A/n: Please see the first chapter for an extensive list of warnings, as well as a general disclaimer!
Many, MANY thanks to my wonderful beta, wherewulf. I couldn't do it without you, dear!
Note: The time tlok takes place is roughly 1920's Hong Kong/USA. I have stretched some stuff here and there, but most apparent may be the level of medical knowledge in this fic. Please forgive my use of slightly more advanced med tech/knowledge!
Thanks to all those who have read and reviewed thus far. You keep me posting when I just want to call it quits. Thank you so much.
Part III
Within a few months, Mako had earned a decent sum of money. They kept the stash of yuans locked safely in an Earthbended hole in the wall, opened only for necessities and emergencies. Mako paid for his income with weekly trips to the clubhouse, where his now regular client never failed to show. The middle-aged man, who had broad shoulders but rather weak posture, was unpredictable. Some days he was forceful, others gentle, and still others he lashed out in brutality. Mostly Mako kept passive, aggressing only when he had to—when the client tried to put a fresh bite mark on a very visible part of his neck, for example—because the only thing the client liked more than a Mako devoid of life was the opportunity to reinforce his dominance. So while Mako occasionally made it through without detectable damage, more often he emerged with his body painted like a canvas to the client's whims. Some marks were easier to hide than others, but he made due. As long as the more obvious abrasions stayed hidden, he looked like any other kid who made a habit out of picking fights.
He understood now why that woman had been strung out, even if it was impossible to tell whether the addiction came before the job. How easy this must be when one had no concept of time or body. To just slump into the corner where two walls meet and slip right through. But Mako had a family to support, and he had a goal. The second they had enough money to do so, he was going to pack them up and move somewhere else. Somewhere where they could start over a safe distance from the gangs and the locals who knew them as street kids. Preferably someplace with job opportunities and sustainable wages. In this respect, Republic City had let a huge number of its citizens down.
Late one evening, something changed. Mako had just arrived at the Triple Threat Triad's headquarters to collect his weekly sum (usually thirty yuans or so) when he realized he was walking into an argument. At first he didn't even notice—the client had burned a little round cigarette mark into Mako's hip and it was distractingly painful when his clothes brushed up on it—but a loud swear caught his attention. Three men (Taro, Lightning Bolt Zolt, and another that Mako did not recognize) leaned over a book on the counter. Zolt was brandishing a pencil and scribbling in the margins of the book, clearly annoyed as the two others read over his shoulder and tried to give him numbers. Mako quickly picked up on the conversation.
Apparently they were balancing the monthly finance book and had come up severely short. Apparently—Mako listened, not bothering to hide or announce himself—this was becoming a regular occurrence. Zolt's face tinged an alarming shade of purple. The three men went over the numbers again. Every gang member reported their dealings and earnings in painstaking detail, noting every yuan that came or left the account and reporting it at the end of the week. From each "department" (Mako could only imagine what that meant), there was a net gain or loss that took into account all fees paid, who did what transaction, and how much each member earned. The three men, ignoring Mako's appearance in the room, reviewed in meticulous detail every department and still came up several thousand yuans short. Eventually Zolt let out a furious growl and announced to no one in particular that he was going to punch someone unless they figured out what was going on. And before Mako could stop himself, he had muttered a quiet, "He's swindling you."
All three older men looked up, as if surprised to see Mako standing there even though the bouncer at the door had granted him permission to enter. Zolt told Mako to repeat what he'd said. Mako spoke to the ground.
"Whoever balanced the books is swindling you," he said. Then he explained in a monotone that the total net gains did not match up with the percentages that the bookkeeper reported. More specifically, one to two percent was missing from each of the deals. "He reports the percent as a fraction less than what it really is and pockets the difference. It's a small enough number so that you wouldn't notice it until you add them all up."
The silence that followed went unfilled by Mako and the three dumbfounded men at the bar counter for a good ten seconds.
"What's your name?" said Lightning Bolt Zolt. Mako muttered the answer. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."
For a moment Mako hesitated. It took him a great deal of willpower to make him lift his chin, and when he did so it was only just enough to meet his employer's eyes. Mako reported his name a second time, in a louder voice. He watched Zolt mouth the word, clearly connecting the name to the face as if he had never seen the boy before.
"How'd you get that answer, Mako?" Mako shrugged one shoulder up and down, just once. "Show me."
Mako obeyed, Zolt's two inferiors falling back to allow Mako room. He took the pencil when Zolt offered it, erased the gangster's sloppy computations from the margins, and very carefully wrote out the first equation longhand. He did it for each different department's numbers before eventually reaching the total percentage, which he circled. Sure enough, the actual number was about two and a half percent deviant from what it should be. Mako set down the pencil and stared at his final answer. For anyone who understood how to write out the equations, the math was really quite simple. He'd taught himself from the book Bolin gifted him on his thirteenth birthday.
Neither Lightning Bolt Zolt nor his cronies knew what to do with this new information. The boss asked Taro if Mako was one of his kids, and Taro replied that he was. Then he asked if another person (presumably the bookkeeper) was around, and the other man said that he was not. Zolt sent the unfamiliar man off to get Shady Shin and bring the bookkeeper back for a little chat. Only once he was out the door did Zolt turn back to Mako. He asked where Mako had learned how to do math, and Mako answered truthfully—that he had learned by studying arithmetic books. Zolt flipped to a previous month that hadn't added up properly and had Mako crosscheck these numbers as well, which Mako did with similar results.
"Well Mako, I'm thinking that we might have a job opening soon. How would you like to work in the office?"
Mako stared. A fleeting memory of his past self flitted over his memory, an image of a child nearly jumping for joy at the prospect of fifty yuans. He had lost most of his trust since then, and all of his naiveté. Instead of accepting at once, Mako asked what the terms of his employment might be—namely his job description, and his payment. Zolt replied that he would report here, once a week, for a few hours in the evening to collect the members' reports and organize a formal report for Zolt. The pay they could settle on, unless Mako had any other terms. Mako said that he did. First, he never wanted to work for Taro or his department again. He pointed to the swollen corner of his mouth for emphasis. Zolt nodded and shrugged as if this were an obvious stipulation (Taro, undoubtedly about to lose a customer, did not look so unperturbed). Second, Mako explained the time Shady Shin had threatened to recruit or harm his brother, and said that this must never happen again. Again, Zolt agreed without a second thought. Clearly he didn't give even half a care about losing Bolin as a potential employee. Finally, Mako said he was willing to earn as low as thirty yuans a week, but no less. Privately he thought that this was more than enough to feed he and his brother for a week and still have some left over for savings.
At this, Zolt and Taro actually burst into laughter. Zolt agreed to Mako's wage. Embarrassed though he was by his humble payment request, Mako didn't blink. Once the two men had stopped chuckling, he said that he had one more request before he agreed.
"When I first met you, you told me my job was worth fifty yuans. I got ten. I want the other forty now, plus the fifty Taro promised me for today."
Lightning Bolt Zolt appraised Mako for a moment longer, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of money. He counted out ninety yuans, slid them across the counter to Mako, and offered a shake. Heart pounding in disbelief, Mako grasped Zolt's hand and shook it.
The gesture marked the end of an era that had lasted over two and a half years. Mako never returned to the clubhouse again.
Bolin burst into tears when Mako arrived home with the news of his promotion and the ninety yuans. They had never held that much money at once and were torn between needing to save and desperately wanting to spend it all at once. Mako added the sum to their savings of about sixty five yuans. With this much money, they had possibilities for the first time in their lives. They could purchase two trans-ocean tickets to the Fire Nation or two train tickets to any one of the Earth Kingdom cities, but upon arriving they would find themselves in the same situation they were in now—homeless and completely broke. The nations' economies relied on one another to survive. If Republic City, one of the largest trading spaces in the world, was suffering through the years, then the other nations doubtlessly felt similar ups and downs. He had heard that things were better in different parts of the world, but he had also heard immigrants say the same about the United Republic. Grudgingly Mako set this idea aside. He wanted to get them out of this place, but not until they could at least survive wherever they wound up.
On the other hand, they could also look for a low-fee apartment or other means of housing here in the city. This idea Mako found only marginally more plausible; they couldn't pay the rent for more than a few months, and frankly, he had lost his trust in strangers. When they were locked safely inside, their little shelter in the alcove was more secure than any random apartment. The tenants of the shops didn't seem to mind the boys living there after all these years; they were neat and polite and kept clear of the drugs that brought the majority of crime to these neighborhoods. They didn't interfere with business, and the fact that they were Benders actually meant the area was safer—other vagabond types were less likely to engage in a turf battle, especially since they had claimed the grounds as children (not to mention that they could be found training in the park quite often). The brothers had never given the shop keepers a reason to boot them out, and unless someone new moved in to the space, they were likely to be left in peace.
So they stayed. Bolin seemed almost pleased with this decision, as he barely remembered his parents and felt more affection for this literal hole in the wall than he had ever felt for his home, or the orphanage from which they had escaped. Instead they went on with their previous plans. Mako worked once a week, bringing home a small sum (thirty yuans, the amount promised to him), and the rest of the time they spent as they always did: training in the park on nice days, unless the police were bored and chased them out on the false grounds that they had been caught Bending (an act prohibited on the grounds of safety, though they only ever stuck to forms and hand-to-hand fights). On rainy or cold days, they reported to the library and self-taught until closing hour. At night they could sometimes practice actual Bending—the real stuff, which was harder for Bolin to get away with in the daytime because it usually involved chucking heavy rocks around.
Training was going all right, but there was only so much they could accomplish without a sparring arena. What was worse, what they learned about Pro Bending was only what they could study from the radio and newspapers they dug out of the public bins. The only time they had been on the playing field had been the practice circle during their first run for the tournament, but they had never seen the actual stadium. This had been a problem in their tryouts, though at the time it had dwarfed against the much more immediate issue of starvation. The brothers had talent, but lacked field sense that came with studying and playing on the court itself.
Mako thought about what they should do, going over their finance schedule three months in advance. Eventually he felt he had no choice but to bring Bolin to the arena one night and surprise him by buying two tickets off of a scalper just before a big match. Bolin danced with glee as Mako handed him the ticket, dutifully agreeing to the warning that they were only there to study the teams and their strategies live. Mako had brought paper and writing utensils for note-taking. These were, of course, promptly abandoned in the excitement of the match.
xXx
Running numbers for the Triad was such a different experience than his prior work that it took Mako over a month to believe that nothing awful was going to happen to him. The members were gruff but friendly, clasping his hand or offering a nod and a greeting upon his arrival each week. Even Taro, who he saw mercifully seldom, seemed to have completely forgotten that he had treated Mako quite poorly for a very long time. Presumably he had found a replacement for the client—another boy on starvation's precarious edge, or else an eager drug addict. Mako tried not to think about it much. It was hard, though, to forgive the gang despite his valued position and (regardless of the condescension, he could not ask for more without raising eyebrows) adequate pay.
His job was simple enough as long as he was careful not to make any mathematical errors. As the budget books were written in a cryptic format to evade the police, it was normal for Mako to have to figure out the individual departments. Usually he could accomplish this by referencing the gang member's book code name, or by knowing which departments earned the most money. Drug trade, for example, earned by far the most profit, with monthly sums in the tens of thousands even though Mako never saw the faces of the money makers. This department was broken up into less conspicuous sub-categories according to dealer and drug type. Other departments were not as familiar.
On his first day of monthly reports, Mako had been calculating the weekly and monthly totals when he came upon a large sum that he couldn't identify. The department head's name was written with initials that doubtless referred to a code name, and the department itself was simply entitled "Outsource Trade". It didn't have a weekly report, but rather a large monthly report with a breakdown for each week. After fifteen minutes of fruitless guesswork, Mako finally asked a higher-ranked member, who he met for the first time that same day, which department Outsource Trade belonged to. The man replied that this was Taro's department. The week prior a near police blowout had prompted them to take extra precaution in concealing the nature of the business. Now Taro reported his numbers weekly to his superior and monthly to the book.
Mako stared at the numbers, expressionless while his heart pounded in his ears. These sums were... impossibly large. Cautiously, feigning indifference, Mako asked how much Taro brought in per client. The man shrugged and smirked.
"About a thousand an hour, I think. More for home visits. Taro brings in the best sums of any one of us. But I guess it's easier for him—he only pays his people enough for 'em to go across the street and get high. They dump the money right back into our hands, the dumb whores."
A thousand yuans an hour. Mako could barely contain his anger until he got home, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his breathing in line. That night, he became so angry that he would have broken his hand punching a brick wall were Bolin not quick enough to dissolve the earth on contact. Mako made excuses for his behavior, apologized for scaring his brother, and stoppered up his rage before it could get him into any more trouble. Mako had always known he had been used, but never to this extent. What was more, this discovery made him realize the true nature of the secrecy in the gang. Being bookkeeper meant that he knew all the secrets of the business, knew just how much they made off of the drug market and by manipulating people like him.
He more than resented the Triple Threat Triad—he hated them, all of them, from the hours he had spent in misery down to the smug amusement with which his boss watched him work. For some bizarre reason he had thought this job would make him feel less trapped, but now he saw that he was just as fucked as ever. Now he was a commodity of a different sort; getting closer to the gang only meant that he knew too much, and this ensured that he would be disposed of before they let him go.
Months passed and not much changed. Mako was on familiar terms with many of the gang, engaging in conversation at headquarters (of which there was quite a lot, especially after hours when the bar opened up) and going over numbers with Lightning Bolt Zolt when he had to. In his deep most heart he still hated them all, but it was hard to actively resent the people who paid his salary without fail, especially since they were a rather chummy bunch. They laughed and carried on, teasing one another and swapping stories while Mako sat with his head bent low over the books and his pencil zooming down the page. They offered him smokes, which he sometimes accepted, and drinks, which he usually refused. Mako was reminded of the kids who used to hang out around the station after dark, only older and even more vulgar than the night crew ever was. Like the kids of his past, they took a liking to the reserved young man who always set up his work in the most remote corner of the room. He was stubbornly task-oriented, but they were persistent. It became a sort of accomplishment if they could earn a laugh out of him, any sort of laugh, because as it turned out they were just as contagious as they were rare. For a bunch of tough men, they seemed to find an odd comfort in Mako's smile.
Mako was getting stronger. Bolin, too, though nobody ever doubted that the latter was capable of immense physical power. They ate two square meals a day (sometimes three, if Bolin had a say), which Mako prepared in mass quantities and kept sealed airtight for up to three days at a time. Most of their training comprised of muscle-building workouts and endurance, with forms dispersed throughout the regime and real Bending whenever they had a chance to get away with it. Soon the annual tryouts were once again just two months away. As long as nothing awful happened, they would be far more ready than last year. They had trained tirelessly, resigned to the knowledge that if they didn't make it into the tournament they would be subjected to another year of the same struggle.
Even if they did make it, though, Mako still wasn't sure how he could break himself off from the Triad without drawing serious backlash from Zolt and the others. The solution came from an unlikely source. Mako had been sitting in his usual spot for about three hours, drinking tea in the smoky room as he pored over his notes when the door opened and several people shuffled in out of the rainstorm outside. Hearing the voice of Chan from the shipping department, Mako didn't bother wasting attention better spent on arithmetic. The room was almost always full of rowdy gang members and bar patrons on the last night of the week. After a while he hardly listened to the sounds of the door through the rest of the noise. A few seconds later, Mako heard a gasp and looked up in alarm. What he saw gave him such surprise that Mako sloshed tea all over the open page of his book.
It was Bolin, who upon spotting his older brother emitted quite the feminine squeak and clapped his hands over his mouth. Mako stood up, knocking his seat backward to the floor suddenly enough to draw attention from the men at the card table. He demanded to know what Bolin was doing here. He turned to the nearest person (it happened to be Zolt) and repeated the question in a louder voice, as if Lightning Bolt Zolt might not have heard him. It was a breach of contract, he said. Zolt, Chan, Bolin, and the few others in the room all stared in amazement at Mako's outburst. Eventually Zolt lifted a hand and pointed directly at Bolin, though he kept his eyes on Mako.
"That's your brother?" he said. When Mako nodded, he gave a low whistle. "See, I'da never guessed that! Chan, did you pick this kid up?"
Chan replied that Bolin had showed up at the docks, looking for work. He said that Bolin had hauled some crates in the storage building. Nothing crooked, he said. Zolt was satisfied at this answer and seemed to think that Mako should be, too.
"See, Mako? Nothing crooked. Let the boy do his share and we'll send him home with a couple extra bucks."
Mako wanted to protest. Bolin looked terrified at having been caught, but could not find words when he opened his mouth. The brothers shared a long look. Chan went to the bar, got Bolin's payment (ten yuans), and handed it over before steering the Earthbender toward the door. Instead of breaking the silence, he ducked his head and followed Chan back outside, offering a halfhearted wave as he went.
Only then did Mako realize that tea was seeping into the book. Cursing and red-faced, he mopped the mess with his sleeve while Zolt looked on as if Mako were a mildly entertaining show.
When Bolin arrived home that evening, the brothers had a rare argument that ended only when they heard a sound from inside the adjacent building and realized they had been shouting. Mako sighed and rubbed his hands over his face and repeated that he was not okay with this. Bolin countered that Mako couldn't keep him from doing his share anymore. He was fifteen and he was old enough and strong enough, and he could handle working for the gang. At last Mako had to consent to the plan, as long as Bolin promised not to take any jobs other than lifting for the shipping department. Mako had finally gotten out of dangerous work. If either of them was arrested, they could be charged and barred from tryouts.
Bolin went to sleep relieved, Mako did not. But neither of the brothers got themselves arrested by tryouts, and Bolin's new job wound up helping more than not. As usual, he was friendly and, unlike Mako, laughed and joked enough to make a friend out of the meanest gangster. Chan and his men quickly grew to like Bolin and his lighthearted demeanor. They especially liked his strength. He could unload a cargo boat in half the time it took the others, and once unknowingly saved them all from arrest by sweet-talking an undercover police officer posing as a captain's wife. Still, Mako worried that something had to give. Bolin would get caught and arrested, or someone who knew Mako before he inherited this office job would disclose the nature of his original work and Bolin would do something outrageous.
What wound up happening was that Bolin let it slip that he and Mako were going for the tournament again. The person he told reported to Chan, who told Lightning Bolt Zolt, who sat down beside Mako one might after the other men had left for the night.
"So, Mako," he said in a casual tone, "I hear you plan to leave us."
After listening to Mako's panicked response, he laughed and clapped a hand on Mako's shoulder and told him not to worry. He'd known from the start that Mako was the opportunistic type—he only worked to accomplish a means and disappear. And that, according to Zolt, was fine as long as Mako met certain terms. He knew a lot about the inner workings of the business now—too much, frankly—but that was okay. Mako could enter the tournament, and if he lost, he had proven his worth and was welcome back any time. If he won, he and Bolin were free to never come back. All Zolt asked was Mako's unconditional silence regarding the workings of the business (the consequences of failure being extremely unpleasant for both Mako and Bolin)... and ten percent of the prize, should Mako win the whole tournament.
Mako agreed without hesitation. Even minus ten percent, the winnings were more than he had ever dreamed of having. It was a small price to pay for freedom. The only catch was that they had to get there first.
Mako turned eighteen. Tryouts arrived. Mako arrived at work early that morning for what he hoped would be the last time, and spent most of the shift making a meticulous instruction sheet for balancing the books. If they did make it into the tournament, he didn't want to have to come back to train the next bookkeeper. As soon as he set down his pencil, he swung his jacket around his shoulders and headed for the door. Triad members wished him luck as he went (in varying ways; some pat him on the back, others bid him farewell, one person offered to eliminate the competition for him). Mako wasn't sorry to leave. When he arrived at home, Bolin had prepared for them both a sizeable lunch from one of Mako's pre-prepared food containers. They ate, sat around for about an hour, and when they could procrastinate no longer they left for the arena. Win or no win, said Mako, they'd show all those well-fed and well-funded teams what hard work could earn.
Considering their abysmal performance the previous year, Mako thought they fared quite well in the ring. At the very least, it was an admirable tryout for both of the brothers. They weren't immediately accepted into the teams roster, but nor were they immediately rejected. Because their team lacked a permanent Waterbender, the judge panel had to first go through the teams that had all three members. Once they had picked their top teams, they would go through the pool of people without a full team (these such people were called "floaters") and pair together players who looked promising. To the brothers, this meant potential separation. Mako hoped this wouldn't be the case—they worked far better together than apart, a factor which he assumed was apparent during their tryout—but even if they were divided, this technically meant that they had two chances at progressing through the season. More games meant more income, if they both wound up on winning teams. They left the practice court with their clothes plastered to their sweaty bodies, Bolin's optimistic cheer a comfortable contrast to Mako's wariness. The panel leader had told them to check back in a few days' time to see if they had been placed. In the meantime, they would have to wait. They went home, heated up a basin of water, and washed both themselves and their clothes.
Three days later, they ran to the arena at the designated time. Upon spotting their names on the list, under the title: "Unnamed Team: Earthbender – Bolin, Firebender – Mako, Waterbender – Hasook" they created a loud enough scene to attract attention from passers-by. They immediately met up with the Waterbender, who had filed in with all the others for the revealing of the roster. He seemed nice, if a bit shy, and agreed to start practicing as soon as possible. Being in the system meant that they could schedule blocks of time in the gym, so the three of them picked a handful of afternoons and submitted their request. Bolin wasted no time in naming the team the Fire Ferrets, a name to which Hasook was indifferent.
A few problems followed in the wake of this accomplishment, the first of which occurred during official registration. While filling out paperwork, Mako faltered over the section entitled "mailing address". He'd never received a letter in his life. An address had never occurred to him, but he couldn't very well write "the alcove behind Jun's Tea Shop". He spied one of the officials talking with a muscley old man in one corner. Mako approached, requested a quick word, and then asked if the address part of the registration was absolutely necessary. The official replied that of course it was, how else were they to get in contact with the team members? And then he strode off. Mako had a brief moment of panicked despair. They had made it all this way, had trained and fought for their place on the roster, only to fail at the paperwork.
Mako bit his lip and stared down at the paper. He would have to make up an address. Maybe he would put the address of the shop, and then somehow try to intercept any incoming mail or—or visitors, or—
He had just resigned himself to this solution when he heard a voice say, "You're Mako, right?" Mako turned and saw that the old man was standing there, squinting across the short distance at the Firebender. He introduced himself as Toza. He said he was in charge of the building as both the Pro Bending gym manager and caretaker of the building. He asked, without an ounce of hesitation, if the brothers were homeless. Mako, after a pause, replied that they were. Toza and Mako appraised one another for a moment. It seemed to Mako as if Toza had caught himself speaking before actually considering what he was saying, and was trying to cram a whole lot of thinking into a very little space of time.
Finally, after looking Mako over, he shrugged and offered the brothers the apartment upstairs. He said he had just kicked the last tenants out (the word he used was "hooligans") and wanted some responsible young people to look after it. They could pay rent after they'd won a few games, he said. And in the meantime, he could use a little help prepping the building for the upcoming season.
Though nothing about Toza's appearance struck Mako as suspect, he nevertheless hesitated. He didn't know this stranger at all, much less trust him. They could just use the address and continue living in their shelter, but it didn't make much sense to turn down (probably) perfectly livable housing so close to the gym, especially if they weren't paying cash for it. Mako looked down at the half-finished paperwork in his hands. Once again, just like so many other instances in his life, he found that he was without choices. Tentatively he accepted the man's proposition, shook his hand, and turned around to look for his brother (who he found flirting with one of the women on the Rabiroos team). Best not interrupt him if he wasn't getting into any trouble. Mako shared one last nod with Toza, scribbled the address of the arena onto the address line, and passed in the registration forms. In exchange the panelist handed him another, taller stack of papers and said he needed it back in a month's time.
In the following days, the brothers made some serious progress. Mako had them move out as soon as possible, after meeting Toza once more to flesh out the details of the arrangement. He found that he liked the old man, gruff as he was, and promptly lost his sense of alarm after the first few minutes. The first question Mako asked, when he sat down at Toza's kitchen table with the caretaker and his (significantly less crotchety) husband, was why Toza had offered up the apartment so quickly—they were a pair of homeless boys who could have been anyone from drug dealers to murderers. They talked for over an hour over bowls of soup. Toza explained that he had seen Mako and Bolin many times over the years, hanging around Republic City Station or fighting in the park. When he heard Mako talking to the supervisor about his lack of address, the apartment just popped into his head. He'd offered it up before he could even consider that it was a bad idea, but he held fast to his word. If the brothers abided by the contract, they were welcome to stay as long as they needed to.
It was strange to have a conversation with an adult that didn't revolve around money or crimes of any sort. Quite the opposite, Toza was a lifelong Pro Bending fan who loved the sport too much to let it go, and stepped up to take the position when the previous arena caretaker died. His husband, Leio, had Pro Bended for years until an injury to his shoulder put him out of the business at a young age. They didn't mind Mako's guardedness, but patiently listened and offered advice about the upcoming challenges of the tournament from the perspective of a fan and of a retired player. By the time he left, Mako was practically skipping.
The only one displeased about the housing change was Bolin, who appreciated the opportunity to live in the arena but nevertheless considered the shelter his rightful home. Unlike Mako, Bolin had a habit of attaching emotion to places and things, as if the patch of dirt where he had slept for almost seventeen years was somehow more sacred than all the others. He carried his two bags of possessions with his chin tucked sadly against his chest, glancing over his shoulder for one last moment of home before heading to the arena. Mako had no such affection for this place, but he did say goodbye. After they had finished moving out and the shops had closed for the night, Mako dug two copies of the daily paper out of the bin. He clipped out from both the announcement of this season's teams, circled the brothers' names, and wrote "thank you" in the margins. These he slid under the doors of the two shops whose property he had lived on for most of his life.
Bolin got over his heartbreak when he saw that the one-room apartment had couches and a private toilet. Mako became quick friends with the stove and tried out recipes that he had previously read at the library (modified to fit their narrow budget). From the windows they could see the entire city, from the beautiful houses of White Falls to smokestacks in the Dragon Flats borough. The place was tiny, but compared to their past home it was like living in a mansion. Mako allowed himself one day of relaxation before he turned back to the paperwork, at which point he discovered two more puzzles: first they needed a doctor's approval of health before they could even begin practice sessions in the gym; second, they had to provide legal documentation of their identities to ensure that nobody entered the tournament under a false name.
The medical part he could handle; tucked away somewhere in the bottom of his bag was a handwritten note on a tiny slip of paper, detailing the location of a clinic that held monthly walk-in hours for free. For their documentation, however, Mako would have to return to the only place that held the official records: the orphanage.
Mako had assumed that trying to get their files would be a hassle, since they had fled illegally. He wasn't even sure if they still had that information. It could just as well be that they tossed out the paperwork on missing kids, or else handed it over to the police. Reality, for once, was kinder than Mako had assumed it would be. The orphanage did, in fact, have their documents in possession. The worst part was actually having to enter the old building and confront the memory of what it had been like to stay there. Bolin was more visibly afflicted than his brother, but the atmosphere of the place stole Mako's ease as well. They arrived at lunchtime, when the kids could be seen through the glass observation window in their cafeteria. Mako shuddered to remember the grey wool uniforms and the retribution paid for asking for seconds. He didn't recognize any of the faculty. This was probably a blessing, as the only ones he remembered were the ones who had prompted his escape. The woman they spoke with seemed much kinder. She had the exhausted air of someone dealing with too much stress all at once, but she was more than happy to help the brothers in their venture.
Mako and Bolin were each privately questioned in regard to details in the file (information such as age, first address of house, how their parents had died, why they had abandoned their files, etc). Once they had shown beyond a reasonable doubt that they were the individuals to whom the information belonged, put in a formal request with town hall to have the documents released. The woman took their pictures, their fingerprints (to be cross-examined by microscope with the tiny ones in their files), and sent them off with the suggestion that they return in one week. Mako would have preferred to never return, but he wasn't about to complain after the process had been so simple. Off to the clinic they went.
They had never been to the clinic before, which, they mutually realized, was probably not good. Their parents brought them to regular checkups before their untimely death, but after that the brothers just treated illnesses when they occurred. Fevers were treated with rest and fluids, colds with an extra layer of clothing and a larger food ration, bumps and scrapes left to heal on their own. Thus far they had been lucky in the health department, with the worst incident being a nasty and debilitating rash Bolin had contracted from using the public restroom barefoot. The brothers laughed at their naïveté as they walked, recalling how they had solved the problem by covering Bolin's legs in a topical cream that Mako stole from the first aid kit in the library. They'd had no idea what they were doing, but apparently they did it right. Bolin suggested that they drop the tournament and instead become doctors.
Hope Clinic was a smaller subdivision of the City Hospital, tucked away in one of the poorer neighborhoods. Bolin read the main lobby's sign while Mako looked for the free consultation hours. His love note from the Chief of Police said they were held on the first day of each month, but that was several years ago now (and wasn't that a terrifying thought?). Finally he found a small sign on the door, confirming the date and time, but the exact location wasn't listed. Mako wondered aloud if maybe they should have gone in the side door. Bolin responded that they could just follow "those guys" and pointed to where a flock of known vagabonds was passing through the far end of the lobby. The brothers hopped in at the end of the group, following them down several long, tile-lined hallways. Bolin gave an audible gasp when they reached the waiting room.
It was like a convention of the impoverished. Every single chair in the room—maybe fifty or so—was occupied, and those without chairs had found places to sit on the floor. They had to scoot through the crowd to get to the front desk, where they waited in line to earn their place in line. They filled out more paperwork, Mako grudgingly handed over his tournament forms to be filled out by the doctor, and then they found a place to sit next to a group of middle-aged women. One of the women spotted the boys and asked Bolin if they too were here for the free pap smear, which earned a startled look from Bolin and set the other ladies into howling laughter.
The flyer in the lobby had neglected to warn them that the wait would be over six hours, but neither Mako nor Bolin minded much. They, like many others in the room, were particularly adept at waiting. At one point Bolin went for a walk around to stretch his legs, returning a few minutes later with the news that he had discovered the snack cart. Mako said he didn't have any money. A lady from the group welcomed them to the club.
Finally Bolin nudged Mako awake to tell him their names had been called. They followed the assistant into the adjacent hallway, where they were hastily ushered into separate rooms (not before they could wish each other good luck).
The orphanage had for some reason not affected Mako as much as it should. This room, however, immediately gave him the urge to run. There was something about the smallness of it, with its windowless walls shrinking down to where he sat on the examination table. The attendant told him to undress to his underpants and then left him alone to do so. Mako swung around in alarm at the click of the door, as it he expected someone to be standing behind him. Warily he looked about, taking in the bare walls and the collection of metal instruments on the nearby counter. He undressed and sat back down. A few minutes later there was a knock, and in came an older woman in a white jacket.
"Hello," said the woman.
Mako offered a strained smile in response. She introduced herself as Dr. Le and jumped into the examination without exchanging pleasantries.
She grabbed one of the handheld tools—a small flashlight plugged into the wall—and used it to peer into his eyes, his ears, and his nose. Mako gagged when she stuck a flat wooden stick into his mouth and scrutinized his throat. She prodded him all over, timed his pulse, measured his blood pressure, and listened to his lungs. Then she left the room. When she returned ten minutes later, she had a clipboard in her hand. Dr. Le announced that she had just examined Bolin and, because the Earthbender had listed Mako as his guardian, could tell Mako that Bolin was very healthy and very strong, all things considered. A little nutrient deficient, but most of her customers were.
Mako replied that he was glad. He asked about his own condition, which the doctor proclaimed to be fine aside from slightly elevated blood pressure. She advised that he do his best to drink more water, admitting that she understood that clean water was difficult to come by. All in all, she thought the brothers had done a fine job staying healthy. Mako was free to go as soon as she asked a few more questions.
Dr. Le squinted at her clipboard for a moment. She asked when his last check-up was, and Mako said that he didn't remember. She asked him if he had headaches, dizziness, or any strange symptoms, and Mako said that he didn't. She asked him if he was sexually active. Mako hesitated before answering "not at the moment." She asked him if he used protection. Mako didn't answer. Dr. Le looked up from her notes.
"You don't?" There was no surprise in her voice, only a sharp attention that wasn't present before. Mako had the strange sense that, for the first time, she was studying his reaction instead of his physiology. He shrugged one shoulder up and down. A pause followed, and then, after assuring him that the question was for purely medical purposes, she asked how many partners he'd had.
Somewhere in the last few questions he had let his eyes slip from the doctor to the wall behind her, and only once he realized that he was staring at the ground did he force himself to look up again. There was no point in lying about it, though the thought crossed his mind to do so. The doctor was completely useless to him unless he was honest. Mako said that he wasn't exactly sure. He shared with her a long, mutually blank-faced stare for a whole five seconds before she put down the clipboard and promptly left the room. Mako waited, half-naked and strangely unemotional about the entire exchange. There was only one issue he really cared about, which he cleared up the moment Dr. Le returned carrying a small box.
Mako asked if she'd told Bolin. She asked if she looked like an idiot.
This response left him adequately satisfied, and the last bit of anxiety melted in with indifference. Dr. Le announced that she was going to draw some blood. Mako didn't care about this, either, until he saw the great big needle in her hand and privately thought that he'd rather die of some awful disease than ever let it near his skin. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away as she stuck him with the needle and filled a vial with his blood. She then asked him, in a notably gentler voice, if she could check him over once more. He replied that she could. The doctor scanned his skin again, asking him questions as she did so. Some of the questions made him quite uncomfortable, but he answered truthfully nonetheless. She picked him over inch by inch, rifling through the hair on his scalp and inspecting his skin from the neck down. By the time she straightened up and told him that he at least looked all right, Mako felt that she had turned his inner box of secrets over and dumped its contents all across the floor. She said that she understood how difficult his position must be, but that he should have come in sooner. He had the right, she said, to medical care.
"I don't have any rights," said Mako.
The doctor's eyes widened at his earnest bluntness. "That is absurd. Of course you have rights! The law states that every person in this country is entitled to health and safety of person."
Mako offered a blank stare at this sentiment. Dr. Le sighed. "Well, the system's not perfect. But I wouldn't volunteer to work a sixteen hour shift every month for free if I didn't believe it could help to uphold those rights."
Dr. Le returned to her work, clearly ruffled by Mako's comment. She told him that she was going to run some blood work to make sure that he didn't have any infections or diseases, and that this wouldn't cost him anything. They would have the results in a few days' time, at which point the clinic would be in contact with him. To ensure confidentiality, she explained, they wouldn't send the results directly to his address. Instead they had a different scheme: if everything was fine, she would send his Pro-Bending forms all filled out and with her signature. If something was wrong, she would send a note from the clinic, thanking the brothers for their visit. The latter message would be an indication to Mako that he should stop by immediately. Mako agreed to all the terms, and she sent him back to the lobby with her best wishes.
Mako found Bolin fidgeting nervously in the waiting room. The brothers left together, Bolin talking nonstop about his experience on the examination table. At one point he said he was sure that Dr. Le had left a bruise. Mako asked what he meant, and Bolin answered with the proclamation that she'd handled him more like a sack of rice than a person.
Mako said he hadn't noticed. Bolin went on about it a bit more, then sighed and looked down at the smiley face on his tunic and said that at least he got this nifty sticker out of the deal.
xXx