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Toza

Legend Lost

Toza knew talent—natural talent.

Half the benders today lacked the natural talent he himself had graced the ring with back in the day. And of that amount, half would never get it. Ever. No matter how hard they tried, no matter how much their coaches screamed or strategized or bribed.

And Toza knew potential.

Not the potential to become talented—the potential to make that talent into greatness. Half the benders that actually had that talent the other half lacked didn't have that potential: he'd seen enough fights to know, could spot the exact moment a bender plateaued. Shit, he knew that he himself had probably lacked that potential; he had just been lucky enough in his heyday to get by on his strength alone.

And then there was Mako.

Mako. From the moment he told Mako to show him what he could do and then saw what he was capable of, flames blooming from his fingertips, the old man knew. He knew the kid had that thing, that thing to grow and be great. He could see it—the talent, the potential. It was something he could just see: it shone through whenever he ducked and weaved and threw a punch in the ring; it was a look never missed in the papers with him on the front page, triumphant with cameras flashing around him: it was the look of a prodigy—a prodigal son. A legend in the making. And the moment Toza made that decision to make the kid's business his business, to make him a Pro-Bender, he had been willing to put every effort he had left in his old bones to make that a reality.

So imagine his surprise when it was the radio—that one fucking sports guy with the voice he couldn't stand—that announced Mako's early retirement: "Mako, one-half of The Fabulous Bending Brothers, has just announced he's walking away from the ring! I, I can't believe it!"

It was the first time he agreed with the pencil-necked little shrimp.

That's what he thought hours later as he walked up the steps to the top of the gym the next evening, grunting because of the pain in his knees whenever he took a step on the stairs. He wasn't mad. He wasn't even sure why he was walking on these damn steps; he didn't know what the hell he was going to say. It wasn't like he was any more of a talker than the kid himself. It'd be two men, one old and one young, sitting around not saying nothing. But some part of him he figured he better try and say something…the right thing.

The keys he used to open the door to their apartment jingled as he came in unannounced. He looked through the dimly lit room, making out the outline of the "Fabulous Flying Brother" standing alone and staring out the window. No Bolin just yet; no Bolin's ferret.

Mako's eyes went back to the curtain-less window. "…Did Bolin send you in here to talk to me, too? To maybe talk me out of quitting?"

Toza scoffed, thinking of Bolin being in the gym or at Narook's…maybe still mad at the decision. It beat the thoughts he was having right now; he still hadn't come up with anything to really say. "No." He just shuffled over to the couch he had made out, and grunted again, knee joints flaring up as he sat down on the couch. "And…I ain't gonna say that. I just came to sit here."

Mako watched him out the corner of his eye suspiciously and then turned his gaze back to the windows. They had been redone with the rest of the arena: big, spotless things that showcased the whole harbor all lit up with the moon hanging overhead. Toza wasn't too much an appreciator of too pretty things these days—after around for as long as he had, there wasn't much more that could surprise him—but the world outside looked like a big ol' diamond.

The silence was thick.

"…I did this for Bolin. Everything: agreeing to this; training so hard; working here. I did for Bolin because this made it easier to take care of him. Because you said that if I trained hard, I could take care of him better."

Toza hummed to show that he knew. Not that he agreed or didn't know where this was going. Just to show he was aware. He had said that. On a day, a rare afternoon, when the kid had been too tired from painting the front office and then being made to train. Pissed that he couldn't do a move Toza wanted him to do, pissed cuz Toza kept pushing him, making him doing it again, telling him he wouldn't stop doing it until he got it right. Pissed because Toza was making that natural talent he had and pushing it until it broke, making him work hard and build that potential he was capable of. The kid, sixteen years old, had stared at him with frustration in those golden-brown Firebender eyes before throwing down his gloves. And for the first moment since he had spoken to him like a coach, Toza addressed him as if he were…well, a child:

"Ya think I'm pushin' ya cuz I just like yellin at'cha?! Like I ain't got nuttin else ta do?! No—I'm pushin cuz ya said ya wanted ta be pushed…ya wanted me to teach ya what I know. This is all that I know! So I'm, I'm teachin ya somethin that's gonna help ya win! Cuz ya can do this move—it's easier than anythin else ya ever done in yer entire life. Easier than bein a thief and pickpocket!

"So learn the goddamn move! Do it and do it over and over! Do it right! Cuz when ya do it right, ya gonna win more than ya gonna lose! And that's when ya gonna know ya doin exactly what ya supposed to be doin."

The kid didn't thank him for the words, but he learned the move. And sure enough: the kid used it in one of those early matches, and The Fire Ferrets won their first victory—the first one worth putting in the paper. A couple of matches later, and the announcers started actually taking the time to learn which "Fabulous Bender Brother" was which.

"…I'm not going to lie. I liked it a lot in the beginning. It reminded me of a lot of things…my—me and Bolin's—dad. Things I maybe would've forgot. I think I remembered he liked listening to the matches and talked about them with his friends…" He gave a pause, but didn't turn away from the window. "…I don't remember if he talked about you."

Toza laughed, a short and harsh sound. "Probably wasn't much shit to talk about by then."

The kid smiled, a quick upturned corner of his mouth that drooped again. "…I was okay with doing this; it helped me take care of Bolin."

"And yer good at it."

He nodded. "But…I did this to help take care of Bolin. And he can take care of himself a little better now." He gave a harsh exhale and rubbed the back of his neck roughly with his hand. "I mean, yes, I'm good at this. But, things have changed…They're different now."

"Are they different 'cuz ya think Bolin doesn't need you now. 'Cuz ya might be givin him a little too much credit." As much as he loved the Earthbender, Toza knew that Bolin wasn't the most self-sufficient guy or most grown up guy, but he was a decent Pro-bender. Had spent his time taking what was potential and honing it into talent. Could lead a team if he focused on something for longer than five seconds. He grinned as the kid chuckled, a silent agreement.

They stopped talking and Toza chewed on that word: "things." Things were different now.

He eyeballed the harbor again. Air Temple Island and that statue of Avatar Aang peeking out above it. Made him think about the girl Avatar, speaking of pretty things. He wasn't always sure if he thought her presence on the team was always a good one, but she was another one that seemed to have that thing that would've made her legendary if she wasn't so busy being The Avatar—not that he wasn't grateful that she was; he was happy the new Avatar liked the game as much as the old one said he did in the papers. Toza hadn't asked any questions about her since the afternoon they had reopened the gym and she came walking in with her Pro-bending uniform and said stuff about how grateful she had been to be part of the team before saying she couldn't be anymore. But unlike the rest of Republic City, he had pretty much been unsurprised at the sight of the kid holding her hand and kissing her hello and goodbye that day and any other time she had a free period from doing whatever it was The Avatar in Republic City called herself doing.

The kid stared at him, almost daring him to say what he thought knew the old man was thinking: that he was being stupid; that this whole thing was just about him liking a girl.

"Things are always different when something like what happened happens," was all he said instead.

The kid paused and nodded. "…Yeah…" And then the weight of the words sunk in; Toza saw that fire, that understanding, in the kid's eyes. "It's just…after everything, it doesn't seem right that I wouldn't do something to help when I have the chance to. I just don't think my being in the ring is going to help now that things are different. I know that there's more that I can do."

Toza stood. He walked over to where Mako was standing and put a hand on his shoulder. The kid finally tore his look from the window and stared at the old man. The legend in the making, nothing more than a teenager really, looking for some help. Needing someone, anyone to assure him. He wasn't gonna waste the moment. "If what ya've found is somethin ya want to do and gives ya the chance to do better for yerself, then ya might as well do it."

He saw the grateful look in the kid's eye before the words came out of his mouth. "Yeah."

"Maybe it'll be hard, harder than what ya did here, but if it'll keep a roof over ya head and food on ya table, then do it. And if you think you'll become happy doing it, well I ain't gonna be the one to stop you."

"…Thank you."

"Yeah."

I liked Mako as a Pro-bender and wished that the show's pacing had taken time to point out that transition from him being one to being a cop. I was inspired by the other fanfics I wrote, "Bending Brothers & Associate" and "Officer Huang," to write this, but I didn't want to disrupt Toza's own story—since that's canon. I also didn't want Mako to say he was being a cop. I thought Toza's response might be more humorous and that's not what I was going for.