heart attack.

And although Sokka had been through a lot (some of it because of me, actually) and knew how to handle himself, I was looking for a professional hitman with some serious firebending skills and a spectacular lack of compunction about premeditated murder, and those fellas usually have ties to organized crime. Sokka was just a normal guy with a boomerang, a notepad, and a big mouth that got him as often into trouble as out of it.

But I understood where he was coming from. He wasn't the only one who had lost his mother to a firebender, after all.

It was my turn to sigh. "Alright, buddy," I said quietly, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "You have a lot of friends and contacts all over the city, right?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Comes with being a journalist, I guess."

"Then here's what you can do. Ask around if your father made any enemies recently, or if he was involved in something that might have gotten someone to target your family."

"Like what?"

"A decision of the City Council, or perhaps an official statement that got some fringe group all riled up, or something that pissed off someone rich and powerful, or something involving the mob… Just ask questions and gather info. Shake the tree, see what falls out."

"What?"

"Sorry, Earth Kingdom saying." I poked him in the chest with a warning look. "If you find a lead, you call me and let me investigate. Don't go off on your own. And if anyone tries to hurt you, hail tail out of there and call the cops. They already left one body lying around; whoever is behind this is not screwing around."

"All right, I'll be careful," Sokka agreed, looking rather put out. I tried to summon some sympathy and failed. "Where can I reach you?"

"You still have my phone number at RPCD HQ?" He nodded. "Then call me there or check my apartment. If I'm not available, give it to Miss Mai at the secretary's desk or my uncle."

Sokka blinked. "Is that the old fat guy with a loony love for all things tea?"

I grinned at him. "Sure is. Also made it to inspector in record time and used to serve in the army, so better be careful when you talk about the tea. He takes that stuff seriously."

"Why is everyone in your family so weird?" Sokka asked under his breath.

"Ha, ha." In case you're wondering, I haven't laughed much in recent years. This was me at my most deadpan. "You don't want to meet the rest of my family, I can promise you that."

"I can imagine. The family dinners must have been the best time ever."

I scowled at him, crossing my arms. "Funny guy. If we're already talking about family, is there anyone else who needs to know about your mother's death?"

Sokka's face fell even more. "Yeah, my sister Katara. Runs a hospital down in the Imperial Wharfs."

Huh. That's smack-dab in the middle of gangland. Interesting territory to open a hospital. "Do you want to go tell her, or should I do it?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I think it's better if you go. We haven't been on the best of terms recently, and I think I'd better stick close to my dad." Sokka scratched his cheek, wincing. "Katara was pretty close to her mom, closer than I was. You know, I mostly followed dad around or played outside. Katara's…"

"More bookish? Smarter? Less prone to get into trouble?" I suggested.

He punched me in the shoulder. "Yup. All of those things, actually. You could make it sound better, you know!"

"No chance of that, pal. All right, I'll go by when I have the time. And when I actually can pay the fare for a cab," I added under my breath, cursing my bad luck.

A silver key on a chain was dangled under my nose. I blinked. "What's that for?"

"You need a way to get around the city pronto, right? My Satomobile's parked right around the corner."

"You have got to be kidding me. You just got that car a month ago. Why would you ever give it to me?"

Sokka grinned. "Well, I figure if you can use it to find my mom's killer, then I don't mind loaning it to you for a while. Besides, I trust you."

I took the keys, trying to smile. Being trusted felt… nice, actually. "Thanks."

Sokka clapped me on the shoulder and walked past me into his father's home. "You better load up the batteries before you give it back!"

"I can bend lightning; I think I'll manage."

"And don't scratch the paintjob! I love that car more than you!"

I gave him a decidedly rude salute over my shoulder, and heard him laugh as I walked away.

I couldn't help but envy his irrepressible attitude. It took me weeks, even months before I was back to normal after my mother's… 'disappearance'. I don't think I've been quite right ever since it happened, either.

Nothing can put Sokka down for long, though. The guy's tough as cured sealskin. Smells twice as bad after a night of drinking, too, but let's not extend the metaphor too much.

Still, here's hoping that it would help him with his father.

When I turned the corner, I couldn't help but stare. I was confronted with one of the newest Satomobile models that Future Industries had put out: it was all shiny, dark blue-painted finish, brown leather seats, and a sleek, elegant roof and engine block. Sokka had obviously done well for himself.

"That's it," I decided grimly when I got in. "I've got to get myself a raise."

If I'd known what would happen later today, I wouldn't have entertained that little fantasy for more than a moment.

…

Traffic was starting to act up now that the day was progressing. I scowled as someone cut me off at a crossroad, honking and flipping me a nice birdy signal out the window. Jerk. There's a reason why I prefer the tram.

I memorized the license plate and resolved to have a little chat with some guys I knew in traffic police. Sometimes, being the long arm of the law does have its advantages.

Still, I couldn't waste much time. I had work to do, and the councilor's wife wasn't the only open murder case I had to look into. Republic City had not gotten safer in recent years. The sun, nice weather, and blue sky out today just masked that fact for all those who didn't dare look too closely.

So I took a dive off the main road and plotted a little shortcut through the boroughs. I should be at HQ in about half an hour, if all went well.

Or that was the plan, at least. When I turned into a quiet road—lovely little shops, a grocer's, some apartments—I saw one of those Triad hotrods swerve into from the other side, screeching to a halt before one of the shops. The neighbors quickly scattered, went inside, or took cover.

Oh, yeah. Now I remember why people avoid driving through here. This is Triple Threat Triad territory, after all. Silly me.

From the distance, I could see three men climb out of their gaudily-decorated satomobile and swagger towards a shop owner. Words were exchanged, and then a fireball flashed, making the poor man cower in fear.

I slowed to a halt, scowling as I watched the scene. I had work to do, true, and I wasn't technically on the Vice Squad…

Damn. I didn't become a cop just to find excuses not to help people.

I sighed, parked the car a good distance away (I was taking Sokka's concern about the paintjob seriously, you know), and stepped out just in time to see a teenager in Water Tribe skins call out something to the leader of the goon squad.

I heard the words "hoodlum," "fresh off the boat," "hospital," and "why don't you come and find out?!" All of which have historically been the best way to get yourself crispy-fried, buried, and drowned all at the same when facing the Triple Threats.

Great. A greenhorn newbie to the city and three easily pissed-off mobsters with brains the size of a moderately large pea. This could only end well.

I sped up my pace, hoping to knock some skulls together before things went south (well, even more southern than they already were), and filled my lungs to shout as loudly as I could.

And then the darndest thing happened.

One of the goons bent a globe of water at her. The girl caught it as easily as I would a baseball and threw it right back at him, freezing his skull and then kicking him in the face for good measure.

I'll admit I was impressed, but not yet surprised. A lot more waterbenders from the Southern Tribes had been born since the end of the Hundred Years' War, and many had moved to the United Republic afterwards. I've seen better fighters than this girl.

What did surprise me, however, is how she punched the next goon flying into the air using a massive stone fist that suddenly emerged from the street.

I watched him bounce off a façade once, twice, and then finally crash into the grocer's fruit stand. Waste of good produce, if you ask me.

But I'll admit that I had other things on my mind when I watched the last hoodlum try to fry that gutsy little girl. She dived through the thrown flames with contemptuous ease, smothering them, and then hurled the thug through the storefront on the opposite side of the street.

I couldn't help but wince when I heard him shatter the windowpane. Ouch. If he didn't get his back lacerated all over, then I was top candidate for winning the Mister Republic City beauty pageant.

Still, I think I had an inkling as to who that young lady over there was.

"Got an idea who I am now, chumps!?"

Ah. That's how you see the difference between the amateurs and the professionals. Gloating.

If she had been more watchful, she would have seen the two other goons scrambling off to their car and drive hell for leather to get out of there, grabbing their comrade that had picked himself out of the shop's wreckage as fast as he could.

Interestingly enough, they were driving straight at me, and from the panic-stricken 'I-just-peed-my-pants' look the fella at the wheel was giving me, I don't think he was too inclined to think about proper road safety.

(Un)Luckily for him, neither was I. Not the first time someone's tried to run me over, either. Ex-girlfriends can be quite judgmental.

Left foot forward, lower stance. Left palm forward, right palm to the sky. Breathe, and push.

A stream of flame no thicker than a towing cable flew through the air and caught one of the satomobile's front wheels. It exploded spectacularly as the pressurized air escaped, the gaudily shiny steel rim screeching across the street as the car drifted sideways towards me.

I stepped out of the way, waving at the screaming driver as he passed me by with just half a foot to go, and watched the car slide down the rest of the street, where it would harmlessly come to a stop fifty yards away.

Of course, that was the plan. What really happened was that someone bent the entirety of the street under the vehicle, sending it careening into yet another shop and smashing the entire storefront to bits with a cacophony to rouse all kinds of dormant spirits.

"Woohoo, yeah!" a loud voice called out behind me, laughing. Someone clapped me on the shoulder, and I got an impression of blue eyes, braided hair, a large grin, and all the youthful enthusiasm that I wished I had as a kid. "That was totally awesome!"

I groaned, dropping my face into my palm and rubbing my aching scars.

You know why I don't like vigilantes? Here's Exhibit A as to why. Amateurs, the lot of them.

…

Avatar: The Last Airbender is an animated television series written by Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko and originally broadcast on the US Nickelodeon channel from February 2005 to July 2008. Three seasons of the series were produced.

The Legend of Korra is its successor series, written by the same aforementioned authors, its first season originally premiering on Nickelodeon in April 2012. At the time of writing (September 2012), three more seasons have been announced.

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