Author's Note: Many thanks for the positive feedback. Keep feeding back - even if it's negative. Your thoughts mean the world. XOXO, scorpiaux

Although his generous grinning could have easily been mistaken for foolishness, Aang Yangchen seemed soft-spoken and sensible. Overall, his manner was pleasant. He sat in the office chair with the same alert, open position as Gyatso, and with both men there, sitting calmly across from one another, the room was as quiet as a private study. Katara felt as though she was interrupting a meditation when both of them turned to find her opening the noisy office door.

"Your secretary sent me," she told Gyatso by way of apology. She gave a concise nod in Aang's direction and held out her hand. She met his eyes – the same storm cloud gray as Gyatso's. It was easy to smile for him though just minutes prior she was cursing his arrival. "Mr. Yangchen?" She raised her brows. "My name is Katara Kuruk. I'm the Publications Manager of the press."

"I am honored to meet you, Dr. Kuruk." He stood and took her hand in his. It was large, clammy and stark white at the knuckles, giving away his nervous first day. Katara looked up at him, surprised to find Aang a full head taller than her. She always wore heels to the office because she had read somewhere – or perhaps written it – that taller women were more imposing, that a tall female's striking stature demanded respect from like-heighted male coworkers, whereas a shorter woman would more closely resemble a "little girl." Even with her three-inch T. Lee heels, Katara had to tilt her head to find Aang's face.

"Not a 'doctor' yet," she responded lightly as he took his seat. "And 'Katara' will do. We aren't very formal in this office."

"Katara." The hesitance in his voice made her name sound delicate. Valuable.

"Yes, Mr. Yangchen?" She took the seat next to Gyatso, across the grand desk from Aang. Gyatso offered her a small espresso in a glass, which she sipped from with some urgency. She crossed her legs beneath her seat and removed a file from the shelves behind her.

Aang met her eyes once she turned around and said, the grin not leaving his face, "Then you must call me Aang. Not a 'mister' yet."

"Of course," she acquiesced. "Aang."

"Shall we get started?" Gyatso suggested, tapping the wire rim of his glasses. "We will want to have the paperwork finished by lunch."

"We have plenty of time," assured Katara. "It's still only 9:10."

"It might be complicated because Aang is not a citizen of the Earth Kingdom," Gyatso reported. "For his employment here, he will need two separate forms submitted to the state before the end of this month." Gyatso rubbed his temples with his forefingers and turned his face to the ceiling.

Katara watched the delicate, freckled skin of his scalp swirl with his movements. He was in his token caramel suite and blue tie, his white beard trimmed close to his face, his head cleanly shaved. Since her employment here, Katara had always admired Gyatso's neat character. Suddenly she found herself glancing over at the other Air Nomad descendant to compare, and wondered briefly if all the men of their nation were neat and well-composed. Her thoughts also drifted to her barbaric, hairy older brother – his paint-stained dress-shirts, his pants worn at the knees, his rusty razorblades and various toothbrushes gracing the bathroom sink. She smiled to herself, overcome with love and wonder.

Today, Aang's suite was gray, just as it was during his interning summer. Like Gyatso, his hair was cleanly shaved. He had bluish bags under his eyes that, despite his cheery demeanor, gave him a look of ache and distress. When he found Katara looking at him, returning his gaze, he quickly diverted his eyes to the maroon carpet and cleared his throat.

Forty-five years ago, when Gyatso had first moved into the office, he had anticipated finding a successor before his fiftieth birthday. Now Gyatso was seventy-three. This day – with this paperwork, these complications, these official transfers – was long overdue, and he was very tired. But he knew, at least, that he had found the right leader.

"I will find the necessary citizenship forms and submit them for Mr. Yangch – um, Aang," Katara proposed quickly. "I'll see to it that they are processed as soon as possible."

"He will have to fill them out himself."

"If he gives me his passport, I can do it."

"It's better that he completes them, my dear," Gyatso said gently. He put his withered hand on Katara's shoulder and smiled at her. "Not that I doubt you'll do a fine job, but they may want to see him in person. Sometimes there is an interview component. I don't anticipate any problems, however. For today, I only want you to handle the employment paperwork for his ownership of the press. He won't be official until February if we are lucky."

"Yes, Gyatso."

"We will also talk about my last project for the press," Gyatso told them both. If he was saddened by this news, it was not apparent in his tone or behavior. He quietly reached underneath his desk and removed a thick file, which he handed to Aang without presenting to Katara. She feigned an interest in the employment paperwork before her and attempted to remain aloof, but felt the skin beneath her eyebrow twitch.

"Dante's Inferno," Aang read aloud.

"Yes, that's the title," Gyatso joked.

"I didn't know you were doing research about that invasion," Aang admitted. "Is this a recent work? Are you allowed to publish this?" Katara watched as Aang nervously thumbed the edges of the file. It seemed as though he didn't want to open it. Katara knew about this project only because Gyatso had cited a future reference in one of his earlier articles: 'The following subject matter to be discussed in an upcoming publication, Dante's Inferno, publication date TBA.' She felt thwarted and a little angry that Gyatso did not seem to want to share it with her.

"I've worked on it for most of my life," Gyatso answered boldly. His eyes glistened then, and he pulled on his tie, running his fists slowly over the silk material. "It discusses every aspect of the Dante's Inferno Invasion as told by the Fire Nation. Then I compare that to actual facts – I was there for that attack, you know. It's a miracle I made it out alive. But the research for this project was daunting. An incredible feat. I'm not sure which accomplishment is more impressive – my survival, or the retelling of it."

Katara and Aang laughed politely and Gyatso smiled.

"Both are equally remarkable," Katara said. She covered Gyatso's hand with hers. "You endured atrocities for both!"

In a heavy tone Aang commented, eyes on Gyatso, "Jokes aside, this is truly monumental." He hesitated then, looking first at Katara and then searching the clean glass of the adjacent window, the bright, clean city beneath. After clearing his throat, he mustered up the courage to look at the file. "As I told you last summer, I lost a great number of relatives to that invasion."

"We lost many good people those nine days," agreed Gyatso sadly. "I can see by the confused look on your face that you don't read the language of the ancients."

"I do," said Aang to Katara's surprise. "But these are just numbers."

"Ah, yes. Marvelous. Well, don't read too much there. Those are only logistics. Notes. Publication projections. The complete text is at my home. I don't bring it anywhere or take it out. If I could print it there, I would."

"You are wise. It's a valuable piece of literature," said Aang. "Homage to everything lost."

"I'm so sorry for your own losses," Katara said to him. She felt as though she did not have a place in this conversation, or this office, or the entire press. What Aang and Gyatso were discussing was so intimate, so sacred. Just being here to witness it made Katara feel exposed and vulnerable herself. "We didn't hear much about you the summer you were here. What a terrible thing to endure." Her voice was low, and the well-wish sounded like a whisper. But Aang heard her and nodded in her direction, his smile a little darker now.

In the pause that followed, Gyatso gulped down his remaining espresso and reclined back into the leather cushion of his chair. "Let's get down to business, shall we?" He turned the back of his chair to Katara, a method he always employed while giving her orders so that the effect was less direct for him, and began speaking. Katara hurriedly transcribed after him and Aang watched with amazement. Typing would have been faster and easier for her, but he knew Gyatso's policy towards technology. He wanted things done the old-fashioned way, the best way. Aang wondered if he would change this once he was in control.

"I, Gyatso Tenzin, in sound mind and spirit, on this day in January, Year of the Ox, hereby grant all ownership, possession, rights, and titles of Gaoxing Lunwen Press to my successor, Aang Yangchen of the Western Temple…"

As Katara furiously scribbled after him, Aang took note of her face and posture. Her eyes were ice – blue and cold – as they focused on her task. Her fingers were slender, long, and Aang noticed her red polish had chipped off the tip of her thumbnail. He imagined a nail-biting habit which, though contrived, endeared her to him. Gyatso's presence in the room had anesthetized the effect of such a remarkably attractive coworker, but as Aang watched her, he felt a budding fascination seize his heart full force.