Chapter Text
Jake looked up only when Neytiri thundered into the marui at a sprint. She paused in the open entryway, a soft, terrible noise scraping out of her as she took them in. Jake and Neteyam were both pressed close to Lo’ak, supporting him on his side as he gagged.
She was across the open space in less than a second, dropping to her knees beside Lo’ak, hands flying to his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks.
“Lo’ak,” she breathed, voice breaking. “Ma Lo’ak-”
“He’s breathing,” Jake assured her, though considering the sound of his breathing - ragged and far too shallow - it likely wasn’t very much comfort. It certainly wasn’t comforting Jake. “Don’t move his head.”
Lo’ak gagged suddenly, body jerking. Neteyam tightened his grip on Lo’ak’s hip as Jake rolled him further onto his side, one forearm braced across Lo’ak’s chest, the other cradling his jaw to keep his airway open.
Jake’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
“Easy, easy,” he murmured, fingers firm at Lo’ak’s jaw, keeping his head angled down. Breathe. Please breathe.
Lo’ak’s breaths came in wet and uneven gasps. Sharp inhales followed by too-long pauses that made Jake's heart rocket up into his throat. Jake leaned closer, ear hovering at his mouth and nose, counting under his breath, tracking rise and fall that barely seemed enough.
Neytiri cupped Lo’ak’s face with shaking hands, pressing her forehead to his temple, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I am here,” she whispered. “Mama is here.”
Neteyam knelt opposite Jake, free arm bracing his brother’s hips, knuckles white as Lo’ak’s body trembled again.
Footsteps pounded outside the marui.
Norm burst in moments later, breathless, eyes already scanning, pack slung half-open over his shoulder. “Jesus-”
“He’s unresponsive,” Jake said, already adjusting his grip to keep Lo’ak’s head aligned, two fingers beneath his jaw to maintain the airway. “Breathing’s irregular, eight to ten a minute. Shallow. Pulse is thready.”
Norm was already moving, dropping to his knees beside them. His hands slid in without hesitation, one flattening briefly over Lo’ak’s sternum to feel the rise and fall, the other finding the carotid. “Shit. Okay.”
“Pupils are uneven,” Jake added. Cold sweat prickled along the back of his neck. He tilted Lo’ak’s head a fraction higher, correcting the angle before it could slip. “Delayed response. Right’s slower.”
Norm’s gaze flicked from Lo’ak’s face to Jake. “How long has he been like this?”
“Eight or nine minutes. I radioed right after. He hasn’t come around.”
Jake didn’t look up as Norm reached for the penlight he’d thrown down on the mat. His attention stayed locked on Lo’ak’s chest, counting each rise.
In. Pause. Out.
The pause stretched too long.
Norm peeled Lo’ak’s eyelid back, movements quick but careful. The penlight snapped on, a hard white line cutting across the eye. “Yeah. I see it.” The light crossed Lo’ak’s face, left to right, back again. Norm leaned closer, blocking part of Jake’s view. “Left reacts. Right lags.”
Jake adjusted Lo’ak’s head again, minute corrections - chin up, neck straight - without ever looking away from the rise and fall under his hand. Another breath came, shallow and uneven, but it came.
Norm exhaled slowly through his nose. “Pain response?”
Jake didn’t answer, he just pressed a closed fist firmly into Lo’ak’s sternum, rubbing his knuckles over the bone. Lo’ak groaned weakly, a broken sound that ripped straight through Jake’s chest.
“Good,” Norm said, letting out a heavy breath. “That’s good.”
Jake stayed where he was, one hand braced flat against Lo’ak’s sternum, the other firm at the base of his skull, fingers spread wide to cradle his head, thumb hooked gently under the jaw to keep the airway open. He didn’t look at Norm when he spoke.
“He broke the tsaheylu,” he said.
Norm’s hand paused for half a second at Lo’ak’s temple. “How?”
“He wrenched it.” Jake could feel the hollow it left, a sickening void that tugged inside him. It left him breathless and shaking, feeling like he’d lost something absolutely vital and couldn’t get it back. “Pulled away. I didn’t -I couldn’t-”
Norm nodded once, already shifting. He lifted Lo’ak’s arm, let it drop a few inches, then caught it before it hit the mat, tracking the sluggish response. “What happened after?”
“He collapsed,” Jake said, forcing his voice to steady. “Lost responsiveness in seconds.” His thumb pressed more firmly into Lo’ak’s sternum.
Norm leaned in closer, penlight snapping back on as he checked Lo’ak’s pupils again. “Okay,” he murmured. “That fits.”
Jake didn’t ask what it fit. He just kept Lo’ak steady, eyes narrowing on the next breath as it finally came.
“I tried to re-form the bond,” he said, voice clipped. “Nothing.”
“That makes sense,” Norm said. He was digging through his pack. “Right now his nervous system is fried. Too much input. Spikes in adrenaline, blood pressure swinging, visceral shock. Everything’s screaming at his brain, overwhelming the synaptic pathways. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t form a bond. Not now.”
Neteyam’s hands trembled even as he held Lo’ak steady. “But he needs it. Ronal said. Without it he wouldn’t… he wasn’t-” he faltered, voice cracking as panic broke through.
Neytiri was still cradling Lo’ak’s face gently, humming low and lilting. “Hush, anak…” Her hands lightly stroked his braids, lingering near his temples. A grounding presence even when Lo’ak couldn’t respond.
Jake’s jaw clenched. “How do we get him through this without it?”
“We manage the pain,” Norm said. He pulled a small, calibrated injector from the kit.
Jake’s fingers pressed a fraction harder against Lo’ak’s chest.
“You’re going to sedate him?” The words came out as a rasp. His eyes were locked on Lo’ak’s chest, counting rises and falls, but his gut was coiling painfully. It was all too fresh; the cold, clinical smell of the outpost, the hiss of the respirator, the tube taped to Lo’ak’s lips, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
His stomach clenched into a dry, twisting knot.
“No,” Norm rushed to say, still prepping the injector. He spared Jake and Neytiri a glance, clearly sensing their panic. “A low-dose analgesic. It won’t suppress respiration, just take the edge off. The bond was doing this naturally, so we’re just going to compensate for that. He should get more responsive in the next few minutes.”
Lo’ak’s breathing hitched again, chest barely lifting, lips parting in a shallow, desperate gasp.
Norm’s fingers hovered for a heartbeat over the injector, then pressed it into Lo’ak’s upper arm. There was a faint hiss as the small dose entered. Jake felt it through the subtle twitch of muscle under his palm.
Jake leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”
The first shallow exhale that followed the injection was uneven, but it stretched a fraction longer than the last.
The marui fell into a taut silence.
Jake didn’t move his hands from Lo’ak’s chest and head, bracing his spine and keeping his airway clear. Each shallow rise and fall was a hammer against his nerves.
Norm crouched close, penlight ready, his hands moving quickly and efficiently over Lo’ak.
“Lo’ak, can you hear me?” he murmured, voice clipped and calm, fingers pressed along the trapezius, down the forearm, then the hand, testing reflexes. He flicked the penlight across Lo’ak’s eyes again, then back, watching for any reaction. “Tracking me, buddy? Blink if you can. Squeeze my fingers.”
Lo’ak’s hand, which Norm held loosely in his, didn’t move.
Neytiri stayed by his head, her humming almost imperceptible, a low vibration that anchored them all - perhaps Jake most of all - against the panic. Her fingers lingered near Lo’ak’s temples, brushing back the damp strands of hair there. When he twitched even faintly, her hand adjusted gently, offering connection even when his body refused to respond.
Minutes stretched.
Norm kept up his low instructions, pressing and prompting for any responsiveness. Lo’ak’s hand twitched in his grasp when he asked again.
Jake’s chest loosened, just an inch.
Norm repeated the check, pressing gently along the palm, eliciting another tiny flex.
The penlight swept across Lo’ak’s eyes again. Jake lent closer. They tracked the light, but sluggishly. “There you are bud, that’s it,” Norm murmured. Lo’ak flinched away from the penlight, eyelids squeezing shut. “Sorry, I know, it’s bright. Nearly done.”
Lo’ak’s chest rose a little more steadily, still shallow, still uneven, but enough to ease another fraction of the weight in Jake’s chest. His fingers twitched again, slightly stronger this time, and Neteyam moved. He slid his hand into Lo’ak’s, closing his fingers gently over his brother’s twitching hand. He squeezed back.
Neytiri’s humming grew a fraction louder, hands brushing lightly over his temples. Lo’ak’s head shifted toward the sound of her voice. Jake felt it under his hand, a tiny shift in weight.
“Lo’ak,” Norm’s voice was firm. He kept the penlight hovering for just a moment more. “If you can hear me, I need you to let me know. Give your brother’s hand a couple of quick squeezes, okay?”
Neteyam’s jaw tightened and he fastened his grip around Lo’ak’s hand. For a second, they all just waited. Then Lo’ak’s hand tightened a fraction around Neteyam’s. Once. And then twice.
A faint, shaky exhale escaped Neteyam.
Lo’ak’s eyelids flickered again, then lifted in a sluggish, hazy blink.
“Okay,” Norm said, relief bleeding through. “Let’s get you comfy on your back so we can get a better look at you.”
Hands braced, Jake moved with Norm to carefully roll Lo’ak from the recovery position on his side to his back. Jake’s hands stayed locked under Lo’ak’s head, neck, and shoulders, keeping his spine aligned as Norm shifted under Lo’ak’s torso, supporting his hips and chest.
When he was flat on the mat, Jake kept his fingers pressed under the base of his skull, supporting his head, tilting just enough to keep his airway open. Neytiri crouched low by his head as well, humming softly. Again, Lo’ak moved, a weak but deliberate turn of the head toward her hum. Jake felt a surge of relief so sharp it nearly burned.
At Jake’s side, Neteyam clutched Lo’ak’s hand, squeezing back every time Lo’ak gave a tiny twitch. His grip was tight.
Norm crouched low at Lo’ak’s other side, kit open beside him. “Okay,” he said. “This might be uncomfortable for a couple of minutes, Lo’ak, but I need you to bear with me.”
He pressed along Lo’ak’s collarbone, moving down the arm, pinching the skin and tendon along the biceps. Lo’ak twitched, fingers curling and flexing slightly.
“Good job,” Norm murmured. “That’s just what I want.”
Norm moved to his legs next, tapping lightly at the kneecaps, checking ankle and toe flexes. He pressed along the sole, Lo’ak’s toes curling faintly in response. He tapped lightly along the metatarsals, then along the Achilles tendon.
They hadn’t been able to run a full neurological exam in the days since they got back to the Metkayina. Lo’ak had been so closely attuned to Jake, though tsaheylu, that any subtle feedback was impossible to separate from his. Now, lying flat, untethered from Jake, each twitch and lag was new data.
Jake watched closely as Norm ran each check. Noting the faintly curling fingers and slow ankle responses.
Jake’s knuckles whitened where they braced Lo’ak’s shoulders.
As Norm continued his checks, Lo’ak started to get more restless. His free hand - the other still held gently but firmly by Neteyam - lifted slowly, fingers fumbling as he tried to push Norm away.
Jake was on him instantly. He caught Lo’ak’s hand in his, guiding both to rest over Lo’ak’s chest.
“Easy,” Jake murmured, voice low and calm. “It’s just Norm. We’re just making sure you’re okay.”
Lo’ak flinched, chest heaving with the effort. He pressed back against the hand Jake held under his neck, shifting until his head was rising just a couple of inches off the mat. Jake was right there again, hand lifting with him so that when his head started to fall Jake was there to catch him.
Neteyam’s grip tightened on Lo’ak’s other hand, still squeezing rhythmically.
“It’s okay,” Norm said, shifting so he was crouched by Lo’ak’s head again. “Let him move. This is what we want.”
Lo’ak’s eyelids flickered again, opening just enough to show hazy awareness. He shifted slightly, a small groan escaping his throat. The twitch in his fingers became a weak, uneven push against Jake’s grip.
“Lo’ak, eyes on me,” Norm instructed, flicking the penlight up to the slightly dilated pupils. Lo’ak flinched violently, twisting away. He coughed, a wet, choking sound.
Jake’s heart shot back into his throat.
Lo’ak gasped and then sputtered. Jake grasped his shoulders roughly and rolled him onto his side, knees pressing into the mat for leverage, one hand under Lo’ak’s jaw, the other bracing the back. He kept his chest tipped just enough to allow gravity to help clear the airway.
Lo’ak coughed again, hacking, throat jerking.
A minute stretched, punctuated only by wet coughs, shaky breaths, and the faint tremor of returning reflexes. Lo’ak’s fingers flexed against Jake’s palm, some purposeful, some spasmodic.
“Easy, easy,” Jake murmured, guiding the hand back to a neutral, safe position. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
Norm moved, pressing one hand firmly against Lo’ak’s sternum, fingers splayed to feel each rise and fall of the chest. The other hand angled the penlight past Lo’ak’s lips and to his throat, tilting the jaw to make sure there was nothing blocking the airway.
The wet rasp of Lo’ak’s coughing settled into real breaths. His chest rose and fell unevenly, but his eyes were more alert. Hazy but tracking them as they around him.
He tried to push up, one hand bracing against the mat, the other still loosely held by Neteyam.
Jake shifted his weight, rocking back off his knees until he was seated fully on the mat. As he moved he guided Lo’ak with him, twisting carefully and lifting, until Lo’ak was seated between his legs, back pressed to Jake’s chest. Jake’s thighs braced Lo’ak’s hips, one arm wrapped firmly across his upper torso while the other stayed high, supporting his shoulders and head.
Lo’ak sagged against him with a faint, breathless sound. He was conscious now but still not all there, pain-drunk and dulled by the medication. His eyes stayed open, properly open this time, blinking slowly.
Jake adjusted minutely, tightening his hold just enough to keep Lo’ak upright, to keep his airway clear, to keep him from tipping forward or slumping too far back.
“Good,” Jake murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “That’s it. Stay with me.”
He kept his voice low, but he didn’t want to.
He wanted to scream.
Norm moved deliberately into Lo’ak’s line of sight, crouching so they were eye level. “Lo’ak,” he said calmly. “You’re doing really well. I’ve got a couple of other checks I need to-”
Lo’ak’s gaze snapped to him, sharp despite the haze. His brow furrowed.
“No,” he rasped.
He pressed forward, trying to push up and off the mat, yanking reflexively against Neteyam’s grip on his hand. Neteyam didn’t let go. He moved closer, pressing in at Lo’ak’s side, and held Lo’ak’s hand with a knuckle-whitening grip.
Jake tightened his hold as well, shifting his weight back, forearm firm across Lo’ak’s sternum to stop him pitching forward. “Hey, no,” he said, low and firm. “This is happening.”
Lo’ak snarled something under his breath and twisted anyway, shoulders jerking side to side, testing the restraint with sudden strength. His elbow drove back into Jake’s ribs.
Jake grunted but didn’t let go. He adjusted, one knee planted wider, grip re-set with brutal efficiency, containing the movement without crushing him.
Neteyam moved. He slid closer on Lo’ak’s other side, careful not to startle him. He brought their joined hands up until they were resting between their chests, moving with their mismatched breaths. Neteyam’s were long and deliberate, while Lo’ak’s was still unsteady, loud gasps breaking up too quick inhales.
“Hey,” Neteyam said softly, voice tight but steady. “Hey, bro. It’s okay.”
Lo’ak’s head snapped toward the sound. His eyes focused this time, confusion sharpening into something raw. His grip tightened reflexively, breath hitching.
Neteyam didn’t pull away. He squeezed back, grounding, anchoring. “You’re safe. You’re home.”
Lo’ak shook his head roughly, a sharp, frantic motion that sent a jolt of alarm straight through Jake. He tightened his hold, one forearm firm across Lo’ak’s upper chest, the other bracing his shoulder and neck to keep his head supported. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t move your head.”
Neytiri shifted to kneel in front of him, close enough that Lo’ak couldn’t look anywhere else. Her hands came up to frame his face, brushing along his cheekbones.
“Hush, ma’ite,” she murmured, forehead pressing lightly to his. “Eywa is with you. We are all with you.”
Her voice slid into another low song without pause, the same steady rhythm she had used when he was small and sick. It filled the marui.
Lo’ak’s breath stuttered. After a moment, thought, the hitch eased into something steadier. In through his nose. Out through parted lips. His shoulders sagged unevenly as the fight drained out of him, leaving behind trembling exhaustion. His fingers loosened their death-grip on Jake’s arm, then re-curled. Jake adjusted again, easing the pressure of his restraint without letting go entirely.
Norm took the opening.
He moved in close, voice low and neutral, hands already working. “Lo’ak,” he said calmly. “I’m going to check a few things, okay?”
He didn’t resist.
Norm pressed two fingers lightly at Lo’ak’s wrist, monitoring the pulse there, then slid them up to the side of his neck, confirming it again. He watched Lo’ak’s chest rise as he did.
He lifted the penlight briefly. “Eyes on me, if you can.”
Lo’ak didn’t speak, but his gaze drifted and landed roughly where Norm’s voice was coming from. Norm swept the light across his pupils in quick, measured passes. Lo’ak flinched, eyelids squeezing shut.
“Good,” Norm murmured, lowering the light. “That’s okay. You can close them.”
He leaned in closer to Jake, voice pitched low. “Right pupil’s still lagging behind the left,” he said quietly. “But they’re both constricting. That’s improvement.”
Jake nodded once, sharp and contained, tightening his grip just enough to keep Lo’ak upright as his head sagged slightly. His chin dipping toward his chest, eyes half-lidded and glassy.
Norm continued and Lo’ak’s responses came slowly. His eyes tracked voices more consistently, following movement with only a slight delay. When Norm asked simple questions - Does that hurt? Can you feel this? - each time, Lo’ak answered. He gave faint nods or shallow shakes, sometimes delayed but always there.
Midway through one of the checks, Lo’ak exhaled hard through his nose. A thin, strained sound slipped past his teeth, “…fuck.”
It came out rough and breathless, edged with pain, but so unmistakably Lo’ak. Just irritation, raw and familiar.
Jake barked a laugh before he could stop himself. It tore out of him sharply. He ducked his head, pressing his forehead briefly against Lo’ak’s temple, still holding him tight.
“Yeah,” he breathed, voice breaking despite himself. “There you are.”
Norm’s mouth twitched as he kept working, hands still moving, checks uninterrupted. “I’ll take swearing over silence any day.”
Lo’ak’s eyes fluttered again, unfocused but present. Jake held on, laugh shaking through him again.
Neteyam sucked in a shaky breath of his own. His shoulders dropped a fraction, relief flooding across his face.
“You scared the shit out of us, skxawng,” he said hoarsely.
His grip on Lo’ak’s hand tightened one last time. Then he let go, scrunched his hand into a fist and drove it into Lo’ak’s shoulder.
Lo’ak hissed, a sharp, involuntary sound tearing from his throat.
“Hey!” Jake snapped, tightening his hold, one hand coming up protectively. “Neteyam, no-”
Neteyam barely heard him. He leaned in close, right up in Lo’ak’s space, voice cracking as it rose. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “Breaking the bond like that. You knew it was there to help you. You knew -why would you-”
Lo’ak flinched, his body curling inward instinctively. His shoulders hunched, chin tucking low, eyes dropping. Jake tightened his grip, his jaw clenching hard as he shot Neteyam a sharp look.
“That’s enough,” he said, low and firm.
Neteyam rounded on him, chest heaving. “No, he,” his voice broke, frustration and terror tangling together. “He could’ve died. He almost-”
Neytiri caught Neteyam by the arm before he could spiral any further, fingers closing firmly around his bicep. “Neteyam,” she said quietly. There was steel under it. “You will be calm.” She pressed her other hand to his chest.
Neteyam swallowed hard, breath shuddering. He looked back at Lo’ak and the fight drained from him. He let Neytiri guide him back a few steps, his fist still clenched at his side.
In Jake’s arms, Lo’ak stayed conscious but distant. His eyes stared somewhere past Norm’s shoulder. When Norm spoke to him again he gave no response.
Norm paused mid-check, fingers still lightly braced at Lo’ak’s wrist, and glanced up at Jake. He spoke softly, almost under his breath, so Neytiri and Neteyam, murmuring further away, couldn’t hear. “He’s not wrong. Breaking the bond was,” Norm paused, “-unwise.”
Jake nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
“Did he do it in a panic, by accident or-” Norm trailed off.
Jake unlocked his jaw.
“No,” he said quietly.
He had felt it. The deliberate wrenching when Lo’ak tore at the tsaheylu. He’d felt the strain, and then the snap in his chest. It had been so violent that for a moment he’d thought Lo’ak had actually stabbed him.
Then Lo’ak had fallen.
Jake’s chest heaved. He adjusted his grip across Lo’ak’s chest, palm pressed into the muscle there, feeling for the rise and fall of breath, the faint heartbeat there.
Norm, mercifully, didn’t dwell on the subject.
He reached around and pulled his pack closer, eyes scanning over it. “I’m going to start a line,” he said. “We’ll run fluids and pain medication. He’s still in a bit of shock, skin’s clammy and pulse is thready, but as long as we keep him warm and the pain managed, he’ll be okay.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, jaw tight as he nodded.
Norm tapped at Lo’ak’s veins with precise pressure, fingers brushing over the wrist, palpating the forearm. “Alright, Lo’ak,” Norm murmured. “Just a little pinch.”
Lo’ak’s head shifted slightly against Jake’s chest.
The small click of the catheter entering the skin was sharp in the silence. Lo’ak flinched. Jake kept up the firm pressure across his chest.
The next half an hour or so passed relatively uneventfully, the marui quiet except for the IV drip and Lo’ak’s soft breathing. Jake settled him back against his chest properly, tucking his head beneath Jake’s chin. He held him there loosely, both arms wrapped around his chest.
Eventually Neytiri dragged Neteyam away, her tone firm but patient as she ordered him to come with her to collect the others. Neteyam had hesitated, shoulders stiff and jaw clenched, his eyes flicking back to Lo’ak. He’d protested but Neytiri would not hear it. She marched him out of the marui, her hands firm on his back as he twisted, watching Lo’ak at every step until they were out of sight.
Lo’ak’s eyes, hazy but tracking, flicked toward the doorway as they disappeared.
As the minutes stretched on, his breathing changed under Jake’s palm. The sharp, shallow pulls eased into fuller rises, the pauses between them less erratic. His skin was warming too, heat bleeding back into his chest and neck, the clammy sheen fading as circulation returned.
The fog in his eyes thinned, awareness cutting through the haze in jagged bursts. His jaw set. His shoulders tensed under Jake’s hands.The shock was receding. In its place came a surge of awareness that was practically combative.
Norm shifted closer, reaching in to recheck his pulse.
Lo’ak jerked hard to the side, a sharp, defensive movement that wrenched against Jake’s grip.
“Easy,” Jake murmured, tightening his hold just enough to stop the movement. His hand at Lo’ak’s sternum spread wider, the other firm at his neck, keeping his head supported as Lo’ak fought the restraint.
Norm dropped lower, bringing himself into Lo’ak’s line of sight instead of looming over him. “Lo’ak,” he said calmly, hands open, hovering near his wrist but not touching. “I just need a few more checks, okay? Just quick ones.”
“No.” The word came out rough, scraped raw from his throat.
“Lo’ak,” Jake started, his voice steady but edged tight.
“No.” Lo’ak twisted again. He shoved out with his forearm, catching Norm across the chest and shoulder hard enough to drive him back a step. The movement nearly cost Lo’ak his balance; he hissed sharply, breath knocked from him as pain flared, but he didn’t stop. “Leave me alone.”
Jake’s voice cut through the marui, low and sharp.
“Enough.”
He tightened his hold, anchoring Lo’ak against him before he could lunge again, his forearm braced across Lo’ak’s chest in a firm, controlled restraint. Jake lifted his gaze to Norm for the first time, jaw locked.
“Can you give us a minute?” he asked.
Norm hesitated, eyes flicking once to Lo’ak’s flushed face, the tension coiled through his body, then back to Jake. He gave a short nod. “I’ll be outside.”
He gathered his kit quickly and stepped away, the soft rustle of the marui flap closing behind him.
Jake didn’t move right away. He let the silence simmer for a moment. Then, slowly, he shifted.
He eased Lo’ak forward just enough to see if he could hold sit on his own. Lo’ak swayed but stayed upright, so Jake moved around to crouch opposite him, close enough to catch him if he tipped, one knee still braced against Lo’ak’s leg, one hand hovering near his sternum out of habit more than need.
Lo’ak said nothing. He just stared blankly at the mat.
Jake’s hands curled into fists against his thighs before he forced them open again. His chest was tight, breath scraping against something sharp inside him.
“What is going on with you?” Jake demanded. He leaned forward just enough that Lo’ak couldn’t avoid him. “Seriously, look at me.”
Lo’ak didn’t look up.
Jake swallowed hard. “Are you trying to scare me?”
A beat.
“You trying to terrify your brother?” he added. “Because you did. You really did.”
Lo’ak flinched hard. His shoulders jerked inward, spine curling reflexively until his chin dropped sharply to his chest.
Jake moved instinctively.
His hand shot out, catching Lo’ak by his upper arm before he could collapse sideways. His other hand followed just as quickly, bracing Lo’ak’s back.
Lo’ak didn’t fall.
His breath stuttered, shallow and uneven again, each inhale scraping like it had to fight its way in. His fingers curled tight in his lap, knuckles whitening and nails biting into skin.
Jake stayed right there, close, hands firm but careful, watching every rise of Lo’ak’s chest, fear clawing back up his spine.
The anger drained right out of him. It left him hollow and raw.
He lifted his hands slowly, giving Lo’ak time to register the movement, hovering for a heartbeat on either side of his face before settling there, thumbs warm against his cheeks. Palms cradling his jaw.
“Hey,” Jake murmured, voice dropping. “Talk to me, baby boy.”
Lo’ak’s breath hitched again, a sharp inhale that didn’t quite make it all the way in.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Jake pleaded quietly, forehead dipping closer without quite touching. “I’m right here.”
Lo’ak shook his head once, eyes still closed, “-stop.”
Jake blinked, heart kicking hard. “Stop what?” he asked softly, steadying his voice. “I need a little more than that?”
Lo’ak went still. A blank, hollow quiet settled over him. His shoulders sagged and his breathing went oddly shallow again. Tears slid out from beneath his closed lids without a sound, tracking down his cheeks while the rest of him remained frozen.
Jake shifted closer. Lo’ak shoved at his hands weakly.
Jake caught him, one hand snapping back to brace his shoulder, the other steadying his cheek. “Hey,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Lo’ak’s eyes cracked open then, unfocused but burning. His voice came out hoarse and raw, barely louder than a whisper.
“Why won’t you yell at me?”
Jake froze.
“Yell at you? Why-” he started, his grip tightening just enough to keep Lo’ak upright. Jake searched his face. “Lo’ak… what are you talking about?”
“I did this,” he said. Lo’ak’s gaze drifted back to the mat, unfocused. “I did this.”
The words fell out flat and slurred, like they were too heavy on his tongue.
Jake’s heart kicked into his throat.
He slid his fingers to Lo’ak’s wrist, pressing to find the pulse. It was there. Faint again, fluttering under his thumb. Too fast. Too light. His other hand pressed at Lo’ak’s forearm, then his shoulder, squeezing firmly.
“Lo’ak,” Jake called, sharper. “Hey. Look at me.”
Nothing.
Lo’ak’s skin was cold under his palms.
“Lo’ak,” Jake called, confusion bleeding into alarm. He was about ready to call Norm back in. “You haven’t done anything. You hear me?”
“-brought shame on this family-”
The words hit Jake like a physical blow.
His breath left him in a harsh rush. His heart, which had still been in his throat, plummeted to his gut.
“No,” Jake said immediately, putting some force behind the word. His hands shot back up to cup Lo’ak’s face, thumbs pressing into his cheeks. “No, no. Never. I shouldn’t have said that. I was angry with myself, you’d been missing all day and I was beside myself because I’d all but sent you off with them-”
Lo’ak didn’t look up. His voice didn’t change. His next words came out slowly, still slightly slurred, and without any kind of reaction. Lo’ak didn’t even blink.
“-killed my brother.”
Jake’s blood went cold.
“Hey, look at me,” Jake said, urgently now, fear cracking through his careful control. He tilted Lo’ak’s face up, fingers spreading at his temples as his thumbs lifted Lo’ak’s eyelids. His breath caught.
The pupils were blown wide - both of them - dark swallowing nearly all the color. He shifted slightly to block the light, then angled Lo’ak toward the dim glow of the marui opening. There was barely any constriction. A sluggish, delayed flicker at best.
“Lo’ak,” Jake said, voice tight, hands steady despite the surge of panic roaring in his chest. “You did not-”
“I killed my brother.” Lo’ak’s eyes stayed glassy, unfocused, staring somewhere past Jake’s shoulder. “We buried him in the reef. It was my fault. You told me it was my fault.”
Jake’s heart practically stopped.
He shifted his grip, one hand sliding from Lo’ak’s cheek to the back of his neck, fingers splayed wide to stabilize the spine as he tipped Lo’ak’s head just enough to reassess. The other hand came up again, firm but careful, lifting his eyelids fully this time. Jake angled his body to block the ambient light, then moved his head side to side, forcing Lo’ak’s eyes to track.
“Follow me,” he ordered quietly. “Lo’ak. Eyes on me.”
Nothing. The pupils stayed blown, the tracking sloppy, one eye lagging behind the other by a fraction that made Jake’s stomach drop.
“Shit,” he breathed.
He dropped the eye check and went straight to tactile input. His fingers pressed hard into the muscles of Lo’ak’s shoulders, knuckles grinding in a way that should have earned him a sharp reaction.
Lo’ak barely twitched.
“Hey,” Jake said, sharper now, squeezing Lo’ak’s forearms, then his hands, rolling the wrists and pressing into the palms. “You with me? Squeeze my hand.”
Nothing.
Jake slid one hand back to Lo’ak’s chest. His other hand moved back to Lo’ak’s face, thumb finding the carotid, feeling for the pulse there. It was fast and thready. Uneven under pressure.
His jaw locked.
“Lo’ak,” he said firmly. He leaned in closer, forehead resting against Lo’ak’s. “Listen to my voice. You’re here. You’re alive. Your brother is alive. Do you hear me?”
This had to be the neurological episodes Norm was talking about, only this wasn’t mild. Jake shifted, turning to call Norm back in, because something was very, very wrong with his son.
Lo’ak’s lips parted slightly, trembling, and words spilled out, low, harsh, disconnected, almost tumbling over each other.
“-it’s what I do. I break things. I’m too impulsive. I don’t think. I shouldn’t -I - there was so much blood in the water. On the rocks.”
Jake froze, chest tightening, a cold weight sinking into his stomach.
There had been blood in the water. And on the rocks. But Lo’ak hadn’t seen any of it.
Jake didn’t interrupt. He stayed absolutely still, forehead pressed to Lo’ak’s, hands steady at his shoulders and chest, listening.
“You told me it was my fault,” Lo’ak said. “You told me-”
“No-” Jake’s voice finally broke. He pulled back just enough to see Lo’ak’s face and gave him a gentle shake. “Lo’ak. No-”
Lo’ak’s gaze snapped to him. His pupils tightened a fraction around the low light, uneven but reacting, and his eyes tracked Jake’s face instead of drifting through it. When he spoke again, the words came slower, more deliberate, like he was testing the weight of them.
“I killed my brother…”
It came out uncertain, barely louder than a breath, edges lifting at the end like he wasn’t stating a fact so much as asking for confirmation.
For Jake to tell him whether it was true.
“No, you didn’t,” Jake rushed to say, hands sliding up to cup Lo’ak’s face again, thumbs pressing into his cheeks so he couldn’t look away. “You listen to me.”
Lo’ak opened his mouth, but Jake kept going, forcing out the truth before the spiral could take hold.
“Even if,” Jake’s throat tightened to the point where he was sure he would choke, but he pushed through it. He had to get the words out, even if it killed a part of him to even think them. “Even if we had lost Neteyam, that would not have been on you. Not ever.”
Lo’ak’s breath hitched.
“But we didn’t lose him,” Jake said, slower now, each word deliberate. “Okay? Your brother is alive. He is with us. He is scared and angry and very much alive.”
“I bring shame-” Lo’ak whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer he was clinging to.
“No.” Jake’s voice went hard. “No, baby. Never.”
He leaned in again, pressing their foreheads together, holding Lo’ak close while he studied his pupils. The shallow rise of his chest. The tremor still running through him.
Jake called Norm back and explained, as much as he was able to at least. Lo’ak was still mostly out of it, but he was quieter now, less combative. Norm listened without interrupting, only nodding once, his mouth set in a tight, thoughtful line as he unpacked his scanner.
Lo’ak was drifting, but he was quieter now. The fight had drained out of him. He let Norm look him over again, tolerated the cool sweep of the hand-held scanner over his temples, down his spine, across his chest. His eyes fluttered but stayed open this time, tracking sluggishly when Jake shifted. Reacting to Norm’s voice. Enough to be there. Not enough to be steady.
Norm murmured readings under his breath, frowning once, then again, but he didn’t look surprised. When Jake mentioned the false memories - how detailed they were - Norm only nodded, jaw tightening, and kept going.
Through it all, Jake just held his son.
He shifted until he was sat behind Lo’ak again, one arm braced solidly around his chest, the other steady at his shoulder, grounding him whenever the tremor crept back in. Lo’ak leaned back without resistance, his weight settling against Jake’s chest.
Eventually, almost twenty minutes later, their quiet calm was broken by a soft rustle of the marui flap and the low murmur of voices.
Neteyam jogged in ahead of the others. He’d clearly run the entire way. His chest was heaving and he was sucking in quick breaths. He slowed the moment he crossed the threshold, forcing himself into a walk like Jake wouldn’t notice. His movements were still careful, guarded around his injured shoulder, but his eyes were locked on Lo’ak.
He dropped down at his brother’s side and gently lifted his free hand to brush it across Lo’ak’s forehead, pushing a few loose braids back from his face.
“Hey,” Neteyam said quietly.
Lo’ak stirred.
He was half sitting up, half laid back against Jake’s chest, eyes only barely open. At the sound of Neteyam’s voice, something in him sharpened. His gaze dragged sideways, unfocused at first, then snagged and held. His hand lifted jerkily, uncoordinated, fingers trembling as they reached out.
“Neteyam,” the word was barely formed. His hand caught on the fabric of the sling like it was the only solid thing in the world.
Jake’s chest tightened. Lo’ak had been doing the same thing for days. Reaching out for Neteyam with the same urgency, again-and-again, and Jake had just written it off as relief.
Those memories turned sour now.
What if every moment Neteyam was out of sight, the false memories filled the gap? What if Lo’ak had been measuring reality by touch alone? By whether his brother was close enough to hold, and Jake hadn’t noticed.
Neteyam leaned in, careful not to jostle him.
“I’m here,” he said.
Lo’ak sagged at the sound of it. The tension bled out of him in one long release. Jake adjusted his hold, keeping him steady as the shaking thinned into something more faint.
Realisation settled heavy and cold in Jake’s gut.
He had missed it. All the signs had been there, and Lo’ak had been carrying them alone. Even through tsaheylu, Jake had been dragged under by those waves of distress. The sharp, breath-stealing surges he’d mistaken for fear. Fear of losing Neteyam. Now, though, he knew what it was. Jake knew the feeling himself. Knew the shape of it, the way it lodged in the chest and refused to move. And Lo’ak - Jake’s mirror in so many ways, good and bad - felt it the exact same way.
Grief.
Grief for a brother he’d held while the life drained out of him.
Neteyam lifted his head, eyes flicking between Jake and Norm. He took in their tight expressions. The way neither of them looked away from Lo’ak.
“Is he okay?” he asked.
For the first time, Jake didn’t know how to answer. The words stuck. He hesitated, his gaze sliding to Norm.
Neteyam caught the hesitation.
“What happened?” He shifted closer, free hand came up to Lo’ak’s face, tilting his head just enough to check that his eyes could find him, could focus, could respond to the light. Simple checks, drilled into him by Jake. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay,” Norm said quickly, stepping in before Neteyam’s panic could properly take hold. His tone was steady, practiced. “Nothing new. The pain medication’s just making him tired.”
The words sank straight into Jake’s gut.
Nothing new. It wasn’t a lie. Lo’ak had been struggling this whole time. Jake just hadn’t seen it.
Neteyam looked between them again, jaw tightening. “What aren’t you saying?”
They were spared an answer by the soft rustle of the marui flap as Neytiri stepped inside, Kiri and Tuk close at her sides, Spider hovering just behind them.
Neytiri moved straight to Lo’ak’s side, and the other kids clustered nearby, hands brushing over him in quiet, anxious gestures. Kiri pressed her palm lightly to his arm, fingertips tracing the bruises and scratches there, Tuk rested her small hands on his shoulders, pushing in close until she was inches from his face, and Spider hovered, brushing a hand over his chest as if to confirm that he was solid and breathing. Neytiri had clearly told them that he’d given them all a bit of a scare.
Lo’ak, half-conscious, half-distant, followed their voices with vague awareness, turning his head when they spoke and letting his hand trail over them in return, a flicker of recognition. He always returned to Neteyam, who stayed glued at his side.
Neytiri murmured softly to the kids, soothing words carried on her low, steady tone. She leaned close to Tuk, who had started to cry quietly, rubbing her back and murmuring, “It’s okay, little one. He’s safe. He’s right here.”
Jake’s eyes flicked to Neteyam, who remained rigid at Lo’ak’s side, body tense and fingers curling against his brother’s arm.
“Neteyam, I need you to take him for a minute.”
Neteyam looked up, surprised.
“Why?” he asked, voice tight. His eyes darted between Jake and Lo’ak.
“I need to talk to Norm,” Jake said, leaving no room for argument.
Neteyam’s jaw tightened. He clearly wanted to ask more, but he caught the tension in the room, saw Tuk’s quiet sobs, and hesitated. After a slow blink, he nodded.
Jake moved carefully, sliding one arm under Lo’ak’s back, the other beneath his knees, lifting him gently, resting him against Neteyam’s uninjured shoulder. He checked both of them: Lo’ak balanced, Neteyam bracing carefully to protect his wounded shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. Satisfied, Jake let go, keeping a careful eye on both of them.
“You okay?” Jake pressed. “How’s your shoulder?”
Neteyam didn’t even look at him. His eyes were locked on Lo’ak, who held onto him like he was the only solid thing in the world. “I’m fine.”
Jake didn’t believe him. He knew Neteyam would ignore practically anything if it meant keeping his brother close. He looked to Neytiri, who was kneeling close to Lo’ak, one hand braced at his back, holding some of his weight so Neteyam’s wounded shoulder didn’t bear the full strain.
Jake nodded once at Norm.
Norm moved first, sweeping up the kit, and Jake followed, casting one last glance back at Neteyam and Lo’ak before the marui flap closed behind them.
They made their way down to the beach, leaving the marui and any curious ears behind. It struck Jake how far they were from Lo’ak - it was the furthest he’d been from him in days - and a cold, uneasy knot formed in his chest.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just watched the waves, the ocean stretching in endless rhythm, letting the silence fill the space.
Jake broke it, voice low, rough.
“I don’t understand. I don’t,” he waved a hand back toward the marui, toward Lo’ak. “I know how fear can just rot inside you - but this - this isn’t that.”
Norm’s voice cut across the wind. “No,” he said. “This isn’t that.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing as the knot in his gut pulled tighter. “Then, what - how?” His voice cracked.
Norm’s gaze remained steady on the waves. “I have a theory,” he said. “You won’t like it.”
Jake’s chest lurched, his mind leaping ahead. “Tell me.”
“I’ve been talking with Spider,” Norm said slowly. “Trying to get a clearer idea of his time with the RDA. It’s not obvious at first, but there are inconsistencies. At first, I thought maybe he was mis-speaking, or he’d moved on to talking about something else and I hadn’t noticed, but when he talks about his time in the human city, the details…don’t quite match.”
Jake’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Norm shifted, gaze narrowing, thinking. “Little things, usually. The time he was there, who was with him. But,” he paused, weighing the words. “Sometimes the details are just wrong. Occasionally, when I ask, he remembers being there for months, not days. And a couple of times…” Norm hesitated, as if knowing exactly how Jake would react, “…Kiri is with him.”
Jake went still. His chest tightened, throat constricting. “What?”
“He remembers her being caught with him,” Norm said softly. “Hearing her screaming through the walls.”
Jake’s stomach dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this!”
Panic clawed at his chest. Lo’ak had been barely holding it together, half-conscious at points and practically critical in others, and Spider had had none of the same support, no anchoring from a bond. He imagined Spider curled tight, just trying to survive, even after he’d left the city.
“Because I didn’t understand it,” Norm said, voice steady but honest. “We’re in uncharted territory here.” He ran a hand down the side of his face, exhaling slowly. “I assumed it was trauma. Psychological, not…this.”
Jake’s chest tightened again, a low, restrained roar pressing at his throat. Everything felt precarious. Lo’ak’s body had already been fighting to recover; his mind was breaking in ways Jake hadn’t known to anticipate. And now the weight of Spider’s ongoing health, his equally fragile headspace, pressed into him.
“You said you had a theory,” Jake said. His voice was sharp.
Norm hesitated. “From what I know of the tech, it relies to an extent on a subject’s compliance. Which means they would need to make the subject amenable, which there are drugs for that. Chemicals that make people more open to suggestion. But when you put someone in that state they are absolutely open to any kind of stimulus, which becomes a much larger issue when you have them strapped into something that feeds off the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus-”
“Norm,” Jake ran a hand over his face, heart hammering. “What does all that mean?”
“I think they did it,” Norm chose his words with care, “by accident with Spider. They must have been threatening him, telling him they would leave him there for months, or as long as it took for them to get the information they needed. They would have tried to bluff. To tell him they had all of you and that he could help you if he just told the truth.”
Norm’s gaze flicked to Jake, then back to the waves. “They told him these things, but his prefrontal cortex and hippocampus - the parts of the brain where memory is made and stored - were under incredible amounts of stress. So what were suggestions-”
“-became memory.” Jake finished, cold fury washing over him.
Norm nodded. “Vivid memory. It feels real to him, like anything else in his life he remembers.”
Jake thought for a moment, chest tightening. “You said they did it to Spider by accident.”
Norm grimaced, an angry frown that Jake had never really seen on him before. “I do. But I think they realized, eventually.”
Jake’s hand shot up, pointing back toward the marui, toward Lo’ak. “That is not accidental.”
Norm’s jaw clenched, his voice low and sharp. “No.”
“They told him his brother was dead.”
“I think they did more than that. The details are too specific.” Norm’s hands were balled into fists at his sides, and he was breathing in slow, purposeful movements. “I think they told him his brother died in his arms. That he buried him. That you blamed him. That it was all his fault.” Norm’s mouth tightened. “And the hippocampus did what the hippocampus does. It made memories.”
Lo’ak wasn’t imagining anything. He was remembering.
He remembered holding his brother as he died. Burying him. And now he was living it again and again. Someone had done that to him. Woven it into his memory until he was drowning in it.
Someone had done this to Jake’s baby.
He took a breath. Then another. Forced air into his lungs until his vision steadied and his hands stopped shaking.
“How do we fix it?” he asked, his voice tight. “How do we get rid of it?”
Norm didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet, heavy. “We can’t.”
Jake turned on him. “What do you mean, we can’t?”
“They’re memories,” Norm said. “They’re encoded the same way as anything else he remembers. There’s no switch to flip. No way to erase them without doing real damage.”
“But they’re not real,” Jake snapped. “None of it happened.”
Norm met his eyes. “The events didn’t happen,” he said. “But the memories are real. His brain doesn’t know the difference. To him, they’re lived experience.”
Jake dragged a hand down his face, his breath catching. “Then how,” his voice faltered. He swallowed and tried again. “How is he supposed to get better?”
Norm exhaled, slow. “By staying grounded in what is real. Over and over. By anchoring to the present until the false memories lose their grip.” He paused. “It’s going to take time. And care. And patience.”
Jake closed his eyes for a moment, the image of Lo’ak curled against Neteyam flashing through him.
Time.
Care.
Patience.
They could give him that.
And when this was over, when Lo’ak was safe, when he could breathe again, Jake would find the people who had done this. He’d be patient then too, just long enough to show them how many ways the body can hurt.
“The brain is an incredible muscle,” Norm went on, thoughtful. “It protects itself. These memories, they’re designed to hurt him. Which means, over time, the brain will start to do what it does best. It will try to protect itself. The memories will fade.”
Jake opened his eyes. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon. “That’s not always true.”
Norm glanced at him, understanding settling in. Jake didn’t need to explain. Norm knew about the explosion, the paralysis and the brother he still dreamed about years later. Some memories never loosened their grip.
“Sometimes not,” Norm allowed quietly. “That’s why it matters what happens next. Why it’s so important to take the time to process these things properly. So the brain can do its work instead of locking the pain in place.”
Jake said nothing for a long moment. The waves rolled in and out, steady, uncaring. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I don’t want him to have to live with this,” he said at last. “I don’t want this to be something he carries forever.”
Norm’s voice softened. “I know.” He held Jake’s gaze. “But that’s not something we can change. You can’t pull him out of it. You just have to get him through it.”
Lo’ak lay stretched across Jake’s lap, his head resting heavy against Jake’s thigh, braids damp with sweat. The others slept where they had fallen. Neteyam beside Lo’ak, close enough that his knee brushed his brother’s calf, Kiri curled around Tuk with one arm draped protectively over her, and Spider sprawled near their feet, an arm flung across both girls. Dawn filtered through the woven walls in thin bands of pale light, catching on skin and feathers and the curve of Lo’ak’s cheek.
Jake hadn’t slept.
He stayed braced against one of the beams, the ache in his spine ignored, one hand spread over Lo’ak’s chest, counting breaths without thinking about it. Slow. Shallow, but steady. Each time Lo’ak shifted or murmured Jake would lean down and answer.
You’re okay. You’re home. Your brother is here.
I’m proud of you.
I love you.
I see you.
Neytiri knelt at Jake’s side. She had her forehead pressed to his, just above Lo’ak’s crown, her hand settling over Jake’s at their son’s chest. They stayed like that a long time, until Lo’ak shifted again.
His eyes fluttered open, the haze of the pain medication softening his focus. Panic still hit him like a physical weight. His chest heaved, ragged breaths spilling out in short, sharp gasps. His hands jerked, clawing at the air, fumbling as if trying to grasp something that wasn’t there.
Jake slid one of Lo’ak’s trembling hands into his own, fingers entwining with a gentle, deliberate pressure. He guided it toward Neteyam’s chest, laying it over the steady, strong heartbeat beneath. He held it there, letting Lo’ak feel the rhythm.
Lo’ak’s eyes dropped to their joined hands, watching Neteyam breathe beneath his palm. His hand trembled in Jake’s, small shudders running up his arm, but gradually the sharp edges of panic dulled. His chest began to rise and fall in rhythm with Neteyam.
Jake kept whispering to him, letting each syllable fill the quiet space of the marui. “You’re here. You’re safe. You’re home.”
Each word was deliberate. A lifeline thrown through the fog.
Lo’ak’s eyes lifted to Jake. Recognition flickered there, brief and fragile. He blinked heavily, tears leaking down his cheeks without sound.
Jake pressed a tender kiss to Lo’ak’s forehead, letting his lips linger for a heartbeat. “I see you,” he whispered.
Lo’ak sagged against him, eyes fluttering closed. Jake didn’t let go.
A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning.
So Jake stayed there until sleep fully claimed Lo’ak, until the shallow tremors faded, and the danger felt, if only for a moment, held at bay.
One month later
The sun was climbing over the horizon, casting a pale gold across the rocks and the rolling surf. Jake, Neteyam, and Lo’ak were crouched over a fraying fishing net, their hands fumbling with knots and loops.
Neteyam leaned close, guiding Jake’s fingers. “No, no, see? The loop goes under, not over,” he said, trying to suppress a laugh. Each time Jake got it wrong, another small tangle forming where the knot should have been, Neteyam shook his head, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Here, let me show you again.”
Jake groaned and jabbed a finger at Neteyam. “I’m telling you, it’s the net, not me!”
Neteyam snorted. Jake flicked a finger at him in mock protest, and Neteyam jerked back, grinning, almost losing his balance on the rocks.
Lo’ak was silent.
He’d been laughing at them - full and boisterous, leaning on Jake’s shoulder and grabbing the net just to tangle it further - but now his attention had slipped. When Jake looked over, Lo’ak’s eyes had shifted, caught on the rocks beneath them, hands tracing over sharp edges and dark crevices, worn smooth by the tide. His expression had slackened, gaze unfocused, blank in a way that had Jake’s chest tightening.
Jake abandoned his half-formed knot, reaching over to rest a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Lo’ak,” he called softly.
Lo’ak’s lips parted, but no answer came. He just stared, eyes tracing the patterns in the rocks.
Neteyam’s grin faltered. The net slipped from his hands, forgotten. He reached for Lo’ak as well, one hand pressing against his chest, the other on his back, as if trying to hold him together. “Hey, bro,” he called urgently.
These moments, when Lo’ak teetered on the edge of shutting down completely, had become all too common over the last month. Lo’ak’s eyes would glaze over for a heartbeat too long, his hands twitching as if reaching for something, and a small hitch in his breath that told them his mind had drifted somewhere dangerous. Every time, it was like a fragile tether fraying, the thin line that kept him anchored to the present straining.
Jake’s hand stayed on Lo’ak’s shoulder, firm but gentle, as Neteyam crouched beside him.
“It’s okay,” Neteyam said softly, keeping his hand pressed firmly against Lo’ak’s chest, feeling the shallow rise and fall. “You’re here. We’re all together.”
Lo’ak’s gaze stayed fixed on the rocks, distant, empty. He didn’t respond.
Jake leaned closer, voice low, steady. “Lo’ak. Look at me. You’re safe. You’re home.” His other hand came up to graze Lo’ak’s cheek. The gesture was small and familiar. Something they had done countless times over the last month. It carried the weight of countless reassurances.
Neteyam mirrored him. He guided one of Lo’ak’s hands to rest on his chest, their palms layered, and matched the uneven rhythm of Lo’ak’s breathing so he could ease it back. The connection was deliberate, careful, a physical tether that Lo’ak could hold onto while the panic bled away.
Gradually, the tension in Lo’ak’s shoulders eased. His hands stopped twitching. His chest rose and fell in sync with Neteyam’s beneath his palm. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes, brief and fragile, and Jake murmured again, “I see you. You’re here. You’re safe.”
It was a dance they all knew now, a choreography built from a month of whispered reassurances, layered hands, and absent moments.
Slowly, Lo’ak’s eyelids drooped, the dissociation receding like the tide. For a long moment, they just sat like that, listening to the surf wash across the rocks. Lo’ak’s head tilted slightly, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked up at Jake and Neteyam. His hand tightened gently on Neteyam’s.
He looked down at the rocks again, brow furrowing. “Where’s the net?”
Jake and Neteyam followed his gaze - and froze. The tide had claimed it, dragging the fraying, hopelessly tangled mess of knots and loops out into the surf while they’d been hovering over Lo’ak.
“Shit,” Neteyam muttered, rising slightly to peer at the retreating waves, squinting to see if he could spot it in the swell.
Lo’ak laughed. A raspy, breathless sound, shaky at first but real. Neteyam’s lips twitched, the corner of a grin pulling into a full laugh that rolled across the rocks. Even the rhythm of the waves seemed to catch the sound.
Jake felt it all in his chest. It lifted some of the weight there.
He kept a hand on each of his boys, and he held tight.