Chapter Text
When Neytiri comes to, it's to the hot, broiling feeling of rage lodged deep in her chest.
In the few seconds she has before the link bed is opened, her expression folds. Tears flow down her cheeks, her chin crumples and the corners of her mouth tremble. A keening noise escapes her, she doesn’t recognise it for a second over the whine of machinery. She sits with the second hand grief that’s coursing through her body.
Then, when the lid is opened, and the metal structure tugged away, she changes it. Moulds it between her palms into something spiky and rage filled. Shoves it in her mid back so that when she’s heaved upright, and met with Selfridge’s face, her next move is too fast for him to dodge.
Her hand comes up, clenched in a fist. Her knuckles ram themselves against the curve of his cheekbone and the impact is so strong he’s sent to the floor.
She’s surrounded by soldiers then, some grabbing her shoulders, one pulling her arm back. Neytiri fights against them, hissing and spitting as if she’s still in her Avatar body.
“You fucking MURDERER !” she shouts at him, although the ringing in her ears is too loud for her to hear.
Still, she wrenches her limbs out of the soldiers’ grips and tries to reach the guy again. Even though he’s scrambling to his feet. Staring at her like she’s lost it. Which might be very true.
There’s a small, distant part of her that recognises the hint of guilt in his eyes and expression. How it’s turning down the corners of his mouth. He doesn't even seem able to glance at the monitors surrounding them, still broadcasting the aftermath of the destruction they’ve wrought.
Neytiri doesn’t care. The part of her that’s completely unsympathetic to his sadness shoves away the other half with an animalistic snarl.
Her hands beat against her wrangler's shoulders as she’s lifted boldly from the link bed. Placed in a fireman's carry that would usually have her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
When they turn, she spots Grace fighting against the bright orange cuffs being manipulated around her wrists. Her whole body heaves against the multitude of hands pushing her back from clawing Selfridge’s eyes out.
She’s shouting much the same sentiment as Neytiri was, but just in a far more concise and sane manner than she could ever perform in these circumstances. It’s so passionate that spittle flies from her lips, and with every word the man shrinks. Like the coward he is.
Norm, bound to one of the metal railings in the centre of the link room, spits like a wild cat, and claws desperately at his bindings. When he sees Neytiri, slung across the soldier's back, he becomes more incensed. Shouting something about a woman’s dignity even as she’s brought out of the link room.
It’s a mess, and by the time she’s able to drag herself out of the red coloured anger that tinges her eyesight, all four of them - including Trudy, who’s sporting a mean looking split lip - are placed in a holding cell.
That’s where they’re kept, for what feels like decades. Under the burning, clinical lights. With nothing between them except the sound of their breathing.
At least the bastards had the thought to bring her chair in with them.
Neytiri sits with her head in her hands, both thinking of a plan to get out of this mess, and trying to work around the massive ball of feelings that’s sitting in her chest.
She’s left Jake with his brother’s body. Left him curled over it, pressing his sobs and cries into To’mey’s unmoving chest.
He’d sent her away, and she wasn’t one to argue when it came to being left alone to work your thoughts out. But she’d only gone out of earshot before Selfridge had cancelled the command on her link bed.
She’s not sure how well Jake would have reacted to seeing her body collapse to the floor so soon after losing the last member of his family.
Guilt festers alongside the burning fire of rage that’s taken permanent residence in her body. It turns her insides black, and the guilt batters the remains to mulch. Until it feels like she can’t move a finger without the stuff sloshing around inside of her.
If she sees Quaritch again, face to face? Without the barrier of glass between them? He’s a dead man.
The amount of warriors he might’ve killed, the destruction, is surely enough to get him court martialed. If not arrested. And yet, he was able to fly back to base with a smug smile on his lips, where he’d then stood outside their holding cell. Preparing to gloat, probably, if he hadn’t been called up to the communications tower to make a report.
Her emotions make her antsy, and she shifts in her chair more than a few times. Cracks her knuckles for something to do. Until it feels like she’s going to bend and shatter into pieces.
Neytiri lifts her head and thinks about breaking the silence, when there’s a rumble of wheels behind them.
Through the glass, she can’t hear what he says, but she sees Max behind the medcart, and relief makes the weight of her heart that much lighter.
He’s got a small smile on his face as he converses with the guard, gesturing flippantly at the vials and beakers gathered on the top of the cart. Norm, Grace and Trudy get to their feet, hurrying to the glass with hopeful expressions.
It takes a few moments, but when the guard leans down to inspect the trolley's contents, putting his back to Max, the scientist strikes. Sticking a needle he’d hidden in his coat pocket into the meat of the man’s neck and depressing so that the contents is emptied into his veins.
The guard goes down hard, flopping bonelessly to the floor. With a quick few movements, he’s hidden from view of the door via the cart, and Max is swiping his badge to open the holding cell.
“We’re glad to see you,” Neytiri whispers once they’re free, clasping Max’s forearm gratefully. “But this is seriously risky.”
“I know,” Max says with a certain glint in his eye. “But it has been planned for months, so you can’t really blame me for being unprepared for this sort of scenario.”
“What’s been planned?” Trudy hisses in surprise, her back pressed against the doorframe to keep watch. Somehow, she found a gun. But that’s not surprising; the guard’s holster is probably empty.
“Our escape mission,” Max says, before darting out into the corridor.
“Our?” Norm asks, but they’re too busy keeping out of sight of the patrols to answer.
“The messages,” Grace murmurs, and there’s a quiet yelp. When Neytiri glances at him, Norm’s rubbing a bit of his forearm, as if he’s been pinched. Trudy’s rolling her eyes.
“You’ve been planning for this?” Norm asks incredulously.
“Yes,” Max whispers, inputting a code to the doors once the coast is clear. “Most of our supplies are already accounted for, and the link setups are secure.”
“How?” Neytiri asks, before pushing against the wheels of her chair to follow the scientist down the next corridor. Behind her, Trudy’s boots thump against the metal grating, and Norm struggles to keep his steps quiet.
“Grace’s approval was a blanket sort,” he says. “Meant that we could get away from base too without having to get permission signed from the Colonel.”
When they reach the next door, Max turns to Neytiri with a cheeky grin. “Sweet, huh.”
“I’ll say,” Trudy says from behind, but Neytiri doesn’t really register it. Her mind is moving too fast to keep up with what’s being said around her.
“How many link setups are now hidden?” she asks. They come to a sudden stop at the sound of boots that aren’t any of theirs.
Ducking behind a crevice, they wait with bated breath as a soldier turns the corner out of sight. The klaxons haven’t started yet, which is good. Once the guy is gone, Neytiri can hiss at Norm to move his elbow which is pressing against her neck.
“About ten,” Max replies once they get moving again. “Three link beds in each. Two operators per hut.”
“And the pilots?” Trudy asks when they stop at the hanger doors. “Did they have any suspicion?”
“A few were actually happy to help,” Max replies, rummaging in a few of the boxes to supply each of them with an exopack. “More than a couple just accepted our excuse of a longer data run. One had to be bribed, although the popularity of Na’vi food is a thing of beauty.”
Neytiri huffs with laughter. Trudy slaps Max on the shoulder.
“And our escape?” Grace asks, sliding the mask over her head. “Surely our take off won’t go unnoticed.”
“No,” Max replies, inputting the codes to release the lock on the door, “but the experiment about to go very wrong in a few minutes should be a suitable distraction to keep all eyes from the landing tarmac.”
“Have we said you’re a genius yet, Max?” Neytiri asks, and he grins, his cheeks turning a little pink as the door gives a happy chime. It swings open, and already sweat clings to the back of her shirt at the heat outside.
It seems the smoke and fire from Hometree has affected the weather around base. Or maybe that’s just Eywa’s first foray into revenge. One can only hope.
Trudy’s chopper is right where they’d landed, waiting patiently for them to uncover her engines and load up on passengers.
“Wait,” Norm suddenly asks as Neytiri’s settling into her seat, “what about intel on the inside? Surely we should know how they’ll retaliate.”
“I think the little bit of hacking it’ll take to get into their systems should suffice,” Max replies, although three pairs of eyes fall to Grace. Waiting for approval.
Neytiri, too, doesn’t move from where she’s got her belt half dragged over her hips. Not until there’s nod, and the rest are clambering in too. Shoving aside boxes of supplies to tuck themselves against the back wall.
There’s a few clicks and flicks from the cockpit. Trudy murmurs to the chopper, encouraging sweet words which are incredibly familiar to Neytiri. The amount of times that she’s had to coax a machine into doing as she wants are too many to count.
She reaches down and presses her palm against the metal floor, as if her own encouragement could be felt by the chopper through her fingers.
The whine of the engines starts then, and stress and worry skitter along Neytiri’s shoulders for a moment. It’s still quiet outside, and if the engines get any louder they could be noticed by the comms tower. They could be stopped in their daring escape, and everything would fall to pieces.
“Wait,” Max says through his headset, and he holds up a single finger. A few seconds pass in silence. Neytiri frowns, wondering if she’s missed something, but the pucker to Max’s lips is a giveaway. He swivels in his seat, hisses something, and then it happens.
Behind the comms tower comes a flash of light. A plume of flame that shoots into the sky, and then an ominous boom that shudders the chopper’s metal frame. Only then do the klaxons sound, but in the pattern that denotes a fire. Not an emergency.
“That’s pretty impressive,” Norm says with a whistle. “What did you use?”
“Ask your nerdy things once we’re away from danger,” Trudy shouts from the cockpit. A press of another button, and the engines roar fully into life.
Neytiri grabs for the secures in the ceiling, and tilts a little to watch the ground give away as they lift into the sky. The chopper turns until its nose is pointed towards the trees, and begins to book it across the tarmac. Neytiri casts an eye over the science department. Her heart squeezes a little.
The flames are climbing higher, and already a few of the soldiers are suited up, spraying the inferno with fire extinguishers and hoses that seem so small within their metal hands. The fire is eating away at half of the labs, and more than a few of the unsuited soldiers are hovering around its perimeter, shouting orders that she can’t hear.
“Don’t worry,” Max says through the headset, “we saved all of the research we needed. The rest was just as a cover for what we were actually trying to do.”
“Good,” Grace says. Neytiri gets the sense that if Max hadn’t done such a thing, her hands would be wrapped around his throat. Or shaking his brain from his skull.
She goes to say as much with an adrenaline tinged grin. But she’s stopped by the sudden twisting of the chopper, and the metallic pinging of something hitting its side. And the loud pop pop pop of gunfire.
“Shit!” Trudy shouts with feeling. “Hold onto something!”
“I thought you said they wouldn’t see us,” Neytiri shouts, daring to glance out of the cockpit doors. One figure stands on the balcony of the comms tower, intimidating with the flickering shadows created by the fire casting him in darkness.
Quaritch glares at their retreating vessel.
“I didn’t know they’d be watching the tarmac so diligently,” Max yelps, tugging his knees up and away to keep his balance.
“Always assume with that man,” Grace says with a snarling tilt to her lips. “He’d bring us down with a fucking bazooka if he could.”
It’s only when they’re clear of the wire fence and well over the trees that Neytiri lets herself relax. The ping of gunfire didn’t reach them after that initial shock, and she’s sure the Colonel is planning ways to kill them all. But she finds she doesn’t really care.
Laying her head back against the wall, the boys cheer in triumph. Trudy laughs with that excitement that comes with a fun flight.
Neytiri’s eyes slip closed as everything catches up to her for a moment. Like a rising wave that’s finally crashed onto the shore. The roiling anger hasn’t disappeared, not in the slightest. But she mitigates its effects by clenching her fists until her nails dig into her palms.
Arranging her thoughts in a nice, orderly manner distracts her from it. Until Grace’s voice drags her out.
“What’s the plan, airhead?” she says, and Neytiri looks at her in surprise. Grace shrugs. “Last I remember, I left my Avatar in the care of your people. What’s the probability that they took it with them?”
“Fairly high,” Neytiri replies, unable to keep the tense edge from her tone. “Considering I’ve just mated with the Olo’eyktan and left my body at the edge of the debris field.”
Grace hisses sharply, and her eyes widen. “You mean…”
“To’mey is dead,” Neytiri says. The words feel so heavy, she can imagine them falling to the floor. Seeing Jake, curled over his twin and screaming had torn her heart to pieces.
The fact that she couldn’t even comfort him ripped the thing from her chest. It’s probably right next to the splatter of blood that came from the wound in To’mey’s chest. Left behind to disintegrate into nothing, or to be found and shoved back into her chest ruthlessly.
“Jake will be taking the mantle back,” she murmurs. “How well that will go I don’t know. But he will be looking for blood.”
“Will he do something stupid?” Norm asks.
Neytiri has to laugh, although it sounds so out of place in their conversation. “That’s a given. I doubt that he wouldn’t do something stupid. We just need to get back to the clan before he gets a chance to put it into action.”
“We need to get the link beds first,” Max pipes up. “If we stay where you’ve been holed up these past few months we’ll be found and quartered within a day.”
“Where d’you suggest then?”
Max swivels in his seat, and shoves his datapad into the cockpit. Through the headset, he says, “Just west of the mountains. We’ve set up a camp of sorts so that we can keep in close contact.”
“Transport the hut like we did last time?”
“Exactly.”
“You got it.”
The chopper tilts again, and Neytiri tightens her hold on the strap above her head. Her feet slip against the metal floor, but otherwise she stays still. Pointedly ignoring the way her brow scrunches with her own concern and instead concentrating on Polyphemus’ journey across the sky.
Finding the scientists’ camp is a simple task. Moving their set up takes them over the arcing stone protecting the Tree of Souls, right over the stream of blue making its way into the arms of Eywa. The metal supports of their hut lands on the ground with a thud.
They’re swarmed by colleagues and friends as soon as they set down on the forest floor themselves.
This all seems so easy and smooth in comparison to what’s facing her.
Plucking up the courage to go into the link bed feels extremely difficult.
Neytiri finds herself, with shoulders smarting from the many consoling hand pats, sitting next to the bed. Staring at the familiar green gel with no little amount of trepidation.
There’s a scratch on a little bit of it, where Wainfleet’s inexperienced fingers had dug into the gel whilst trying to heave her out of it. Neytiri fingers the mark, skin catching on rough material. Jarring when she expects something smooth.
“It won’t start working if you just stare at it,” Grace tells her.
Neytiri’s lips quirk into a smile, a huff of laughter escaping her. “Really?” she says as the thumping of footsteps echo through the room. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Grace hums, and begins to press buttons on the datapad. There had been a few tries when Neytiri had been able to program it herself, but then she’d been shooed away by Grace. Who was worried that an inexperienced airhead would sequence something wrong and she’d end up in someone else’s Avatar.
Like that could ever happen.
“What’s on your mind?”
Neytiri heaves herself up onto the edge of the link bed as she thinks of what to say. One foot, then the other joins the rest of her body. She pauses, hands clutching the fabric above her knees.
“I’m scared,” she finally admits after the long moments of silence. “What if I get something wrong, and kill off an entire clan? What if I say something wrong and they drive me out instead?”
Grace tuts, dismissing her but Neytiri swivels so that her nearly tearful eyes bear into her back. Grace waits until she’s programmed the link bed to turn around and meet them with her own determined gaze.
“You will not get anything wrong,” she begins, “because your mind is capable of anticipating what might be coming down the line. I’m sure you already have battle tactics forming behind that thick skull of yours, which I know will be sound plans. Even if they might be a bit hairbrained.”
Neytiri can’t deny that. Already, she’s formulated what to say to the surrounding clans to gain their support. Even though her syntax is still rudimentary at best.
Perhaps she could ask Jake or Tsu’tey to translate for her. Although, she might not even be the one to speak.
“They will also,” Grace says with a definitive push of a button, “not drive you out. Seeing as they’ve only just welcomed you in with open arms.”
The machinery whirs to life then, just as she gives Neytiri the you-are-being-a-complete-idiot look. Jake gives it to her all the time, so she knows its dips and crevices well.
“Does that help?” Grace asks.
“A little,” Neytiri replies, but she doesn’t slip into the space molded for her body.
“Don’t forget,” Grace leans her forearm against the lid of the link bed, “you also have every one of those idiots to support you. It won’t take them long to make it to the Tree.”
Outside, the Avatars are dashing around their camp with large grins. Some of the drivers had never taken them outside the tarmac, and more than a few are joyfully bouncing around the branches and roots that keep them hidden from prying eyes.
“Is that really a good thing?” Neytiri says jokingly, and Grace skirts her hand along her head. Not with the intent to hurt, because the touch of her fingers waft the baby hairs not currently stuck onto Neytiri’s forehead with sweat.
“It will be,” Grace says, before lightly shoving her shoulder to get her to lie down. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Neytiri falls into the link bed, and watches the lid above her fall closed. She’s expecting to open her eyes to the falling ash floating from Hometree’s branches, and the smell of woodsmoke. Maybe she’ll have to dig herself out of the stuff seeing as she’s left her body for more than a few hours.
The idea makes her more than a little bit nauseous. But she doesn’t fight it when her eyelids flutter.
Surprisingly, they open to the same rock formations she’d stared at as they passed over the Tree of Souls. Those arcing bits of stone that somehow defied gravity and all manner of science she kind of knows. Even Norm had gone practically starry-eyed at them.
They hang over her head, distorting the light and creating strange shadows to fall on the ground that surrounds her.
Wiggling her toes and fingers she feels the cold press of soft grass against her back, and eases herself upright. As soon as her torso is up though, hands suddenly grab her shoulders and try to ease her down again.
“Please,” she hears, and it takes a few moments to recognise Ninat’s soft tone, “do not take it too fast. You could have hit your head.”
Neytiri’s head does swim a bit, now that Ninat mentions it. She squeezes her eyes against the dizzying feeling that’s causing her to sway, and leans gratefully against her grip until it passes. She refuses to lie back down again, because the Avatar might not get up again.
She can feel the muscles in her arms and legs tremble with exhaustion.
“Where are we?” she asks to distract herself.
“Our ancestral place of rest,” Ninat says, gazing up at the great tree. “Vitraya Ramunong. The Tree of Souls. Here we will be safe, and protected by Eywa. Your forewarning meant that almost all of the women, children and elderly reached this place before the fighting began.”
“That’s good,” Neytiri replies, easing herself a little bit more upright. Her heart squeezes at the sight that greets her.
They lie on one of the many ‘steps’ up to the great tree. Around them, the clan congregates. Women calm crying children, grandmothers try to get groups of older kids to help with supplies. A few even attempt to stop them from running around like wild things. Some of the warriors dart between family groups, tending to the wounded and comforting the bereft.
There are more than a few of them. Their cries and sobs rise towards the boughs of the tree, anguished calls of names that will never be answered again.
It only serves to stew the anger Neytiri feels. Even still, she manages to keep her composure. The sight of Grace, lying a few metres away helps a little too.
“Where’s Jake?” she asks next, his absence an aching thing in her chest. Ninat’s lowering ears say more than words ever will.
Scanning the crowd shows the void created by a lack of leadership. The confusion and discordant scrambling from the warriors, and the stoney expression on Tsu’tey’s face as he strides over. Normally, Neytiri would shrink under such a gaze. But she recognises the concern hidden behind the anger, and rises to meet him.
Even though Ninat hisses that she’s not quite strong enough yet.
“Where has he gone?” Neytiri asks before Tsu’tey can demand anything. The tilt of his lips curls her stomach. “Let me amend that: has he gone to do something stupid?”
The crease to Tsu’tey’s eyes brings Neytiri to her feet. Even though Ninat tries to hold her back.
“After committing To’mey to Eywa,” Tsu’tey begins, “he became…inconsolable with grief and anger. He wouldn’t let anyone get close, and he placed himself at the edge of the cove. His staring scared some of the children, because he snapped at them to be quiet.”
Neytiri’s heart squeezes so hard it makes her breathless. She hadn’t been here when he’d needed her most. She knows better than anyone this sort of sadness that’s eating him whole. Her own inability is what causes the most pain. Would she have been able to get through to him if she had been here?
“It wasn’t until a few hours ago that he moved,” Tsu’tey continues. “But I didn’t see him leave. Apparently, a few of the warriors tried to stop him, but he was incensed. Wouldn’t listen to anyone. One moment he was over there,” Tsu’tey points to a part of the stone that surrounds them; it gives way to the forest beyond, “and the next, he’d gone to find some sort of advantage against the humans.”
“He took Utu with him,” Ninat adds.
Neytiri’s stomach goes ice cold. Sweat collects at her lower back. Terror pushes her ears backwards. Tsu’tey and Ninat regard her with worried expressions as she tries to put her realisation into words they’ll understand.
“Shit,” she says instead. It comes out like a whimper.
There comes a moment, when a pilot experiences that stomach dropping, heart leaping moment of engine failure. It might be because damage has been done to the aircraft, or some unseen element in the sky has caused the machinery to stall. But one second you’re an unbeatable fighter of the wind, and the next, the thing you put your life into is dropping towards the ground.
It’s this moment of suspense, where the craft hangs in the air that is crucial. Where the adrenaline kicks in, but the brain can choose what way to use it.
Neytiri grasps Tsu’tey’s wrist, and asks, “Where’s Seze?”
Here, the choice is easy, and quick. There’s no hesitation.
“I shall come with you–”
“No,” Neytiri cuts him off, clambering up onto her companion’s back and letting their minds coalesce. Like two rivers joining together at the mouth of the ocean. “You will stay, and take care of our people. Whilst I bring home our wayward leader.”
When Tsu’tey frowns hard, she places a hand on his shoulder. Marvels at the fact that she’s able to do so, without him shoving her away.
“They need someone here, to keep the peace,” she says, before nodding to the crowd behind him. “I also need someone here to organise our excess forces.”
Grace, finally up and mobile in her Avatar, pushes forward through the gathering crowd. In her hand sits a datapad. One that definitely hadn’t been there last Neytiri had seen her. Maybe she’d gotten it sometime between Hometree collapsing and the clan ending up here.
“Excess forces?” Tsu’tey mumbles, but Neytiri doesn’t stick around to watch what is surely going to be an interesting interaction.
Instead, she lowers her ionar headpiece and urges Seze into the skies. Leaving the others behind in search of her wayward mate. And whatever insane plan he’s cooked for himself.
He burns.
The flames that had been content with licking against his heels and the bottom of his feet have consumed him. They’re working their way towards his muscles, veins, bones.
They endeavour to eat him alive and leave nothing behind. It’s so hot, and it hurts. So much that when he breathes he’s sure he can see smoke leaking from between his teeth.
It’s fueled and accelerated by his own emotions. He knows that, intimately, his anger makes the heat increase and the flames get faster. The more he rages and spits, the quicker his end comes hurtling towards him.
At this moment, he can’t find anything within himself to care. He basks instead in the small amount of relief the wind brings him. How it chips away at the edges of his body to let some of the coolness batter back the fires. Even though his whole body shivers with the change in temperatures.
He doesn’t know where he is. Only that he sits on Utu’s back. That the trees beneath them are ones that grow on the north side of the forests. Other than that, the world around him is a distant, quiet thing.
“I was…doing something,” he mutters to no one. “What was I…”
Utu croaks, and tilts to keep his balance.
Jake winces at the sudden, lancing pain that seers through his mind. Memories, a voice, the creaking of branches and wood. The dark, empty pit of grief opens wide in his stomach.
“No,” he groans, leaning down to press his forehead against Utu’s harness. He doesn’t want to remember. Doesn’t want to feel that why is it there why does it want him?
What happened?
That protective side of himself that dragged him away from Grace snaps its hold around his mind. Entraps the visceral black grief in its claws, even though the darkness writhes against its fingers.
For a moment, Jake is finally able to sit up, take stock of what is around him.
“This is where the Toruk…”
His eyes widen, and he suddenly notices how nervous Utu has become. His ikran croaks again, head swivelling around as if to pick out an invisible adversary. Jake leans over to press a calming hand against the curve of his head, whilst he too checks the skies around them.
They’re empty, void of anything except the mountains and the clouds. But the forest is undeniable. And the empty space in his memory finally fills itself in with the scheme he’d come up with.
He has to marvel at his own level of crazy. But he finds that he doesn’t want to back away from it. Even if it might end with his own death. Either by the fangs of Toruk, or because his body finally gives up the fight against gravity.
He shivers, and pulls himself away from the thought.
“There’s no proper way to do this, my friend,” he murmurs to Utu as they round another mountain. Already the light is starting to wane towards the eclipse, and the muscles in his legs ache from crouching for so long.
There’s a moment where he considers this a bad idea. Something just to drag himself away from the things waiting for him with the clan. Emotions he’d have to face.
He urges Utu to bank left. His ikran suddenly protests, jolting backwards so hard Jake nearly gets thrown from his back. There’s the scraping of claws against stone, and then Jake and Utu are juddering to a halt.
As he glances around them for the danger, Jake’s ears flicker for any sound that gives away Toruk’s attack. The grating shriek of the creature, or the loud ominous flap of his wings. There’s nothing but the wind, and the sudden familiar shadow cutting itself across the cliff face they hide upon.
“Come on,” Jake says to Utu once Toruk passes, even though his ikran chirrups in disagreement. “He will help us in our retaliation against the humans. Do you not wish to avenge your brother?”
It turned out that the stories of ikrans bonding with only one rider is true. Jake had heard the pained shriek of To’mey’s companion minutes after his death. And hadn’t seen him since, most of the clan believing the creature to either have succumbed to his grief, or flown for the distant hills.
When he’d connected with Utu, just outside of earshot of the clan, he’d nearly been bowled over at the grief that had reflected back at him. The anger, too.
He uses that now, pressing down against the rage like an old bruise. Utu’s wings shuffle, his chest rumbling with a growl and suddenly, they’re pushing off the mountain’s face. Following Toruk from above.
Such a creature wouldn’t think to be attacked, not when he’s the largest adversary.
Jake feels his muscles scrunch in preparation, fingers easily detaching the tswin despite Utu’s complaints. He’ll jump, just when Toruk passes that mountain. So that he has something to stop his fall should he fail–
“Don’t you dare even think about it!”
The sudden voice breaks the silence around him like the crack of a bowstring losing its arrow. Jake startles, and nearly tips into open space, but Utu is quick to scoop his loss of balance and bank in the opposite direction to keep him on his back.
“You absolute skxawng!” Neytiri shouts with such vehemence, the tip of Seze’s wings coming parallel with Utu’s. So that Jake cannot escape his mate’s thunderous expression. “Were you seriously about to do what I think? Do you wish to join your brother so quickly?”
“We need him,” Jake says, desperately shoving away the dark pit's sudden surge. “He will give us an advantage against the humans that will send them running.”
Neytiri groans so loud it sounds like it rips against her vocal chords. But her annoyance is clear even as she leads them to land against another mountain face.
“That doesn’t mean you must risk your life for it,” she tells them once the ikrans settle. When Jake opens his mouth to protest, she bowels right over him and says, “Think about it. If it had been you he chose, don’t you think he would have attacked you by now?”
That gives him pause, her logic battering against his desperate need to do something.
“How long have you been out here?” she asks when his silence stretches for longer than either of them expect.
“We need him,” he says instead of answering, curling over in shame at the cold feeling of tears against his cheeks. “To defeat the humans we need an unbeatable force. I don’t know how else–”
He cuts himself off. The grief turns into a stone lodging in his throat, making it impossible to breathe, let alone speak. Jake suddenly, terribly, feels so alone. Even surrounded by people precious to him, the gap where To’mey should be aches around the edges.
Maybe he’ll be left to feel this overwhelming grief. Maybe Neytiri will turn around, head back to the clan to ensure their safety is still kept. He thinks that maybe, that would be a good thing.
Shifting rocks fall down the mountain’s face, warmth cups the back of his neck suddenly, and then Neytiri’s voice is right next to him.
“You do know how to defeat them,” she says, with such conviction it draws Jake’s head upright.
Her smile is comforting, and loving. It shoves the gaping pit aside, the feelings it entices does battle with the snapping jaws. Until Jake is staring at her in amazement.
“I know this , because you are not one to back down so easily,” she says to him. “But I also know that this is not how you are going to protect the clan. Your job is not to throw your life away recklessly. It is to lead them, to bring the might of our fighters down upon the humans’ heads.”
“What is yours?” he asks, voice wet and wobbly, but not because of the pit of grief and darkness.
The grin turns into something mischievous. Seze shuffles underneath her, but without any of the fear that Utu had as they watch Toruk circle the air just below them.
“Mine?” she asks, first pressing her hand just above her heart, and then grazing that touch across Jake’s collarbone. He can feel his adoration for her abolishing the pit into nothingness.
The grief is still there. But it’s not as volatile as it had been a few moments ago. Not in the face of such…trust. Her grin gets wider, as if she too is realising that a piece is slotting into place. And as she lets Seze drop back into the sky she calls up to him.
“My job is to fly with you.”
“Are you sure you want to send this back to Earth?” Max asks Neytiri with no small amount of doubt. “No editing, no context? Just this one last log direct to the board?”
“Yep,” she replies.
He presses the button to replay it again, just in case he’s missed something that definitely should not be for anyone else’s ears. Or eyes.
The camera turns on to the backdrop of the link hut. A few beds remain open, their green gel glowing in the artificial light. The whirring of machinery tells that a few are at work. The blue figure in front of the camera also is a massive tell.
Neytiri, in her Avatar form, grins at the screen with the abandon of someone who’s completed a job well done. The bags under her eyes give away the exhaustion that’s also prevalent in her slumped shoulders. It doesn’t take away from her smile though.
“This,” she says, gesturing to the screen, “will be the last log I ever make. The last time you will ever get to see this ugly mug. Usually, I would say drink it in but then, I don’t think anyone will care enough to do so. I’m sure Grace and Norm will keep up with some sort of reporting. But I don’t think the clan would be very happy with them recording things.”
“I will try though!” comes someone’s distant voice.
Neytiri shakes her head fondly.
“The last I spoke was before Hometree’s destruction,” she says, sliding a very tattered notebook over the table. Her smile lessens, and her eyes become a burnished gold. “We lost a lot of good warriors that day. We lost To’mey, which was much more of a shock than anything. I sometimes thought that he was untouchable, a sort of calm guiding hand that would always be there.
“Jake was…” she pauses, and skirts her finger just underneath her eyelash. “Well, he was inconsolable, to say the least. Near went out to kill himself so he could take revenge on the humans. Thankfully, I know him better than most, and Toruk doesn’t attack people for fun.
“Toruk accepting me and not him finally managed to snap some sense back into that thick skull of his,” Neytiri continues, her hand reaching up to one of her loose braids. “Although, who knew rejection of that calibre would be the thing to get through to him. How much more stubborn could you get?
“It was good timing though, considering we had to gather the other clans to help us hit back against the humans,” Neytiri explains. “We had two join our ranks, along with Max and the other Avatar drivers. They were a massive help, not only because of their mad sciencing. I think Saeyla might be in love with Max for making her a smoke bomb. Ka’ani I know will definitely become a menace with his boomerang arrows.”
Neytiri laughs. “The battle became an auspicious one, considering the great Eywa thought to lend us a hand or two. I’d hug that deity if I could meet her in person. She supplied us with mammalian support, plus a very well placed vortex over the Tree of Souls to mess with Quaritch’s aircraft and their instruments. But…”
Her gaze turns sad again. “We mourn the loss of many, many warriors. Tsu’tey was almost among them, if Jake hadn’t noticed his trouble with the human soldiers. Although, they’ll have matching scars from those bullet grazes. I will try not to mention how rugged it makes him look, it might get to his head.”
“I thought you were head over heels for him already,” comes Trudy’s voice as she leans over the desk. The coffee cup held in her hands is accepted with a loud noise of appreciation.
“I am,” Neytiri replies once she swallows. “Doesn’t mean I need to tell him that.”
Trudy claps a hand against Neytiri’s shoulder, which isn’t difficult considering she’s sitting down. The size difference between the span of it and her human hand is funny though. As is the way that her head is nearly dwarfed by the Avatar hand when Neytiri takes a swipe at her in mock admonishment.
“Go check on your baby,” Neytiri calls after her.
“Which one?” Trudy asks cheekily. Neytiri rolls her eyes, and turns back to the camera.
“As you can see,” she says, “everyone important managed to get out of the battle, only a little bit scathed. But I suppose the death of the Colonel would make up for any scratches.”
Her eyes suddenly turn blank, and she begins listing out every crime Colonel Miles Quaritch had committed on Pandora. Including the unprovoked attack on the clan, and the murder of the Olo’eyktan. It takes up two minutes of the log, which Max fast forwards through because the thought of hearing everything again turns his stomach.
“So,” Neytiri says to the log, “you might be wondering what’s going to happen, now that the company has been effectively banished from the planet. In effect, nothing. Grace, Max, Norm and the others will continue their research with supervision from Jake and myself. Results will be sent back periodically to Earth in controlled amounts. And none pertaining to the resources or possible uses of this planet as a colony.
“It already has a native people, it does not need humans corrupting it as they have their own. As for me? I will join the clan properly, not as an Avatar driver but as a Na’vi. I guess this is what the get up I’m wearing is for.”
She gestures to the decorative clothing spread across her chest and the many colourful beads hidden within her braids. “They wanted me all pretty to introduce me to the parents, I suppose.”
She pauses there, her bottom lip getting caught between her teeth as she thinks. “Which is a good thing,” she continues after a few moments. “Means this is definitely in for the long term.”
The her within the datapad lifts up an arm and signs off, the video cutting out with the sight of her grinning face. Max turns back to her, holding it out.
“If you’re happy with it, shall I send?” he asks, and without hesitation Neytiri stands up from her crouched position. She stretches, shakes out her hands and nods.
“Send it off,” she says cheerily. “Can’t do much more now, can they? Anyway, I gotta go, otherwise I’ll be late.”
“Enjoy your date!” Max and Trudy call after her.
Neytiri doesn’t have the heart to shout at them as she darts into the fresh air of the forest. With a sharp whistle, Seze comes down from the trees, doesn’t even land as Neytiri runs to jump onto her back.
Her mounting is smooth, and not even a moment later, they’re rising into the air.
“Took you long enough!” comes a sudden shout.
“I had to make sure everything was alright,” Neytiri says when Jake comes into view. “You survived the five minutes you were without me.”
“Nearly died of boredom,” he replies. “But Ninat will have my head if we’re not back before the eclipse, so let’s get going.”
“Right behind you,” Neytiri mutters, urging Seze into a sharp dip she knows from years past.
On an ikran it’s so much easier to pull off, her body one with the creature beneath her. Her edges give way to the wind, letting it guide her. After a few moments, she blinks.
Because the trees beneath her, the sky above, Jake’s presence right beside her. It’s so familiar.
She dips Seze into a tight roll, even as her mate squawks at her recklessness. The feeling is worth it though. It makes her grin something fierce, knowing that what she’d seen in cryo wasn’t a dream.
And it was all hers to cherish, now.