it was hot today, and i am writing this in a bra on the floor of my room. i apologize for typos & general sexual aggression. or perhaps, lack thereof. and of course - always, and forever - i am thankful for your continued feedback. keep feeding back, even if it's negative - it's how we grow as writers. and my updates seem to come faster when i know you are waiting for them -

xoxo, scorpiaux.

The girl was supposed to live with Jet. It wasn't Katara's decision, but it was written in their contract during the divorce – a paper she'd signed, initialed, and dated alongside her now ex-husband. The office their lawyers had chosen was cramped and frivolously windowed, the heat of August boiling them alive through flimsy cotton blinds. Jet's oddly composed posture across the table looked dark against the backdrop of the glowing, simmering city behind him.

He had remained aloof, adjusting his tie now and then, and he signed with a single "J" below Katara's embellished, italicized "Katara H. Kuruk." This gesture provoked her in a way she did not expect, and she crumpled in tears during the drive home, remembering how often they'd have sex in this car, or drive to the theater during evenings off work, or the day she bought the beat-up clunker during her junior year in college. He had hugged her and rattled the keys, proclaiming, "We can go anywhere we want now! The world is our oyster!" He followed this vast, noble claim by taking her in the back seat. Sweaty and starving, they drove to the Cabbage Stand afterwards, feasted on to-go wraps and sipped orange colas before driving back to the dorms. They stargazed in the parking lot until the security guard told them to stop loitering.

Remembering their university days led Katara, naturally, to remember her dormitory, and Jet's experienced mouth on her body, and their youth uncoiling together as they grew up, got married, and fell apart. It was just like this car. On the verge of collapse until one day, it happens, and no jump-starts or oil changes or lube can fix it.

When she returned to her apartment that day, she noticed Jet had left her a letter (or, more specifically, a napkin), and despite herself, her heart felt a little faint. If five years with the ultimate human failure had taught her anything, it was not to expect any humanity from him. And true to his nature, the note was not a good one. He was kicking her out. I know we agreed that you'd stay at my place though the apartment will go to me, he'd scribbled in purple Sharpie. But frankly I need to rent the place out since I'm leaving my job at the restaurant and you can always just go live with your brother. Or the Fire Nation prick you were fucking behind my back. Whatever works for you.

Then, at the end, there it was again. The corner of the napkin. That nonchalant, singular "J."

It was an ultimate low for him, but in retrospect, was she surprised? There was no "Fire Nation prick" to go back to – the affair was all in Jet's vivid imagination, a justification for his own multitude of affairs, his ocean of affairs, his never-ending loves with everyone who wasn't Katara. And Sokka? Would he want to shelter her after a healthy dose of "I told you so"? She was willing to take that chance. Five years with Jet had drained her, and Sokka was her only family not residing in a nursing home.

But the girl. The girl had stayed with Jet.

She wasn't Katara's daughter, but she easily could have been. This morning before heading off to work and finalizing Aang Yanchen's citizenship papers, Katara found a crumpled crayon drawing in her purse, and the sour feelings of the divorce flooded her morning, made her coffee bitter and her eggs tasteless. It had been six months since she'd last seen Lin. Little Lin-Lin. The only thing Jet had ever done right.

She turned the drawing around in her hands. She placed it next to her breakfast and sipped her coffee, running her fingers over the waxy, colorful array of hearts and stars. In the past, she had turned to work to distract her from this ache. The ache of missing a child… it was worse than the ache a man left because children were never in the wrong. And Katara knew Lin didn't understand why she and her father were no longer together. They had split a little over a year ago, and Lin, now six years old, still couldn't wrap her kindergarten brains around it.

When Jet explained that he and Katara were no longer in love, little Lin innocently attempted to play cupid. She drew a valentine in crayon and gave it to Katara, signing it with Jet's signature "J" at the corner. The gesture had stunned Katara to silence, as it did now. This girl wasn't hers. Jet won the custody battle without having to fight it, and Katara's weekend visits were only possible because of Lin's mother's indifference towards the matter. She was an Earth Kingdom native, and reportedly very rich, but she saw Lin less than Katara did. Her fling with Jet was a one-night stand and the abortionist had failed to deflate her looming belly. Lin was nothing short of a miracle.

Of course, since Jet confessed to Katara that he had a child early in their relationship, Lin was a miracle in that sense too – she was one of Jet's flaws that Katara had seamlessly, willingly accepted. She was every mistake Jet had made that Katara had already forgiven.

Lin was unconditional love. And she permitted Katara and Jet to have a "married with child" relationship that they would not have had otherwise. Katara got to play mom without having to go through childbirth. If nothing else, she was thankful for that, though five years of make-believe had instilled the role in her bones. She was suffering from mommy withdrawal, and she knew it.

Lin's routine had soaked up all of Katara's maternal instincts. Even on nights when Jet didn't come home, out jumping from bed to bed like a flea, Katara and Lin never let it faze them. They stayed up, painted their toenails, and watched Wan Shi Tong Sing-a-Long until they fell asleep. Truly Lin had been her confidant through it all without even knowing. Last Katara heard, Lin's mother was picking up the slack, and Lin now lived with her in a large estate in the north. Jet left a message on her answering machine about two weeks ago. "Hey. Just wanted to let you know that the kiddo's a-okay. She lives with her mom now in the provinces. They're close. Hope you're okay. Uh. I'm leaving for the North Pole in a week so you probably won't hear from me in a while. Got a new gig up there... Well, see you around."

Gig? Gig, she wondered. What career path was he doing justice to now? She never knew where his money came from, even when they were together. His professional life was an enigma. The best answer she ever got out of Jet when she asked, as directly as possible, what he did for a living, and how he was paying their combined expenses, was a broad smile and a suggestion "not to worry about it." Legitimate indeed.

Sokka was already out and about, and Katara was running late. She folded the drawing back up and zipped her purse. She buttoned her blazer. For the rest of the day, she went through the motions of being awake without feeling like she left the bed. Even Suki's double espresso shot didn't get her in the mood for work. It was well enough, too, because Aang Yangchen did not show up when he was supposed to.

"Train wreck," Suki accused mercilessly. "I knew he wouldn't last. It's day one and he's not here?"

"He might be getting his paperwork from the bureau," Katara defended lamely. "He isn't a citizen yet and it's causing us issues."

"You're on his side now?"

"Whatever is left of it. I was looking over his file last night and he isn't qualified at all. I almost feel bad for him." Katara shook her head in disbelief. "But it's all his now anyway, isn't it? So we have to let it go."

"I know you're just as bitter as I am," Suki said. "This should have been yours."

"I am bitter. But he's helping Gyatso with a project on the Dante's Inferno Invasion. I respect that immensely. I'm just going to let it go."

There was a pause, and Katara gazed at the ceiling of her office, clearly distracted. Suki, as perceptive as ever, hummed, "Your mind's on something else," and crossed her arms.

Katara feigned a laugh. "It's true," she admitted. "But nothing we can fix." She let her eyes float to her purse hanging on the coat rack. Suki had taken it upon herself to cover the coat rack with stickers when Katara purchased it a few months back. It looked ridiculous, but it definitely lifted the vibe of the room.

"I'll come back for you," the older girl warned. "We're going to talk about this. And we're going out tonight. Bring your sexy brother."

"I can't promise he'll be there! And don't be so thirsty. He's bad for you." Their on and off affairs annoyed Katara, who had to listen to both sides after a fight, then take sides, then reconcile them both.

Suki winked and laughed, dancing back to her own desk, already anticipating an evening full of rumba and wine. Once she left, Katara hung up Lin's crayon masterpiece next to the only portrait she had in the office, an old shot of her and her brother, smiling with missing teeth into the camera as young children, holding up two fish on separate hooks. It was the last day they spent with their father before he was imprisoned. Lin's drawing lessened the effect of this day – those two children smiling in that frame, frozen in time, could have easily created the crayon drawing themselves. But there was one thing Katara did change. With her scissors, she snipped the "J" from the corner, wadded her gum in it, and threw it in the trash.

She then dedicated the remainder of her day to Aang's paperwork, and delighted in seeing his sweaty frame hustle up the stairs, already an hour late, his briefcase partially open and his tie off to the side. She giggled without meaning to, and he caught her eye as he made his way to Gyatso's office, smiled back, and winked. She didn't know why, but it finally felt like morning.