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Meelo rolled over and gazed blearily at the woman beside him. She had curled hair, of all things, a dark and shining tangle of it. Who ever heard of curled hair? A few hours ago at the bar he could have sworn she was a goddess. Now she only looked like a headache. Meelo didn’t have enough money to buy her dinner though, whoever she was. Best to just find his pants and get on with it.
The room reeled around him. He stumbled across the floor and its scattered clothes, only saved from falling flat on his face by a quick burst of air against the wall. Still drunk then. Noted. It was always important for an airbender to be aware of their surroundings. His father had taught him that phrase probably before he could walk. Funny how shit like that always came back at the worst moment. Meelo sucked back sour spit and somehow located his boxers. Whoever she was on the bed made a soft snort, but didn’t wake. Good. This part was always easier when he didn’t have to talk.
The street outside was hot and teeming. Meelo blinked back his surprise and dropped his eyes. The blaring streetlights made him feel slightly sick. It must be only early evening from the traffic though. How long had he been asleep then? Or rather, how early had he started drinking? He shook his head, trying to get his bearings, but nothing here looked particularly familiar. Nice neighborhood, some kind of busy shopping street. Republic City. He hoped. He couldn’t be all that far from where he’d started though, right? Perhaps if he could get airborne he could see where he was? Yet Meelo didn’t dare glide. For one, he was in civvies instead of his flight suit. For another, even if he hadn’t been, in his current state he’d probably hit a building and die. Considering the hangover he was likely to have in a few hours that might be preferable, but for the time being he valued his just life enough to try to figure out how to walk in a passable straight line instead. Best get on with that, too. Eventually he bent his head and picked a direction at random, hoping at some point he’d encounter a street sign that would point the way more or less back to his ship.
Meelo blundered along as the sidewalk twirled and bent beneath his feet. All the movement was making him a little queasy. He didn’t want to look up and risk another facefull of streetlight though. He’d check the signs at the next intersection. There seemed to be just enough room on the busy sidewalk to get by until then.
He abruptly collided with someone with a sickening thud.
Meelo reeled as a paper sack of groceries went flying. The man he’d hit grabbed him by the arm just as he reflexively bent air out of his hand to steady himself. As a result they both went spinning. This time Meelo did fall, landing hard on his ass on the unforgiving pavement with enough force to clack his jaw shut. He tasted blood.
“Watch where you’re going!” snapped a man’s voice. A shadow fell over him. “Are you all right?”
“Fime,” burbled Meelo through a mouthful of copper. He looked up. A middle-aged man loomed over him, his long, angular face a mixture of anger and concern. Then his heavy eyebrows flew up in surprise.
“Meelo?” he asked.
Meelo squinted. The man did look familiar. The golden eyes of a firebender. Thick black hair shot through with gray. And something in the pinched look of worry on his face. A split second later it clicked.
Oh shit.
“Gwenwul,” he slurred. His mouth felt too thick. He attempted a salute and only wound up hitting himself in the nose with his own hand. Shit shit.
General Iroh squatted down in front of him, the anger completely gone now. Instead he was looking at Meelo the way he might look at an owl cat left out in the rain overnight.
“Meelo, are you drunk?” he asked, his voice low.
Meelo briefly considered lying, then decided against it. Iroh was about as dumb as a battleship was soft.
“Is plozzible,” he conceded.
The general’s lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “Very well,” he said. “Come on, help me get these groceries at least. Then we’ll go get you cleaned up.”
“Shwip,” said Meelo. He pointed in a direction that may or may not have been where his ship was.
“Not like that, you’re not,” Iroh said. “Even if I believed you could find it. I’ll call down and arrange your leave when we get to the house, don’t worry.” Then he stood and held out his hand.
***
Meelo sat alone in a painfully bright kitchen with his glass of ice water. Every so often he sucked a cube into his mouth and pressed it to his throbbing tongue. All the while tried not to think about exactly how much trouble he was in.
General Iroh’s voice carried muffled through the walls. He’d apparently followed through on his promise to call up Meelo’s CO. Who knew who else he might be calling? It was Meelo’s leave, and he could do with it what he damned well pleased, but Iroh was a notorious teetotaler (or tea-totaler, in his case) and would probably choose to interpret conduct unbecoming an officer rather broadly. There could be a disciplinary hearing. He could seek damages for the eggs that had broken when the groceries fell. Or worse, Iroh could be calling Air Temple Island. His father knew where the general lived, of course. He could be on his way here right now. And there wasn’t a damned thing that Meelo could do about it.
The phone hung up with an audible click, and he heard the sound of heavy footsteps. A moment later General Iroh emerged from the hallway. The highest ranking officer in the United Forces was old now, past 40 at least, but he was still somehow as tall and fit and impressive as he’d been when Meelo was a kid. Larger than life. Not in the way his Uncle Bumi had been then, with his wild hair and his awesome stories, but big all the same. Quiet big. Like his very presence took up far more than simply the physical space around him. When Iroh spoke, people always listened, whether he commanded them or not. It was something Meelo had tried to emulate his whole life. Needless to say, he’d failed. In his estimation he talked five times as much and had gotten about a fifth as far. At his age, Iroh had already been a lieutenant commander.
“Well that’s that,” said the general. He made a motion as if dusting off his hands, then ran his fingers through his slightly graying hair. “How’s your tongue?”
“Better, sir,” said Meelo. He endeavored to sit up a little straighter.
Iroh smiled at that. “No ‘sirs’ in my own house, please,” he said. “I realize the position this puts you in though. Let’s set aside rank for the evening, shall we?”
“Yes, s— okay,” said Meelo awkwardly. He didn’t dare ask about the phone call. He knew Iroh could have him out of the Forces faster than he could say “discharge” if he wanted. There wasn’t a damned thing Meelo could do about that, either.
Iroh did not tell him he was being discharged. Instead he nodded to the glass of water on the counter. “Drink up,” he said. “It’ll do you good.” Meelo wondered how a man who’d probably never had a hangover in his life would know that and drank his water anyway. It wasn’t like he was wrong. The shock of running smack into the general had done a lot to slap some sober into him, but Meelo had had plenty of hangovers himself and he knew if he didn’t take care of it he was in for a world of hurt. Already he could feel the first throbs of a headache at the base of his skull.
Iroh watched him long enough to apparently make sure he drank, then walked over to where he’d set the rumpled grocery bag on the counter. Without a word he started pulling items from the sack and stacking them neatly on the counter. It looked like mostly vegetables.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” he asked, his back still turned. “It’s just me tonight, but there should be enough for two. I’m leaving tomorrow anyway. No reason to save any.”
“Where are you going?” Meelo nearly bit his tongue again swallowing a “sir” after that.
“Vacation.” He could hear the smile in the older man’s voice. “I’m afraid I had a bit of an emergency today so the wife and kids went on ahead. I didn’t want to cut their time short. I’ve got the first airship out in the morning though.”
“How are they, by the way?” asked Meelo. He realized it was probably the first thing he should have said. Though it had been a while, Iroh and his family had joined his for holidays fairly consistently before he’d enlisted.
“Wonderful,” said Iroh in the same softly delighted tone with which he’d mentioned his vacation. “And huge. Would you believe Aika went to a dance this week? I don’t think it was the kind with dates but I’m bracing myself. It’s right around the corner. And you’d hardly recognize the boys. They’re as old as you were when Kuvira came.” He made a little humming noise. “Come to think of it, Kanta reminds me a lot of you when you were his age. We’re still trying to figure out where he gets it from. Somewhere on his mother’s side, I’m sure. No one in my family has much of a sense of humor.”
Meelo wasn’t quite sure what to make of that comment so he took another sip of water.
The general abruptly shook his head. “There I go,” he chuckled. “Never ask a man about his children, Meelo. He’ll never stop talking.”
“It’s okay.” And it was, in a way. It was nice to see a father so obviously proud of his kids for doing little more than existing, even if deep down Meelo also felt a twinge of jealousy. The love in Iroh’s voice was palpable.
“You’re always welcome when you’re in port, you know,” Iroh said. “I’m sure they’d all love to see you, and once you have three kids you hardly notice another mouth.”
“Thanks,” said Meelo, and knew that he wouldn’t.
The general reached for a white paper package, then hesitated. “Are you still a vegetarian?” he asked.
“No.” Meelo wasn’t a huge fan of meat, but he ate it anyway almost on principle.
“Good,” Iroh said. “We’ve been off it for years as a family but since I’m alone I had a craving for boar-q-pine. Oh, and ‘Yes, Iroh, I would love to stay for dinner and keep you company. And thank you for arranging my overnight leave. I really appreciate it.’” He turned slightly and offered Meelo a little sideways smile. “Yes?”
“Yes, um, thanks a lot,” Meelo said hurriedly. “I mean it.”
“That’s what I thought. You’re welcome, Meelo.”
Iroh turned back to his groceries. He folded the bag and set it aside, then set to silently washing his vegetables in the sink. Meelo simply watched him. It was a little funny that a man as rich and important as General Iroh washed his own produce, let alone made his own dinner, but in an odd way it also wasn’t. Iroh had never struck him as a man who let anyone else do his dirty work. That winter he’d lived on Air Temple Island he’d insisted on helping with nearly everything, from doing the dishes to reorganizing the library to helping his father tend the sky bison. He’d even babysat Rohan. Of course, it had turned out that Iroh had had very different motives for making himself available in Republic City that year, but the fact he was courting hadn’t made him any less helpful. If anything, in retrospect he’d probably been showing off. Girls liked that kind of thing, it turned out. Meelo himself had never learned to cook, or really do much of anything in the kitchen other than eat. His mom had been a fabulous cook. Sometimes he still thought of it; mostly around holidays when the other men and women in his division went home and he was left with all-you-can-eat noodles from one of the all-night cafes near the docks.
Iroh was already slicing an onion before he thought to offer help.
“Is there anything I can do?” Meelo ventured, once again biting back the implicit “sir” at the end of the sentence.
“Of course.” General Iroh sounded like he’d only been waiting for him to ask. “I’m not sure I trust you around a knife at the moment, but if you could get a pot boiling I’d be grateful.” He kicked out and tapped one bare foot against a cabinet. “And grab me a wok while you’re down there.”
Meelo got carefully down from his chair and pulled out a heavy bottomed pot, then a pan. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Iroh casually light the stove with the tip of his finger. Meelo went to fill the pot with water before setting it on the flame.
“Thank you,” Iroh said, taking the wok. “Bowls and cutlery across the way, if you’d be so kind. This will only take a few minutes.”
Meelo found two bowls and matching sets of chopsticks that looked like they cost more than a week’s wages and ferried them over to the table. He heard a sizzle behind him. When he turned back he saw Iroh with the wok balanced in one hand, a curved wooden spatula in the other. Flames licked up the sides of the pan.
“You… you’re holding it?” he asked, for the moment all sirs forgotten.
The general raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I’ve never seen anyone cook that way.”
Iroh offered him another crooked smile. “Firebender thing, I suppose,” he said. “It’s not always possible, but I find I have more control over the temperature this way. My wife tells me it’s a little like the difference between a manual and an automatic transmission on a satomobile. It’s not for everybody though.” He snorted softly. “It’s rather bad if you drop it. I tried showing off at your mother’s once and she nearly had my head. I thought Asami would never stop laughing.”
Meelo didn’t remember that and wondered where he’d been at the time. Was this before or after he’d left? Certainly Iroh occasionally dining at Air Temple Island hadn’t stopped after he’d gotten his own place and decided to stay for good. Had Meelo only been in the other room playing army with Uncle Bumi and Korra and her other friends, or had he been playing army for real? And what else had he missed?
Finding no other requests for help, Meelo settled back into his chair at the counter and watched the general cook. The smell of the food was making him a little queasy again. He sipped his water and tried not to look at the overhead lights. The kitchen was light and airy, and while everything looked rather expensive there was something sleek and rather modern about it, too. Thankfully, it had also stopped spinning. Iroh moved to and fro between the counters with a practiced ease, looking perfectly at home in a way that made Meelo wonder who did the cooking for the general’s busy family. He’d always assumed they had help. It certainly wasn’t possible to run the whole of the United Forces and be home in time to make dinner. Yet as the general began to hum contentedly to himself it made him wonder all the same.
“Here we go,” Iroh said after a while. He tipped the steaming contents of the wok into another bowl, then quickly tossed the strained noodles in whatever sauce was left. “Sit down and I’ll be right over.”
Meelo carefully made his way over to where he’d set the table, trying not to move his head more than he had to. He wondered what the girl with the curled hair was doing now, and what her name had been. He wondered what it might be like to stay one of those times, too. Maybe they could have made dinner together. Then Meelo remembered he didn’t know how to cook, and that he was shipping out the day after tomorrow anyway.
“I usually make this with an egg on top,” Iroh called from the kitchen. Meelo winced at the thought of the shattered eggs. “But it should be fine without it.”
“Looks great,” Meelo said guiltily. He’d never been less hungry.
General Iroh set the two bowls on the table, then sat down in the empty chair across from him. It should have made him seem smaller, seeing him seated. For some reason it didn’t.
“So, what should we talk about?” he asked pleasantly. He reached for the noodles and scooped some into his bowl. “Are you going to tell me why you were wandering around the city blind drunk, or do I need to ask?”
Meelo swallowed. “I… er… I don’t know, sir. General. Iroh.”
“Iroh is fine,” said Iroh in the same conversational tone. “But you don’t know? I have trouble believing that. You’re a smart kid.”
Meelo bristled slightly at the term. He was twenty-two now and far from a kid.
“I don’t have to tell you,” he said, far more boldly than he felt. “It’s my leave. You said no rank. I can do what I want with my time off duty. If I wanna have a drink, I can have a drink.”
“Or two, or ten,” Iroh replied. “I know. What I meant is, why were you doing it alone?”
“Who says I was alone?” Meelo retorted. He didn’t like where this was going.
Iroh looked pointedly around the dining room. “Do you see anyone else?”
“No, but—”
“And did you ask me to call anyone and inform them of your whereabouts after I all but snatched you off the street?”
“No, but—”
“As far as I can tell,” Iroh said, “the only person who’d be missing you tonight is whoever is on check duty at lights out.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Meelo, why does your family have no idea that you’re in Republic City? I had lunch with your father five days ago and he didn’t mention it at all. In fact, he asked me where you were stationed.”
“Like he cares.” Meelo rolled his eyes and reached for the noodles he didn’t want.
The general’s brows knit together sharply. “Meelo, he cares very much. He asks me about you every time I see him.”
“And did you tell him how many people there are in the United Forces?” Meelo shot back.
“Eighteen thousand, four hundred and thirty one as of last week,” Iroh smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t answer the question. I usually know where you are.”
“You’re keeping tabs on me?”
“In a manner of speaking. No more than your uncle did on me, though. We know our place.”
“And what’s that?” Meelo snapped. Suddenly, he was pissed. General Iroh might be the big guy, but he had no right to interfere. “Spying on me? Pulling the strings behind the scenes? Keeping me out of action so I can’t ever do anything heroic or get promoted?”
“Hardly.” Iroh’s smile stayed on, but there was a slight edge in his voice now. “Beyond working with Asami to design the initial structure of the Air Corps, I’ve not once weighed in on your enlistment beyond telling your father I support it. As I said, I know my place, because when I ran off and joined the United Forces at seventeen I’d have died before I’d have allowed anyone to treat me differently because of who I was. Or because of who my parents were. Commander Bumi made sure he knew where I was and that I was all right, and that was all. Just as I make sure I know where you are. That’s the extent of my influence. I’d never tip the scales for you, Meelo. Not even if you asked me.”
Meelo studied the general’s face and decided he was telling the truth. Yet it made no sense. Iroh had been the youngest general in the history of the United Forces. He’d always assumed that was because he was the prince. Old Firelord Zuko had founded the United Forces, after all.
“I see what you’re thinking,” Iroh said. His smile dimmed. “You wouldn’t be the first. But I have it on good authority that I came by it honestly. Agni’s flames that I hadn’t.”
Meelo frowned. “What do you mean?”
Iroh leveled his gaze at him. He suddenly looked far older, and far sadder, than he had a moment ago. “Battlefield promotions, mostly,” he said. “Wrong place, wrong time in places like Anisa and Ma’inka and Senta Straits. Fortunately, the last decade has been one of relative peace. I’m sorry if that means you’re only a captain. But a lot of good men died to make me general, Meelo. A lot of friends. I don’t ever forget that. And I don’t wish it on anyone else. Living in a time of peace doesn’t make you a failure any more than it makes you a coward.”
“I’m sorry,” Meelo said. He’d never thought about that.
The general held up a hand. “That’s all right. And no need for me to dwell on the past. What I’m trying to say is, those who love you don’t stop loving just because you don’t call home. It’s a lesson I learned, too. And I’m not going to stop telling your parents that you’re well any more than Bumi stopped telling mine. Which is why I’m checking if you’re well.” He cocked an eyebrow again. “Are you? There were some times after the battles that I wasn't. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't had friends and mentors to pull me out, but nowhere good.”
"No," said Meelo, "not like that. I was only..." He trailed off, trying to put it all into words. Bored? Lonely? Unsure what to do with himself and his time if it wasn't drinking or chasing women because that's what soldiers did? That he hadn't ever been in love the way General Iroh so obviously still was, didn't have a family, hadn't let himself because what if that hurt, too?
“I… there was a girl,” he finally stumbled. “At the bar. I didn’t have anywhere to be. I haven’t talked to dad in years, not since he told me I couldn’t join up because it was against the principles. I know I’m not welcome there. So I’d had a few drinks and we got to talking and—”
Iroh waved his hand, cutting him off. “I don’t need the rest,” he said. “I know how easy it is to make a fool of yourself in front of a pretty girl. I’ve been doing it myself for years.” He smiled at that, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes briefly deepening. “But you’re wrong about your family, Meelo. Just as I was wrong about mine. The United Forces was envisioned as a force for peace, not for war, with each of the four nations contributing to that peace. With you, and with the Air Corps, that dream has become a reality. Tenzin is proud of what you’ve helped build. Following what you’ve done has helped him see it. And I think you’ll find that if you give him a call one of these days he’ll tell you that, too.”
Meelo looked away. “I doubt it.” Yet something warmed in his heart all the same. He thought about that last fight years ago, and about his father, red-faced and screaming, and found that it had a dull quality now, like a well-worn photograph. It really had been a long time. And then there was his mother, and Jinora. What had they done?
Iroh dipped his chopsticks into his bowl. “Prove me wrong, then.” Another quick, crooked smile. “Tell you what, Meelo. After dinner I’ll put on some tea. Once you’ve sobered up, call your father and tell him you’re in town for another day. If he yells at you, I’ll eat my words and you get to spend that day being general.”
Meelo blinked. “General?”
“General,” Iroh said soberly. “You can do my job. For one day. Eight hours. You’ll be head of the United Forces, with my blessing. I’m going on vacation and need someone to fill in anyway.”
Meelo thought about it. Head of the whole of the United Forces? Deep down, it was all he’d ever wanted. General Meelo, charging to the front, telling everyone what to do and where to go. He’d whip the whole Air Corps into shape and make them front and center with him at the helm. There’d be some emergency somewhere, like whatever it was that had kept General Iroh home today, but instead of Iroh it’d be him calling all the shots. They’d win the day to thunderous applause, and he’d march off the battleship to his very own parade even bigger than the one they’d had for Korra after General Kuvira surrendered. Then he slowly shook his head. There was something he realized he wanted still more.
“I’d rather earn it,” he said. Then, with emphasis, “sir. If it’s all the same. So that anyone who might be proud could stay that way.”
Iroh beamed at him. “And I have no doubt you will, Captain. In time, and if you want. Like I said, I’ve been watching you.”
Meelo glanced down the hallway. “I might use your telephone later though. Anyway.”
“You’re welcome to it,” Iroh said. He reached over and tapped Meelo’s bowl with the end of his chopstick. “But not until you’ve eaten something. You’ll want to wait until after you’re sober. Trust me.”
Meelo looked up, frowning. “But you…?”
“Were young once, too,” said the general. Then he tipped him a wink. “Now eat up.”