Of course Tokka week rolls around, and I suddenly start getting plot bunnies for Toph and Lin stories and childhood!Linzin. I don't understand my life.

I just have a lot of Beifong Family feels, okay?

Summary: In the aftermath of the LoK finale, Lin recalls her mother's encounter with bloodbending. Implied past!Linzin.

"Well, they're finally asleep," Tenzin announced, coming into the kitchen. "Jinora wanted more stories about the valiant Police Chief apprehending warlords, but I put her off. I promised she could have them tomorrow."

Lin made a noncommittal noise. She was sitting on a stool by the counter, nursing a cup of tea, her armor set neatly on a shelf in the pantry. Of course, since the black uniform she wore underneath it was more or less the cloth equivalent of armor, she didn't look any less intimidating.

Tenzin took down another cup and poured tea for himself. "You know, the children are quite fond of you, Lin," he said, as nonchalantly as he could. "You could stay on the island for another week, spend some more time with them. Unless you've important, uh, police business to attend to, of course."

Lin didn't respond; she was too busy scrutinizing her tea like she'd have to pick it out of a lineup later. Tenzin cleared his throat. Lin finally blinked and raised her head. "Did you say something? I was miles away."

"I could see that." Tenzin considered for a moment, then pulled up another stool beside Lin and waved a hand at the window curtains, which billowed closed. "All right, tell me," he said evenly. "Losing your bending. What was it like?"

She looked surprised. "Why would you want to know?"

"Because I think you need to say it," said Tenzin.

Lin accepted this with a nod and looked back down at her tea. Just when Tenzin thought she had decided not to answer, she abruptly asked, "Do you remember when your father came home and told us what had happened at Yakone's trial?"

"Vaguely." Tenzin's brow furrowed with the effort of memory. "I was nine. That would've made you — eight, I suppose."

"He told us a little then. I learned the rest much later. We studied Yakone in the police academy, you know. All the ways he used the officers' own methods against them, to contaminate evidence, get out on loopholes. Of course everyone knew the story of what had happened to him, and one day someone asked my mother what it had been like — to be there at the trial, to feel it all happening. To be under his control.

We were in advanced training, with the practice cables. We were her most dedicated students, the most talented. Gifted Earthbenders, every one. We spent all day honing our bending, improving it, making a life and a purpose out of it. Of course we wanted to know what it was like to lose that, even just for a minute or two."

She trailed off, and was quiet for a while. Eventually, Tenzin broke the silence. "What did Toph say?"

"Not very much," Lin answered. "A little bit about being empty and afraid. That was shocking enough for everyone, that she'd be afraid. It satisfied them, and we went back to practice." Lin drew a fingertip around the edge of her cup. The tea had long gone cold. "I asked her again, at home that night. I could tell when she was lying by omission — I never needed Earthbending for that. I was eighteen."

"And did she tell you?"

Lin nodded again. "At first she didn't know what was happening. She heard Sokka yelling, grunting like an animal, but she couldn't tell Yakone was doing it. She attacked him on instinct. And then… nothing." Lin hunched her shoulders forward, as though trying to protect herself from a gale. "I'll always remember what she said: 'Nothing was left in me.' There was pain, of course, but that was nothing compared to the emptiness. Her connection to the earth, her sight, her power over her own limbs — never mind the prisoner she'd taken with her own hands! — all gone. She couldn't even hear the beating of her own heart."

Lin glanced up at Tenzin and found his eyes trained on her, deep and steady and eternally calm. Strange, that under all his blustering lurked this tranquility. Even now, he was stronger than she'd realized. "Is that what you felt, that emptiness?" he asked quietly.

Lin held his gaze. "My bending is all I have left of her."

"And you have it back." Tenzin laid a hand on her forearm. It was just for a moment, but it was enough. "And besides, it isn't all you have. When Amon took your bending, there was still so much left of you, Lin. There was you. You kept going. I don't think there's anything that would have made Toph more proud."

Lin didn't smile, but it was a near thing. She stood, cleared her throat, and began buckling her armor back on. She did it manually, without bending, pressing the seams together and buckling on her wrist braces, to give herself time; and the clanking hid any noise she might have made. Tenzin obediently pretended to be extremely absorbed in his tea.

Finally she turned around to face him again, fully armored and composed. "Thanks for the tea," she said briskly. "I should get back to Headquarters tonight. I don't trust Saikhan to rebuild a broken flowerpot on his own, let alone the city."

"Of course," Tenzin said. "You're welcome here any time, Lin, remember that."

"I will. Thank you." She went to walk past him, but paused. "You're a good friend, Tenzin, even if you are insufferable." She punched him in the shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

As she went on toward the door, he rubbed his shoulder, unable to suppress a wistful smile. Oh, the memories that punch brought back…

Lin paused again in the doorway. "Tell Jinora she'll get her warlord stories next week," she said over her shoulder. "And we'll do some training as well. Just because your children are airbenders doesn't mean you get out of teaching them to have a proper stance."

"My childrens' stances are just fine, thank you!" Tenzin protested. Lin just smiled and left.