Chapter Text
Neytiri did not like humans. Asinine creatures, stomping through Eywa'eveng as if they belonged amongst the Great Mother's creations. Then, when she finally thought the insanity was gone and her Jake was free, they found a human baby. A tiny, squealing baby.
He fit in Jake's hand, eyes wide as he finally calmed. A head of silky blond wisps of hair, and big brown eyes. He was, unfortunately, Neytiri thought, ugly as the rest. Norm took him from Jake, gentle as he rocked the tiny thing in his arms. Neytiri could not hear their words over the roaring in her ears.
Neytiri had no love for the human boy. He was little more than a nuisance. One, she wished the other humans would keep contained. He was loud and reckless, trying to wedge his way into their world, their community. He was not part of The People. He was never a part of her plans.
But her children adored him. They wanted him around. Begged to see him and Spider soaked up the attention like a plant starved of water. It filled Neytiri with rage. It was an anger she felt often these days. The birth of Neteyam soothed a part of her she hadn't realized needed soothing. That burning in her soul sizzled into a smoking mess, but it slowly rekindled. So slowly, she did not realize the hatred growing in her.
This was the moment the seed began to grow, she realized later. With a baby and the way Jake watched it. With kindness. With love. Even as the tiny life inside her grew, that seed of hatred grew with it. It was unfair.
She had lost so much since the humans first arrived. Watched as countless loved ones died at their hands. She was unable to fix what they broke. Neytiri was left haunting the broken spaces and tilled dirt left in their wake. And somehow she held it inside. Despite every moment she wanted to quit, and regardless of the hissed threats, Neytiri held fast. Planted herself against the current threatening to sweep her off her feet.
She lost that last bit of strength after Tuk was born.
“He is not allowed here! No more, ma Jake!” Neytiri couldn't stop the thrashing of her tail, angry and violent.
Jake sighed. The noise was irritating on a good day, and today was very bad. “Why not?”
“Why not? Why not!?” She snarled. “He is not part of the People! He should have never have come here! The other humans should have never allowed him!”
“The other humans are allowed here.” He said flatly. “What's so different about Spider? Baby, he's just a kid.”
“He is the son of a demon! The demon!” How could Jake not see this? That … creature's blood ran through that boy just the same as it ran through him.
“I am the son of a demon.” Jake hissed back at her. “Do you hate our children? His blood runs through me, and it runs through them.”
The memory fizzles as the cook fire dies. Neytiri had been so angry. She had Tuk, and the world felt like it was too much, as if she herself was teetering on the edge of fizzling out. It was silent more often than it was loud these days. Her moods and their fight had everyone on edge. Even Tuk cried less.
It was shameful and a burden. To know she was such a horrible mother that she'd begun to hate her children for their human traits. Subconsciously, she lit a fire of shame within them, lit from her own disgust. The tears started as a gentle trickle down her face, landing in the ash of the smoldering fire.
Tuk fussed, and Neytiri soothed her. There was another reason her children were so sullen. While Tuk was still small enough to be with Neytiri, tucked against her breast, the rest of her hoard played with the village children. This included the human child. However, the boy had been noticeably absent.
While Neytiri wasn't upset or sad about his sudden disappearance, a sort of melancholy overtook her. The spaces the boy used to occupy stayed empty in his absence as if the whole of the village was leaving space for him when he finally arrived again. It was strange to notice how the village moved differently, as if he'd always been a part of them.
And Neytiri found herself lost. An empty sort of fury rising in her. It came to a head as the children slept. Their soft breaths managed to soothe the scorched parts of her soul, yet it was the knowing that hurt more.
“I hate them.” She whispered, voice barely louder than the wind. “I hate them so much I can feel it like liquid, burning me.”
“Hate who?” Jake whispered back, just as quietly. Lo’ak was a sensitive child who often woke many times during the night. Even with their whispers, Neytiri watched his little ears twitch. She breathed a moment.
“Humans.” She answered. She had nothing more to say. She just watched her children breathe, all piled together in sleep. It took a moment for her to reconnect with her mind, lost in the blankness that sometimes overtook her. As she sat there, a soft noise ticked in her ears. It was her Jake, she knew, but she was lost so far in her mind it was hard to care.
“I love my children.” Neytiri did. Didn't she? “I love them.” She had too. They were hers. Pieces of her soul, brought to life by Eywa. But it was hollow. Always so hollow.
They slept separately that night. And every night for a year, until Neytiri watched a hesitant human child being greeted with excitement after his year-long absence.
“I love my children.” She told Jake that night. He nodded with a smile, eyes as hollow as she felt.
They slept separately, and Jake took the kids with him. Neytiri watched them for a long while, trying to stroke a flame long since dead.
***
In the end, it was not Jake or Spider or any of her other children that helped her To See. It was her mother. Mo’at. Her darling, beautiful mother. She took Tuk in a whirlwind of chaos, promising to bring her back before the daylight sank below the horizon.
“Rest, daughter.” She'd said, running a hand down Neytiri’s face before turning to leave. Tuk was tucked safe and sound in her grandmother's arms, a giggling bundle as her grandmother whisked her away.
Suddenly, for the first time in forever, it seemed, Neytiri was alone. The tent around her moved and swayed with the breeze, human in a way that made her break into a cold sweat. She ran from her home. From her village until she could breathe again. Around her Eywa'eveng lived.
Neytiri was not her daughter. She could not See the same as Kiri. Could not hear Eywa or listen as closely as her daughter. Neytiri was blind. Blind in her faith. Listless in her growing hatred. She sat in the grass, swaying with the breeze. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, pounding in her chest. The tears came in thick waves.
She had not cried this hard since her father died. Neytiri couldn't remember a time when her sorrow was so fluid, so alive. It consumed her, and she screamed. It wasn't fair. Not for her or her children. For her husband. Without the pressure of her family or the weight of pretending she fell apart. Alone.
It felt so wonderful to sit in the silence after her tears stopped. To just be her. Not a mother or wife. She was just Neytiri. The same hurting girl who missed her sister and father. It was so unfair of the humans to take them from her. To take everything she's ever loved and smooth it over as if it were theirs to take and destroy.
Oh, she thought. In the rustling of the leaves and groaning of shifting limbs, Neytiri heard her. Eywa. Whispering in the moments forgotten and often ignored. The world shifted for just a moment before settling again.
“I hear her.” Neytiri breathed out as someone knelt beside her.
“Who?” Mo’at whispered back. She ran a hand through her daughter's hair, watching the muscles in Neytiri’s face twitch.
“Eywa,” Neytiri said. “Eywa! I hear her!”
Then she burst into tears.
“Oh, daughter,” Mo’at said, pulling Neytiri close and cradling her like she was the small infant Mo’at still remembered. “What is wrong?”
And that was the question, wasn't it? Neytiri wasn't sure how to answer it, how to even begin to explain to her mother the hatred and loathing she harbored for her own children, how the sight of that boy made her so furious. Just how inadequate she was. “I'm a terrible mother.”
There was silence. Thick as the air after rain. That lump in her throat threatened to choke her. Instead, everything spilled out past her lips. Every single feeling of inadequacy, every moment, she felt as if Pandora was not hers anymore. And her mother listened. When Neytiri felt empty, her mother finally spoke.
“You are like the trees in this forest. Strong and steady. But rot is settling in your roots. Do not let it spread, daughter.” Neytiri watched the lines in her mother's face grow sharper as she frowned. “Now come.”
Neytiri let herself be pulled to her feet. And for the first time in years, she felt lighter. As if a cloud had drifted away and the light was finally warming her skin. She was rotten, yes, but that rot would not consume her.
***
The walk back was silent. Jake half expected an interrogation as they reentered the tent, yet only Kiri was awake. Spider and Tuk lay curled together, tears still shining on Spider's face and Tuk's snotty nose telling a story Jake felt too drained to read. Lo’ak and Neteyam had moved, leaning together against the wall.
Kiri gave them a gentle smile, humming softly. “Spider is staying?”
Jake crossed the distance, brushing his knuckles on her face. “Yeah, baby girl, he's staying.”
“Just for tonight.” Neytiri continued, gathering Tuk in her arms, humming as she fussed. “It's not safe for him to sleep here. He'll sleep in the shack.”
She shot a pointed look at Jake, who made his way to the boys, gently shaking Neteyam awake. Kiri gave an excited squeal. The noise and motion had Spider blinking awake. “Mr. Sully?”
Jake, who'd been wrangling his other boys into their beds, paused in helping Neteyam. Lo’ak hissed a petulant “we're not babies!” when Jake asked if they could handle themselves. He backed away with raised hands as Neteyam huffed a laugh, cuffing Lo'ak across his ears. A slight shuffle started, but Jake turned to Spider, knowing Neteyam had it handled.
Spider. His tiny, tiny newest child. He was leaning against Kiri, blinking sleep from his eyes. Jake knelt in front of Spider as Neytiri gently led Kiri to her bed.
“But mom!” Kiri whined. “I want to stay with Spider!”
Neytiri brushed hair away from her daughter's face, kissing her forehead. “Sleep. You can stay with him tomorrow. Your father and I need to talk with Spider.”
“But-”
“Alone, Kiri,” Neytiri said, voice firm even as she pushed Kiri into her bed. Jake pulled Spider to his feet, steadying him. Spider’s heart raced under Jake's palm. He wanted to soothe him, but Jake knew any attempts would be met with resistance. Spider's shoulders made a valiant attempt at becoming earrings as Jake led them a distance from the tent, far enough that his other nosy children couldn't listen.
“I can go back to base camp!” Spider blurted out as Neytiri came to rest beside Jake. His eyes flicked nervously, never staying in one spot for long. “It's late enough that Mr. McCosker probably isn't mad anymore and I -”
“You are never going back to him.” Neytiri hissed. Spider flinched back, and Jake laid a hand on his back, steadying him.
“But-” Spider stammered.
Jake jumped in as Neytiri started to snarl, pulling her back as she hissed an angry, “I forbid it!”
“You can't make me stay!” Spider protested. “I can take care of myself!”
“We know you can,” Jake interjected. “But you shouldn't have to.”
Jake could see the arguments forming in Spider’s head, the way his lips formed a pout. He looked every bit the sixteen-year-old he was. Neytiri sucked in a breath beside him, eyes teary in a way he hadn't seen since Tuk was itty bitty. Her hand went out to cradle his face, but Spider moved away.
“I've always looked after myself.” He finally said. “What's so different now?”
“The difference is we finally pulled our heads out of our asses,” Jake said bluntly. Two twin looks of confusion turned to him in unison. He raised his hands. “It's true!”
“What do asses have to do with this, ma Jake?” Neytiri asked at the same time, and Spider mumbled, "Why would your head be in an ass?"
Jake hid his laugh behind a cough before explaining. “Earth saying. Unimportant. Just means we're being idiots.”
“Idiots.” Neytiri agreed. “Idiots who say we will discuss this more in the morning. Come.”
She turned back to the tent, pulling a hesitant, but yawning Spider with her. He protested the whole way back that he would be fine staying outside or even walking back to base! It would be fine, he'd done it before! Which was definitely something they would have to talk about. Tomorrow.
They settled him in Jake's hammock bed, ignoring his sleepy grumbling. Spider was out the moment his eyes closed, the red bruising from crying making him seem even smaller in the pale light. Neytiri settled into Jake's side, his arm pulling her closer as he kissed her softly.
“I'll take first watch.” He whispered, knowing damn well he planned on watching the whole night. She smiled at him, and Jake listened as her breathing settled into sleep, warm puffs of air warming his collar.
Spider's soft exhales fogged his mask, and Neteyam’s soft snores reminded him so much of Tommy. Lo’ak and Tuk were restless sleepers, constantly moving. And his Kiri was so much like her mother, Grace.
Kiri smiled at him from her bed, “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, baby girl.” He blew her a kiss, heart warm at her giggles. “Go to sleep. Spider will be here in the morning.”
And hopefully every morning to come.