A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than the last one. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys rock :DDD

Disclaimer: I do not own A:TLA or Legend of Korra.

Chapter Two: Letters from Republic City

Mako and Bolin entered the house through the backdoor which led into an old-fashioned kitchen. Instead of regular shelves or counters, the ground had been raised in rectangular blocks with earthbending to create workable surfaces and stone stoves that ran around the walls. After years of roof leakages and spilled food, these natural countertops had been eroded so that as time passed, they slowly grew shorter at varying speeds. Every once in a while, the connected surfaces became so uneven that Bolin had to indulge in a little "countertop shaving" where he leveled out the surface- and made them even shorter- with earthbending. Currently, the counter barely came up to Mako's hips which did nothing to improve his terrible culinary skills (yet another trait Bolin found highly amusing).

A large, stone pot was bubbling sluggishly in the stove, a warm fire blazing underneath it. A long pipeline was connected to top of the stove which ran up to the ceiling, spitting out plumes of smoke through the chimney. As with everything else in the house, the pipeline was severely worn down and Mako wondered vaguely how soon he'd have to patch yet another leak.

"Finally decided to show up, boys?" A plump middle-aged woman walked in through the inner door, wiping her grimy hands on her slightly-less grimy apron. Her graying hair was swept up in a tight bun and sweat plastered stray strands across her forehead like inked in rivers on a map.

"What's for lunch, Mom? I'm starving," Bolin said, rubbing his stomach as his mother started taking out bowls and cutlery from a wooden box on the counter.

"Potato stew and some vegetables I managed to pick up at the market today," his mother replied, waving away Mako as he stepped forward to take her burden. "No, no, Mako, I'll take care of these. You go get Mireu and Min; they're playing in the room."

Mako left the kitchen, leaving Bolin and his mother to ladle stew into bowls. Bolin would probably try to gulp the first bowl whole before his mother earthbended the ground from beneath his feet. Mako didn't want to be there when it happened. There had been a nasty occasion when Bolin hadn't managed to drain his bowl in time and had instead sent the contents flying. It was a good thing Mako was so tall that the stew, instead of melting his face off, had splattered all over his middrift. The resulting burn failed to be any less painful, however, and Mako made a bad habit of bringing it up when he needed to guilt Bolin into doing him favors which was almost every day.

The living room area was mostly empty except for a small pile of placemats tucked neatly away in a corner and an arrangement of shrubbery that littered the floor around it with fallen leaves and twigs. Mako might have taken pity on the neglected plants and watered them but instead reminded himself of the last plant he'd killed.

A pair of sliding shoji doors led into the only other room in the house. From inside came the chattering of Mireu and Min, ages seven and two respectively. As Mako slid back the door, he heard Min cry out in delight.

"Done! Done!" Min exclaimed as Mako entered, holding up a drawing she had evidently completed.

Min and Mireu were sitting opposite each other, a mess of pencils and drawing paper between them. A couple of broken crayons were also rolling about, leaving streaks of disconnected rainbows in their wake. Sunlight streamed in through the single window which was half-concealed by an ornate wooden wardrobe.

"Hey, Min, what've you got there?" Mako knelt down next to his baby sister.

Min had large green eyes, a mushroom button nose, and a thin layer of soft black hair. Her little smock was stained with colorful smudges but she looked ecstatic as she waved her finished art project in Mako's face. Across from her sat Mireu, rail-thin with untidy black hair, his golden eyes concentrated on his piece of paper. If he'd been a bit taller, he would have been a clone of Mako when he was seven years old.

Mako took the drawing from her small hands and observed it with all the care of a doting brother. The picture was a portrait of their family. Their mother, whose face was drawn twice as large as her body, was holding a mass of circles he supposed were plates. To her right was Bolin, wearing a goofy grin that breached the confines of his round face. The next was Mako, his proportions stretched comically into chopstick limbs and a triangular face. Min had also taken to emphasizing his height by cutting off his feet at the edge of the paper. And then finally, Min and Mireu followed, both looking like pudgy dolls next to Mako's elongated body.

"You did a really good job, Min!" Mako said in an overly enthusiastic singsong voice. Min giggled, clapping her hands and stretching her arms wide. This meant she wanted a hug.

Mako obliged by handing her back the paper and lifting her off the ground. Min squealed in delight, her pudgy fingers gripping his shoulders as he stood up to his full height, which to Min was comparable to flying. She laughed aloud in joy and shoved her picture into Mako's face.

"Okay, easy there, Min," Mako chided as he took the picture before she could smother him. He looked down at the drawing again and suddenly realized something.

"Hey, Min," he said, trying to balance her on his hip as she started flapping her arms in an immiation of a rooster-falcon. "You've left someone out of your picture."

Min looked up at him, her green eyes looking confused. "My picture?" she asked, pausing mid-flap to gaze up at her brother.

"Yeah, here-" he boosted her onto his shoulders where she sat with her legs curled around his neck, "-you take a look."

Min edged around Mako's head to examine her drawing as Mako held it up to eye-level so they could both see it. She stretched out an arm and poked each person in her drawing as she named them.

"Mommy," she said, jabbing her finger at her mother's plates. "Bowin," She poked Bolin's enormous smile. "Mako," she pointed, grabbing Mako's ear with her other hand for support as she shifted to reach farther. "Min and Mee-reu" she pressed her palm against the two figures.

"That's right," Mako said, trying to pry her tiny fingers from his ear. "And then there's someone else."

"Who?" Min asked, genuinely confused.

"It's-"

Mako stopped. He had just been about to say "It's Dad" when the words caught in his throat. He sneaked half a glance at Mireu who seemed to be still absorbed in his own work. For a moment, Mako imagined himself sitting next to Mireu. It'd been months ago...

"When's Dad gonna be home?"

"Soon. Real soon."

"I can tell you're lying... he's not coming back, is he?"

"It's…" Mako faltered, coming out of his reverie. Min's innocent green eyes met his amber ones, the exact same shade as Mireu and his father's. "It's missing… Mr. Lee. Your doll." Mako improvised lamely.

"Oh!" said Min in surprise. She pointed to her doll lying on the floor. "Mr. Lee."

Mako didn't say anything as he lifted her off his shoulders. When Min wasn't looking, he surreptitiously folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

The family liked to dine outside during the warm season. Everyone sat around a stone table on blocks of rock in the shade of a tall tree, the makeshift furniture all courtesy of Bolin's earthbending skills. Atop a plain white tablecloth, bowls of potato stew were laid out beside chopsticks and tin cups. When everyone was seated and Mako had tied a handkerchief around Min's neck to keep her from adding stew to her crayon stains, the whole family dug in. Predictably, Bolin was asking for seconds before anyone else had finished their first.

"Mom?" Mako coughed a bit. His mother looked up. This was the secret signal they had come up with a few weeks ago so that the little ones wouldn't start asking questions and no one had to come up with pathetic lies.

"Drink some water, dear," his mother replied, shaking her head ever so slightly.

Mako nodded, understanding. He hadn't even been hopeful this time and yet he felt his heart sink a little at her coded answer. He glanced sideways at Bolin who was also listening but was pretending to be engrossed in scraping his bowl clean. Bolin gave Mako a look that followed every single time the answer had been less than optimistic.

When everyone was finished eating, Mako helped clear the tables while Mireu led Min inside the house. Bolin stomped the ground until the tables and chairs and been rammed back into the earth. No one spoke while they cleaned up.

"Hey, Mako, where're you headed?" Bolin asked an hour later as Mako was leaving the house.

"The market. I told Mr. Noh I'd be there by two."

"Oh, yeah, you've got a parttime job with him. How many gigs does that make? Two? Three?"

Mako glanced at his brother before answering, "Five."

Bolin nearly fell over. "WHAT? Five? How can you possibly manage all of them?"

Mako chose not to answer. They had nearly reached the entrance to the village. Two years ago, their whole family had gathered for the last time. Though neither of them said anything, both were remembering the scene as though it were yesterday.

"I'm counting on you two to help your mother run things while I'm away."

"Hey, Mako," Bolin began once they were out of the village and walking along a downhill path. "What do you reckon?"

Mako didn't have to ask what he meant. Even when he slept he seemed to be thinking about his father, wondering where in the world he could be right now.

"I don't know, Bolin." Mako finally answered. "Dad hasn't written for a while. His last letter was five months ago."

The two brothers lapsed into silence as they drew near the Chin River. The gushing water sparkled white in the sunlight, the air around it cool and refreshing. Trees waved lazily at them as they passed, gravel crunching underfoot, both deep in thought.

It had been the first week of February when Kenji's last letter reached them though no one had realized it. It came by post as usual. They had sat around the wearing coats and thick socks, unable to get the boiler working since the snowfall a few days earlier. This weekly ritual of receiving Kenji's letter always began by their mother slowly opened the envelope.

"Dear darling family," was how the first line usually began, which was Bolin's cue to make ludicrous gagging noises while Min and Mireu rolled around in a fit of giggles. Mako would then aim a kick at Bolin to shut him up before his mother continued reading.

I hope you're all doing well. Everything's fine over here. I've managed to move to an apartment that doesn't charge as much and it's much more comfortable, I must admit.

"Well that's a relief," their mother had said. "I can't believe anyone would charge so much as that land lady did. And for such terrible lodgings!"

Work's going smoothly as usual. I've made a couple changes to the manuscript but the newspaper seems happy to run it anyways. Just think; this will be the first time my name's in print!

"Wow, Dad's finally getting published!" Bolin had punched the air like a dog trying to stay afloat in water and the younger two had snorted with laughter.

I was a bit nervous when first sending in the article. People warned me that it might be a bit too controversial. As I've already mentioned in my previous letters, there are some people who are quite sensitive about this matter. Rather passionate too, I should add. It just astounds me how much everything's changed. A couple of years ago I'd never have believed anyone would actually be against bending let alone a whole group of people. And in Republic City, no less! Fortunately, a couple of my acquaintances assure me that this is a relatively new occurrence and that it'll blow over soon enough. When the newspaper comes out, I'll be sure to send you a copy. Stay safe and wish me luck!

With love, (more gagging from Bolin)

Dad

Elated by the good news, they had waited. And waited. And waited. Two weeks passed before their mother had started to fret. At first they had assumed the snowfall had delayed their letters but every time the postman showed up, there were no letters, late or otherwise, from Kenji.

They started sending letters every single day, asking if something had happened. When no answer returned, they wrote to the Republic City Police Department, asking them to check on him. Exactly 10 days would pass before they received a reply. In those ten days, everyone fidgeted and worried. Min and Mireu much less because their mother had reassured them with half-truths about Kenji being busy and something about unreliable postal services but the atmosphere was so tense that it was hard to concentrate on anything else. Then the letter came.

The letter was much different from the one they were used to seeing. Kenji usually wrote on faded yellow paper with a weak nib pen that kept drying out near the end of a sentence. This one reeked of authority with its thick white paper and neat printed letters. There was also an official wax seal, a dried clump of bloody red that should have warned them of the horrifying news awaiting them.

To whomever it may concern,

The Republic City Police Department has searched the residence requested. The place in question has not been occupied since FEB. 2. The landlady has said that the lodger in question has not been seen since that time and has failed to pay his rent. His belongings have since been cleared out. Police inquiry has yielded no further information. This case has thus been closed until further notice.

Sincerely,

Chief Bei Fong

Republic City Police Department

A couple of weeks were spent trying to get in contact with the chief again but all was useless. There was no question of going to look for Kenji on their own as they lacked the money. Even if they managed to scrape enough together for a round trip ticket, they didn't have a clue as to where Kenji might be. No one in the family voiced aloud the uncertainties that he might be dead whether it was accident or murder. In the end they stopped talking about it directly and any mention of Kenji had become subtle and preferably never within earshot of Min or Mireu. At one point, Mireu had cottoned on to the fact that his father really was missing. It wasn't a matter of not sending letters anymore. Based on snatches of whispered conversations between his older brothers and his mother, he had finally come to the conclusion that Kenji might never return at all.

"I can tell you're lying... he's not coming back, is he?"

Mako would have given anything to say with absolute, irrefutable conviction that Kenji was coming back. But by then, it wasn't just Mireu. He, Mako, had started to have doubts too. Instead of lying, he had changed the subject, hoping against hope that his father really was coming home.

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