Thanks, guys—papyrus, Vee, Olive Tree Hugger. :D

To answer your question, Olive Tree Hugger, I called the series "Bonds" because of the bond that's hinted at in the show between Aang and Lin. I think Lin has a great deal of respect for Aang, if not love, and part of that to me is love of his philosophy and the fruit of it: Republic City itself. Lin would want to see Aang's vision grow and flourish. There's also the bond between Lin and her mother, Toph (Republic City is the fruit of Toph's work, too), and the bond between Lin and the Metalbenders she trained and led. Later on, Lin's bond with Aang comes into play with Aang's progeny, Tenzin and his children, and as we know, Lin's not about to let Amon take their bending away without a fight. So… "Bonds". :D

In "Bonds III" I wanted to explore a "where do we go from here" angle, and I'm not done yet—I was, but after your comment, Vee, heaven knows there are plenty of things to explore. XD I felt that Lin felt that Aang was all about restoring balance between the Bending Nations but between the Nations themselves, and I agree, papyrus—Aang was not just making a world safe for Bending, and Lin after due consideration would come to the same realization, I think. That… is something I hope Mike and Bryan explore more. Here's hoping. I'll see if I have a "Bonds IV" in me one of these days. (And heck—Lin knows she's got skills, but I don't think she has ever been arrogant about it. She wants to do what she can, so… if a beat cop's the job available, then there it is. XD) (And sorry for such a long answer, Olive Tree Hugger. XD)

So this next one is more in line with my "ATLA Wanderings" work… just a little lighter. XD Thanks again for reading, everybody, and most especially for commenting.


Fill 'Er Up!

There was a Cabbage Corp "Gas 'n Go" on the southern outskirts of Republic City. Everybody knew where it was, everybody filled up their Satomobile or Cabbage Car there, but not much happened there. You got your tank filled, your windows washed, your oil checked, your tires pumped up, and off you went. Done. At least… that's how the gas station jockey felt about it all. Nothing ever happened there.

It was a job, though, and that was the important thing, as his friends liked to point out. It was a steady source of yuans—and if that wasn't important nowadays, what was?

After taking care of car number thirteen for the day, the attendant topped off the oil cans, straightened the road maps, made sure the dried soup and noodle containers and the pot of hot water nearby were in order—again—and waited for the next customer. He looked over his shoulder at the neighboring service-and-repair shop. The company literature had it that Cabbage Corp's founder figured if things were going to get wrecked—as they often did around him, for some strange reason—he might as well benefit from it, hence the repair business. The attendant smiled. That makes a lot of sense. Wouldn't mind doing that instead of this, too. He sighed. One of these days.

DING-DING!

Someone had run over the bell hose; a customer was coming in. The station attendant snapped out of his reverie and went to take care of the customer.

The car was a big police van, dark blue. The attendant put a smile on his face, but inside he was a little apprehensive. You didn't want trouble with the police. That always applied, of course, but nowadays…

He went to the driver's window on the van's left side. "Fill 'er up, officer?"

The driver's uniform was dark blue, too; Task Force. "Yeah. And make it quick."

"Yes, sir! Should I check under the hood, sir?"

"What? You gonna do something there, something… untoward?"

"No, just check the oil, make sure things are okay!"

"No. Things are fine. We don't need you to make 'em less fine. Just fill up the car."

"Yes, sir!" The attendant went to the pump. That he was actually glad to hear, even if it was threateningly phrased. It was a clear instruction, clearly indicated; fill up the gas tank, stay away from the hood, no mention made about the tires, so stay away from them. It made for a lot less trouble.

The van's gas tank seemed bottomless, but eventually it filled up. The attendant hung up the nozzle, screwed the cap back on the tank, and went back to the driver. "That'll be fifteen yuans, please."

A surly look. "Ya got a bill?"

"No, sir, but I can get you one. Be right back." The attendant went to his office, filled out a form, then brought it back on a clipboard. "There you go."

The officer wrote some ideograms on the bottom of the bill, then handed it back. "There. 'Have a nice day.' " He drove off.

The attendant looked up from the clipboard to see the rear of the van, moving away. He waved the clipboard. "Hey! Hey, what's this?"

"Bill it to Councilman Tarrlok!" the officer yelled back and laughed.

The attendant looked at the clipboard again. At the bottom the officer had written "Fuel Requisition – Task Force Officer #142" and the date. He sighed and glared at the fading cloud of dust on the highway. Well, that would be coming out of his pay pouch. Bill Councilman Tarrlok? Right.

o o o

Later that afternoon (and after discovering a recent memo that said he could bill the Task Force care of City Hall for "fuel requisitions"; boy, that was a relief), another car came in. This one was fancy, red with gold trim and sharp-looking whitewall tires. The attendant was on his toes; this was either a good thing or a bad thing. The owner of this car was rich, and that meant either a good tip or a bad attitude. He'd take his chances.

Not that he really had a choice, anyway.

He was about to go up to the driver's window when a stout older man got out of the back. He had streaks of gray in his black hair and wore pince-nez glasses and a well-tailored suit, and he had an intelligent, observant look to him. The attendant went to him. "Fill 'er up, sir?"

"Yes, fill 'er up," the man replied in a pleasant baritone.

The attendant nodded. "Thank you, sir. Certainly." He went to the pump and got the fuel started only to see the businessman unfasten the hood and stick his head under the hood of the car.

In a flurry he ran for the hood. "Sir I can handle that that's my job—" Then he remembered the fuel was still running, and having that run over would be disastrous. He stopped hard, turned around, ran back to the pump, turned it off, then headed for the hood again. "I really don't mean to trouble you sir but that's part of the service—"

"No, no, that's all right." The businessman pulled himself out from under the hood, stood, and smiled. "If I don't know what's going on with my own Satomobile, I have no business building them. It's good to keep my hands dirty. Hmm…" He drew the dipstick out from under the hood. "You don't have a rag handy, do you?"

The owner of his company's main competitor standing there, dripping dipstick in hand, asking him for a rag... short of the Fire Lord driving in for a fill-up, the attendant couldn't have been more surprised. He came out of his trance, gave himself a quick pat-down looking for the rag (which he knew darn well where it was, just not at this moment), found it, and handed it over to the businessman.

"Thank you." The businessman cleaned off the dipstick, put it back in its slot, then drew it out again. "Hmm… it's a bit low. That new oil isn't working as well as I thought."

"Did you need some oil, sir?" The attendant thumbed over his shoulder. "Or if you like, the shop will be happy to give your car an oil change."

The businessman looked at him. "Trying to steal my secrets, are you? Get a look at my newest model?"

The attendant's eyes went wide. "No, sir! You just said you were low on oil, so I thought I would—"

"No, no, that's all right." There was a twinkle in the businessman's eye. "I know you're doing your job. As it is, I wouldn't trust my Satomobile to anyone besides my own shop—not that you'd do anything wrong, I'm sure."

"I understand, sir. Certainly not a problem. Can I get you anything else?"

The twinkle was still there. "I was of the understanding that I was getting a fill-up."

Why that fact had to be presented to the attendant, he'd never know, maybe the quick sequence of events—but he did feel very sheepish. He winced. "Sorry, sir. Let me get right on that."

"Quite all right, son. You're doing your job."

The attendant went back to the pump, fitted the nozzle into the tank again, and turned it back on. It occurred to him that the repair shop probably would like a look at the competition's newest vehicle if only to make some notes, but that certainly wasn't his intent in asking about the oil change. It was just good service, offering what the customer might need at that moment—and the businessman was quite right to say what he said.

He watched the man go around the Satomobile, checking the tires—again, part of the attendant's job, but the businessman didn't seem to mind. The man checked the wear on the tires as well. The attendant nodded; not many people did that, and should. He finished filling up the car, cleaned the windows (being careful to wipe the squeegee down after each stroke), and came to the businessman with the bill. "That'll be seven yuans, please."

The businessman brought out a thick sheaf of yuans, fished out a ten-spot, and plunked it into the attendant's hand. "There. Keep the change."

The attendant's eyes bugged out a bit. "Thank you, sir!"

"Well worth it. You're doing good work here. And not to mess with my competition, but uh… if you ever feel the need, come by and ask for a job. I'll find you something."

Another jolt. "I'll, uh, keep it in mind, sir. Thank you."

The man nodded and got back in his car. "Keep up the good work!" He closed the door, motioned to the driver, and away they went.

The attendant stood there, ten yuan note in hand, dazed. He looked around. It eventually came to him that standing around looking like a shell-shocked turtle duck might not be in his best interest. He headed back to the shed.

Though he'd freely admit that he did feel like a shell-shocked turtle duck. What a day.

o o o

Evening came, and rush hour: people rushing to get home from work, making a last stop for fuel before hitting the road for home.

The attendant liked rush hour. Things happened fast and furious, which was a pain, but usually that meant more cars and more people in a rush to get going, so they were less concerned about waiting for change. It made for more tips.

A delivery truck pulled up, brown, "Chan's Housewares" emblazoned on the side. A man hopped out of the driver's seat; he was thin and wiry, and had a thin mustache drooping from his lip toward his chin.

The attendant was there in a flash. "Fill 'er up, sir?"

The man nodded. "Yeah," he replied in a high gravelly voice. "Never mind the tires; we'll take care of that."

The attendant nodded in turn. "Very well, sir, fuel it is." Hmm—odd day, he thought, as he unhitched the fuel nozzle and put it in the tank. But hey—"the customer's always right". I take care of the fuel, you take care of the tires, you get out of here faster, I get more cars in faster—we're all happy.

A few guys hopped out of the back of the truck wearing Chan company logos on their overalls; they were thin and wiry like the driver. It seemed odd how alike they were, nondescript… but they moved so fluidly, in coordination with each other. Still, they were doing him a good turn, checking and pumping up the tires.

The gas tank filled up faster than the attendant expected. He shrugged, turned off the pump, hung up the nozzle, and secured the cap on the tank. He reached for his bucket and squeegee. A quick wash and wipe can't hurt. They didn't say anything about the windows.

A couple quick brushes and swipes took care of the driver's side and front windows, nice and easy. He worked his way around the front of the truck, started to work on the passenger's side windows, and saw a figure in the back of the truck—a hooded figure wearing a white mask with a big red circle on the forehead. The figure in the mask started to turn in his direction…

He turned away quickly and moved away from the truck. Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh—

Only to almost run into the driver. "You don't want to look in there."

"L-l-l-look where? There? Oh, n-n-no sir. Against c-c-company policy. We're n-n-not supp-p-posed to look anyplace inside a c-c-c-ar."

"Good. What's the bill?"

"Bill? O-oh, yeah. Eleven y-yuans, please."

"All right." The driver got out his wallet and brought out a ten yuan note, then fished in his pocket and produced a one-yuan coin. He handed them to the attendant. He signed to the other Chan workers, who climbed back into the truck. They drove off.

The attendant swallowed. No tip at a time like this was probably the best tip he could get. He was also beginning to understand why his company's founder thought repair shops were such a great idea.

o o o

The moon rose from behind the hills and bathed the city in its light. The attendant was about ready to call it quits for the night. It had been a good day, but he had gained a new understanding of the Earth Kingdom curse, "may you live in interesting times." He'd had his fill of excitement for a while.

He was just about to hit the lights when one last car drove up—another fancy one, like in the middle of the day, but a convertible, black, filled with four kids. Kids. He groaned to himself, then stopped, and smiled. To be honest, this is my level of excitement.

He came over to the car. "Hey, folks. Fill 'er up?"

The girl at the wheel smiled. "Yes, please."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Coming right up." He went over to the pump and got things started.

"I still think we should check out that place that the Task Force hit," a stocky guy in the back said.

"We could," said the thinner guy in front, "but it could be dangerous. Now that the Task Force has been there and gone, they'll be doubly ready."

"Or maybe everyone will ignore the joint since it's been discovered, and we can look around for clues! We gotta find something on these guys!"

The thinner guy turned around. "Bolin, I don't think it's a good idea. They've been one step ahead of us the whole time. They could have cleaned up everything there and left behind some traps. I don't like it."

The stocky guy in front turned away frowning. "You always don't like my ideas."

"Bolin, it isn't because of you. What the Task Force didn't find the Equalists probably cleaned up. They know the Task Force knows about that place and so now do Bei Fong's Metalbenders. They wouldn't leave anything behind that would leave them vulnerable!"

"I'm with Bolin." A lithe, well-muscled blue-clad girl pounded her right fist into her left hand in the back seat. "It's time we did something to these guys—and to do that, we gotta know what they're doing."

"But not this place," the thin guy insisted. "We could be playing right into their hands. Again."

The girl in back gave him a look. "Well, why don't you come up with something, Mister Planbender?"

"I will." The guy returned the look. "As soon as I think of it."

"Which will be when? Before or after Amon takes out something else?"

The attendant finished filling up the car. He had a good idea who was in the car here, and it was clear what they were after—but those guys that came through before… if they found out…

"Listen." The voice of the girl in front was soothing; it sounded like she had done this before. "I agree with Bolin and Korra that we ought to do something, but I agree with Mako that we have to be careful. This might not be the best place. If we found someplace where they'd just been, it would be better."

The gas tank full, the attendant turned off the pump, screwed the cap back on the tank, came to the driver's side, and cleared his throat.

Four heads snapped around, startled.

"Check your oil and tires, folks?"

Sheepish relief blossomed on their faces. "Tires," said the guy in front. "Yeah. Uh, no, that's okay. We'd better get going."

The attendant smiled. "Okay, that'll be eight yuans, please." The girl in front nodded and started to open her wallet.

Something inside the attendant quivered, vacillating… then he made up his mind. He looked quickly to either side, then came a little closer and lowered his voice. "And you didn't hear this from me, but uh… there was a truck that came through here a while ago? 'Chan's Housewares' was on the side of it. The guys coming out of the truck looked pretty suspicious… and they didn't want me looking into the truck either."

"Why?" said the girl in the back.

"Why didn't you say this before?" said the guy in front.

"Because I didn't wanna bother you guys. Company policy. But I did see a guy in the back of that truck…" He looked at the girl in back. "A guy with a white mask, if you know what I mean?"

"That's it! Let's go!" said the girl in back.

"Yeah!" said the guy in back. "Let's get 'em!"

"Where were they headed?" asked the guy in front. "Did they say anything?"

"No, they said nothin', but they were headed downtown. But you didn't hear it from me!"

"Why do we never hear anything from anybody nowadays?" moaned the guy in back.

The girl in front placed some money in his hand. Her hands were as warm and as soft as her voice. "Thank you. We really appreciate it."

"You're welcome, miss." The attendant nodded and stepped back. He looked in his hand—and there was a twenty yuan note. He looked up quickly. "Uh—"

"Keep the change. Please. You really helped us."

"Uh…"

The girl started the Satomobile, then waved as she drove away. "Thank you!"

The attendant watched them drive away, pretty girl at the wheel, raven hair flying, a twenty yuan note in his hand and her thanks in his ears. He waved with a silly smile, feeling dazed. "Goodbye…"

After a moment of standing there with that silly smile, he headed back to the shack, feeling pretty good. Yeah… some days, it really paid to be a gas station jockey.