Being technically discharged and thus at annoyingly loose ends was beginning to wear on Takao. Now and then some noise was made about his reassignment, or at least a further attachment, some bigwigs coming to Republic City and a suitably official-looking escort to be provided for them. Takao had begun to regard these mysterious bureaucrats on the same level as the Lion Turtle. Not that he was important enough to be escorting anyone actually in charge of getting anything done, of course.
No, he was more of a good-time-had-by-all kind of guy. Best noodles in the city? He could do that. Seedy underground pro-bending matches and the best seats in the house? He could do that. The best fire flakes still made by the same family for four generations, and the view from Avatar Aang Memorial Island? He couldn't fail to be a welcome wagon so welcoming that any bigwigs whatsoever wouldn't be enchanted with Republic City.
And then Midorima.
He snubbed the noodles. "Highly inauthentic," he sniffed at Narook's, pushing up his glasses. Narook had actually come over the counter at his head, and Takao had had to push Midorima out before a diplomatic incident was spilled all over the floor like discarded broth.
"Low-class and improper utilization of the bending arts," he sneered at probending, and when Miyaji rose up to take up the defence of his beloved Rabaroos Kimura had to stuff water-winter-melons into his maw for hours to calm him down.
"I hate fire flakes," said Midorima flatly.
"You just came from the Fire Nation," said Takao, exasperated, and drooping over his rickshaw.
"I hated them there too," said Midorima, looking at the distance along the bay. It was a shame that all the scowls twisted his looks. Takao had never seen a waterbender with green eyes before, and in the fire nation court fashions tailored to his body, Midorima might have been popular, if Takao dared to risk taking him to a bar and then never being able to drink there again. If he could ever be persuaded to let go the weird things the almanac said was his lucky item for the day, too. The thing he appeared to most like was the radio, if only because of the horoscope broadcast every morning. Everything else was wrong. The streets were too dirty. The girls dressed wrong- that is to say, not against an arctic winter in layers and layers of furs- and the food wasn't good. He was impossible.
He didn't even like the water that they got in Republic City. "It's foul," he had said, and then Takao had just slumped his shoulders and sighed.
And then one day Takao dropped by as usual- because talk about bloody nothing to do, when all his former shipmates were back out on patrol- only to be told that Midorima was at the hospital, and had been there all night.
"Oh, spirits someone's finally taken a swing at him," said Takao, and then was off.
He found Midorima in the hospital, talking earnestly with the doctors- the same doctor, in fact, who'd pulled him off active combat duty. Well. There were really only so many waterbending healer doctors, even if they all appeared to be listening to Midorima... and... nodding.
"Midorima-kun, we were very pleased to have your expertise last night," said the doctor.
"And a lot of this morning," said another, laughing.
"It was nothing," said Midorima, but he had bruised shadows under his eyes, and his usually perfect clothes were rumpled. "Without your experience, I would not have caught-"
"Shin-chan?" said Takao, more out of surprise than rudeness.
The doctor turned, and raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said. "Lieutenant Takao. Do you know Midorima?"
"I've been reassigned," said Takao.
"Takao?" said Midorima, and blinked hard, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes. "Oh, we had-"
"No, no," Takao said. "I mean, just- they said you were here."
"I've been studying here, on and off," said Midorima. "I'm not needed in the talks and meetings, so-"
The doctor sighed. "Midorima is one of the most talented young healers we've ever seen," he said. "If we'd had someone like him around when- well. We were lucky to have him around last night. Go home, Midorima. Take some rest. You did good work last night. Lieutenant, your charge."
Midorima wobbled out of the hospital and into the rickshaw.
"It was new moon last night," said Takao. That was the kind of thing you kept track of, on the ship.
"My bending was reduced but not exeunt," said Midorima. "I'm much stronger than they are. Their bending was gone entirely."
"Huh," said Takao, and demurred telling Midorima that he had several unpleasant-looking bodily fluid stains on his expensive, well-made shirt. His jacket was still folded next to him, though. Maybe he'd felt the shirt was worth being beyond salvage. "Should- do you want to go back?"
"I want some noodles now," said Midorima.
Takao looked at him in surprise.
"I said that they were inauthentic," said Midorima, blinking at Takao like he was the wronged one, the one who had the right to wonder if Takao was soft in the head. "I didn't say they were bad."