"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely positive."

Zuko blew smoke out the corner of his mouth, one hand shoved in the pocket of his suit pants. He gripped his lighter. Xin Fu kept pace with him, the older man not looking nearly as calm. He fumbled with his match, burned his fingers. Zuko offered to light the cigarette for him.

"I just don't understand how you're so calm."

"I keep my shaking on the inside."

Xin Fu let out a low chuckle. "You're something else, you know that?"

"Which is why we're here."

The two walked on in silence for a few blocks. Looming ever closer was a massive house, nearly twice the size as the others surrounding it. Rumor had it that, in his prime, Gyatso bought two neighboring houses and had them connected. Zuko didn't care why the house was so large, but he would admit that it had a certain intimidation factor. That massive brick structure bore down on them. They were miniscule in its shadow. Its door would be a gaping maw ready to devour. But would it spit them back out, or would it find them too tasty to let go?

"I hope to high heaven you're wrong," Xin Fu said, stopping half a block away.

Zuko shrugged. "I'm not sure if I do. On the one hand it puts him away…"

"On the other, the bastard could have murdered his father."

"Whoa there," Zuko said, putting up his hands with a small smile. "I wasn't going that far. I'm starting at forgery. Saying Gyatso doesn't know what's what. He's ninety-five, remember?"

Xin Fu pitched his cigarette away, blowing the remaining smoke from the corner of his mouth and into the wind. "You stopped short of saying murder. You did this little prancy tap dance around it."

"I didn't do any 'prancy tap dance.' What the hell is that?"

"The point is, you came this close to saying 'murder' before you backed down. You scared of the word or something?"

Zuko took a deep breath, held it, then released it. He looked over his shoulder at the building that was blocking the sun and casting a shadow over them. It was a gorgeous building, with its gargoyles and stone façade, the wrought iron fence that kept everyone out. It even had its own private driveway, letting the car go right up to the front door. A rose in a field of grass couldn't have been more noticeable than that behemoth of a building. Zuko shook his head and turned back to his partner.

"Maybe I am afraid of saying murder. What do you do when someone like that," he nodded toward the building, "murders his father? How do we even deal?"

Xin Fu rubbed his temples and Zuko ground out his cigarette stub on the sidewalk. He exhaled the smoke through his nose with a forceful push. Slapping Xin Fu on the back twice, he turned them toward the house and began the final approach.

"Fear or no fear, it's up to us," Zuko said. "If we don't do it, no one will, and this city goes to the dogs. Chicago falls, then Atlantic City falls. New York. Detroit. Who knows what else'll start to happen. We've got to be the ones to stand up to this bullshit."

They stopped in front of the gate, and imperceptibly, a curtain on the second floor fluttered, a face visible for only a second. But Zuko and Xin Fu had been trained to see the unseeable.

"You want to know why I moved to Seattle?" Xin Fu asked. "To get away from this mess. It's unreal. They've been watching us since we got out the car and had lunch. They've probably been listening to our conversation this entire time. They phone him, tell him what we're after, he's already got the jump on us."

Zuko nodded. "I thought about that."

"And?"

Zuko pressed the buzzer on the gate, rang for admittance. They didn't have to wait long; a woman came out, unlocked the gate for them. She said nothing, made no eye contact, lead them back to the house. Inside, she accepted their coats and hats, didn't ask for their guns. When she turned to the hall closet to put away their things, Xin Fu raised an eyebrow at Zuko, but he only shook his head. Whether it was nervousness, excitement, or fear, the woman trembled. It was not courtesy or respect that made her avert her eyes.

When she turned to them again, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but shook her head instead, sweeping her arm out, indicating the direction they should walk. She lead them to an opulent sitting room, a claw footed couch upholstered in deep gold and red patterned fabric facing an ornately carved fireplace. Trinkets lined the mantle, souvenirs from various trips around the world. Rather than sitting, the two men moved around the room, inspecting each oddity. Zuko snorted when he saw a miniature carved bison sitting under a picture of Gyatso atop a real one. Bookshelves lined one wall, and Zuko skimmed over the titles. Mostly they were books giving advice on how to start your own business. Money management. Travel books and guides, interesting places to see in the world. Encyclopedias. All things designed to impart knowledge and wisdom.

In one corner was grouped all the artifacts from Gyatso's trip to China, including several pictures of him sitting with monks. Zuko had heard stories about the people in China, but they contrasted vastly from what Zuko saw in those pictures. Gyatso was sitting on the floor outside a stone temple, his legs crossed and his face serene. Xin Fu handed him a jade dragon with the words peace and wisdom carved along the belly of the beast.

"My father was an interesting man, wasn't he?"

Slowly, the two agents turned, careful not to appear startled, to see Smiling Aang standing in the doorway they had come through. In his hand, he held a bone china cup. Zuko studied the set of his still boyish face, freshly shaven, looked into those large gray eyes. And saw nothing. Aang's voice was light and friendly, but none of that was evident in his eyes. The smile he wore did not reach them. Just as much as Zuko was watching Aang, Aang was watching him. Not them, not Zuko and Xin Fu. Just Zuko.

"He's been a lot of places," Xin Fu said.

"This was his favorite, though," Aang said, gesturing toward the China corner with his cup. "He went back there…oh, seven times, maybe? Each time he came back, he said he was feeling more enlightened than the last."

"And was he?"

Aang made a face of mock surprise at Zuko, made a show of thinking over the question before coming to sit in one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace. He adjusted his signature electric blue tie. Zuko wasn't big on fashion, but he hated that the stupid blue tie was worn with nearly every outfit. Even the brown tweed suit Aang was currently wearing.

"I suppose you could say he was enlightened. He certainly seemed to think he was, and I guess that's all that really matters, eh?"

Xin Fu made a noncommittal noise, and this time, when they were offered a seat, they took it. The maid came in again, and tea was served; chamomile, to soothe them all.

"Shall we get down to business, gentlemen?" Aang asked, setting his cup on the low table between them. "I can't imagine you came here to talk about my father. I understand you're very interested in what I do."

"Actually," Xin Fu said, "we are here to talk about your father. Or to him, if that's possible."

The corner of Aang's mouth twitched, and Zuko studied this miniscule movement. He watched the way Aang tapped his fingers twice against his knee, vigilant for any clues. There was a slight twinkle in Aang's eye, but it was fleeting. Still, it was the only spark behind those cold, grey eyes.

"My father is a very busy man."

"So we've gathered," Zuko cut in harshly, reaching inside his suit pocket for his notebook and pen. "We've tried calling two of his offices, but apparently he hasn't been in to either one of them for a very long time."

"Yes, well, he's an old man," Aang said, folding his hands over his knee. "He can't be everywhere at once, and most days he can't get out of the bed."

Even as Aang narrowed his eyes at Zuko, searching for something, that youth didn't pass. Zuko wondered just how old he really was, if he was younger than twenty-nine. There was no evidence of hair on his face, no depth to his light, airy voice, no signs of age. Unless Aang had found the fountain of youth. Zuko held back a snort, recording that Aang was drumming his fingers on his knee again. It might be a sign of irritation, or that he was hiding something. Nervous tics. But Aang's eyes were still clear, still focusing on Zuko, and so the seasoned detective slipped further into tactics learned from his uncle. He stilled his mind, kept focus on the task at hand. He would have time later to make connections, but right in that moment, during that conversation, Zuko needed to be focused on Aang. He needed to Aang to believe that this was a simple, routine check.

"Has he passed on the day to day operations to someone else?" Xin Fu asked.

Aang's eyes flicked to the other man. "He's ninety-five. A man deserves to retire at some point."

Xin Fu nodded, conceding the point. "Do you know the name of this person? We might need to speak with them."

Zuko readied his pen, already anticipating the answer. There was only one person Zuko could see filling Gyatso's shoes. And royally messing up everything Gyatso had worked to obtain.

"Of course I know who took my father's place." Aang paused, smiling, as he reached for his cup, discarded on the table. "I did. He wouldn't trust anyone else."

Zuko watched Xin Fu from the corner of his eye, watched as his partner stared at his empty note book, pen poised just above the page. Xin Fu was frowning slightly, as if he couldn't read his own handwriting. Aang was hiding his mouth behind his cup, but Zuko figured he knew what kind of expression he would have. He would be smug. It was still hard to tell just how much Aang knew about the reason for their visit, but it was clear that he knew something. And that he was hiding something.

"Tell me gentlemen," Aang said, addressing Zuko in his distantly genial manner, "why is my father under investigation? He hasn't done anything wrong, I can assure you of that."

His voice had become dark, transforming Aang's face. He would forever have that boyish look, but this was the look of a boy who might throw a rock through your window if you don't give him a sweet. He lowered his head, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, and stared at Zuko hard. It was as if Xin Fu wasn't even in the room with them, though Zuko knew Xin Fu was recording things just as carefully as Zuko was etching them into his brain.

"You don't intend to throw a feeble old man into jail, do you?" Aang leaned forward in his chair, shortening the gap between himself and the detectives. "Because if you do, I can also assure you that life will become harder than you could ever imagine—"

"I can imagine life being pretty hard," Zuko said, cutting off this little tirade. "My wife says I have a vivid imagination."

Aang leaned back in the chair, the dark moment passed, but a mischievous look crossing his face. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest, regarding Zuko as one might a delicious steak. It was not the most comfortable feeling.

"I know your wife. Or knew her. We went to school together. Beautiful, beautiful girl." Aang turned his head away, smiling softly as if he was smelling something pleasant. "Oh, there wasn't a guy there who wasn't in love with the very dirt that touched her feet."

When Aang looked at him, Zuko ground his teeth, reminding himself that he had a purpose, a goal, and that it would be best not to give in to his anger.

"Katara…" Aang licked his lips, savoring the word. "The softest lips—"

"Aren't you going to ask why we're here to question your father?" Xin Fu cut in.

"She kissed you once when she was in high school because she thought it was cute that you wanted to take her to the school dance." Zuko wasn't going to leave it like that. He would not let Aang get away with licking his lips while thinking about Zuko's wife. "You were just a cute kid to her."

Aang smirked, leaning back into his chair as if he intended to meld with it. "Why are you investigating my father, detectives?"

"Someone might be forging his signature, using it to buy properties," Zuko said, a little more harshly than he'd intended.

"Oh?" Aang raised an eyebrow, the boyishness fully in place again. "And how do you know this?"

"I'll need writing samples from your father. And you."

"Me?"

Aang looked at Zuko, clearly confused. Lackeys they'd brought in said that Smiling Aang liked to pull jokes sometimes. That they'd come out of nowhere and blindside you. Zuko offered a genuine smile. There was no joke in this.

"Simple things," Xin Fu began explaining. "A memo, maybe, letters, a contract with your signature. If you don't want to turn over any of your documents, we can have you write something down right now."

Xin Fu offered the book, but Aang only looked at it, never removing his hands from the armrest.

"We'll need all originals." Zuko jotted a few notes. "Also, the department will need an older writing sample from your father. Sometime during his prime would be best—"

"Who's to say he's not at his prime now?"

"—and something more recent. Within the past year would be perfect. Again, if you don't wish to turn over a newer document, we can generate a sample right now. If you would call your father, please."

"He's an old man. You would drag him out of bed for this?" Aang gestured angrily at the space between them. "This is—"

"This is business," Xin Fu said. He closed his book and tucked it away in his inside pocket. "I would have thought you'd be interested in protecting the family name. If you let people get away with fraud…" Xin Fu swept his arms over the living room, suggesting everything Aang could lose.

"If you refuse, we can always get the courts involved," Zuko said, raising an eyebrow. Yes. Please let him resist.

Aang squirmed in his seat, indecisive, starting to rise but then changing his mind several times. He chewed his lip, ran his hands through his hair.

"Or, we could just talk to your father," Zuko suggested.

"He is…indisposed at the moment," Aang said.

Zuko only smiled, tucking his note book away. Of course he was.

Ok, this baby is finally winding down. I'm figuring maybe three or four more chapters (if I can keep my imagination under control) for this story before we're all done. Generally, I don't like endings where everything wraps up in a nice, neat bow, because that's not how life is. I'll do my best to tie up any lose ends, though.

Did you like the references to Gyatso as a monk? For as cutthroat as Aang is, I still see him as being overconfident/thinking himself as untouchable. This is going to be a problem for him. But also for our lovely detectives. And before I forget again, I wrote a one shot about Azula's second pregnancy in this universe. It gives insight into why she's in this predicament. It's quite angsty and possibly a bit depressing. But then, her whole situation is depressing. Check it out. It's called "Good Mourning."