Chapter Text
The air smelled like the ocean, a bit salty and comforting. The ocean could be scary, the depth of it hidden from the eye unless one would be brave enough to dive and get closer to the bottom of the ocean. It sheltered danger, all the creatures that lurked in the water, watching their prey unnoticed, until they'd be most vulnerable. Only then would they strike, leaving a scarlet cloud of water behind. And how many people had thought they were safe, before a storm came and drowned them? Those people who saw the clouds getting darker, the wind getting stronger, and the waver getting bigger, while the fear in their veins started getting the better of them. Maybe there was denial first, thinking they would find a solution, but eventually they had to face the music. They would die there, in the middle of nowhere, swallowed by the ocean. Or maybe they never stopped believing they would manage to find a way out, and took their last breath with hope filling their heart.
But the ocean remained a place of comfort for many, however dangerous. Lo'ak was floating, looking at the blue sky above, thinking back to the day Tsireya had first told him this precious mantra about the way of water, one he'd repeat to himself whenever he was scared, when he needed to calm down. He had once whispered it, when his heart was beating too fast and he could feel himself losing control, and Tsireya had chuckled, kissing his cheek gently when he had calmed down. I'm proud of you, she had told him. The sea is your home, Lo'ak. He could still feel himself blush.
He was lost in thought, until Payakan decided he was bored and wanted to be played with, splashing water on Lo'ak by hitting the surface of the water with his tail. He laughed, and forgot all that was filling his brain, though for once it wasn't guilt and voices reminding him he didn't deserve to be alive or to be loved.
Lo’ak had been surprised to be greeted by affection after scaring his whole family. Really, he was convinced he would get scolded so much that the sun would rise before his mother would be done with him. And it only made him feel more guilty. He had worried them so much that the anger had slipped away from their minds. He was the worst.
He had lied awake for a while, staring at the ceiling. He listened to his father’s light snoring, to Tuk coughing a little. He looked to his right to see Neteyam, to his left to see Spider and Kiri, and he met Kiri’s eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked in a whisper, because he knew it wasn’t like her to stay awake late, unless she was overthinking something, which, well. She tended to do that.
“I’m okay,” she whispered with a little nod. “Where’d you go for two days?”
Lo’ak shrugged, shifting to lie on his side on his hammock so he could look at his sister more easily and actually talk to her. So he could face her.
“I flew to the Western Frontier,” he admitted. “Then I stayed in a cave underwater, to hide from the storm and to- to take a moment to think.”
Kiri nodded, and didn’t say anything for a second. She didn’t seem surprised to hear that, as if it made sense, somehow, that Lo’ak had flown all the way to the Western Frontier and back.
She had heard a lot of surprising things in her life –like the fact that she didn’t have a father and somehow her mother had been impregnated by Eywa herself?– and Lo’ak travelling West for hours was far from being the most surprising thing she had heard in her life.
“How was it?” she asked, still whispering, careful not to wake anyone.
“The fly was nice, I guess, the hiding out.. a bit boring,” he replied casually.
Kiri nodded, taking in the answer and once again staying quiet after he spoke. Silence was not awkward, nor heavy. It was just there, in the air, interrupted by the faint snoring and the sound of the water outside the marui pod.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she finally added, her voice so low Lo’ak could have thought he had imagined it. “Good night brother.”
“‘Night Kiri,” he replied, watching her turn around into a more comfortable position to sleep.
He didn’t sleep right away, stayed awake some more thinking about what would come next, thinking about whether to stay or to leave, what to do.
Tsireya had done a good job at convincing him to stay in Awa’atlu, and as he lay awake, he had to admit that yes, he would miss the water incredibly. Because the water running in the forest wasn’t the one of the ocean. It didn’t behave the same way.
Lo’ak was from the forest, yes. That much couldn’t be denied. He was born Omaticaya, grew up with the Forest surrounding him. The Forest was a home to him, and he loved it there. He was born Omaticaya, but it was as a Metkayina that he truly found himself.
Starting a new life in the Western Frontier would work for him. He wouldn’t have to learn a completely new way of living, with these Forest People. He knew how to track, how to hunt, had an ikran. He would find a way to be useful to this clan.
His heart clenched though, when he thought about all the things he would lose by leaving the Reef People. Without even mentioning the people, he’d lose so much. Lo’ak felt free as he swam in the water, as free as he felt when roaming the skies with Taw. It was a completely different kind of beauty.
He didn’t want to lose this sense of home, of comfort and of knowing where he belonged, who he was. That last part was not as sure as the others, because Lo’ak was still finding that out, but still. He was pretty sure that Awa’atlu was part of him and his identity.
Eywa knew how miserable Lo’ak would be if the sea was taken away from him.
He let out a long sigh as he realised, his back against the weaving of his hammock, that Tsireya was right. He couldn't just leave and start a new life somewhere else. And that was precisely the moment when a wave of a brand new guilt washed over him. He had been so selfish. In his pain and in his desire to be free from his own torments, he had been selfish. He hadn't properly considered his family, his friend, his Tsireya.
He did thought about them, about how they would react to him being gone. He tried to imagine it. He tried to convince himself that they would be fine and wouldn't miss him much, because it made the idea of leaving easier. But he had been too focused on his own desires to consider them for real and face the music. If Lo'ak had not come back and had not been found in this cave by his girlfriend and his friend, they would have kept searching. Neytiri wouldn't have given up on her son, Jake would have felt responsible, their children would be mourning the loss of their brother, unsure of if he was really alive. His friends would have felt his absence, Payakan would have called in the wind and the waves for his brother, vainly. Tsireya would have her heart broken. Had Lo'ak left, Tsireya wouldn't have felt whole ever again, just like Lo'ak would have suffered from the loss of his other half until his very last breath as well.
He had thought about leaving without even considering the people he loved. What kind of monster would do such a thing? What kind of monster would be selfish enough to do something like this?
His heart had then started to feel heavier than it usually felt. This familiar weight, the bitter taste of guilt lingering on his tongue, when it all came down to crush him. The air would become too much and too little. Like it was forcing its way to his lungs even though he couldn't take that much in, and like it was lacking at the same time.
A hand pressed on his chest, rubbing above his aching heart as if to soothe the pain, he got up from his hammock and went out, so he could breathe as loudly as he needed to, without risking waking his family up.
He sat close to the water, his feet in the cold water, trying his best to calm down, to stop the guilt from eating him from the inside.
It had been a moment of panic and impulsive decision. Very very few people would stop and think about the after. He was too focused on leaving and setting himself free from this painful environment. His mind had been focused elsewhere, in something close to an emergency mode. He was not a monster.
His train of thoughts was interrupted by an Ilu, still active despite the hour, who came and let its head rest on Lo'ak's lap, apparently seeking to be petted, making little pleased sounds when the boy scratched its chin gently. The Omaticaya man had a small smile on his lips, suddenly distracted from the weight on his heart and shoulders, the sight of the creature with its eyes closed, enjoying the gentle ministrations.
The Ilu stuck around for a little while, and when Lo'ak had calmed down, it swam away with a little cry for a good bye, as if the young Ilu had sensed his sadness and had found him to distract him, staying by his side until his heart was back to a normal beat, his breathing back to a steady rhythm.
He looked at the ocean, calm and dark in the night, and thought, this time with less guilt plaguing his mind and more clarity. In the morning, he would see the Olo'eyktan and the Tsahik, ask them for a small marui pod where he could live on his own. If he lived alone, it would mean less chances to fight with his father. If he lived alone, Lo'ak wouldn't have to face Neteyam, who suffered the consequences of Lo'ak's dumb mistakes.
It was a cowardly thing to do, to ask to move out of his family's marui pod. It made him a coward on top of being a failure, but well. No one would be surprised to hear that the reckless Sully boy wasn't even brave enough to live with the weight of his own actions. No one would be surprised, because Lo'ak believed people has stopped expecting anything from him a long time ago.
*
"It is out of the question," the Tsahik said, her back to Lo'ak, as soon as he asked Tonowari for a small marui pod where he could settle down.
Ronal was crushing herbs, preparing some ointments and medicines for the painful joints of the elders. Of course, this request was addressed to both her and her mate, because Lo'ak would not disrespect her by excluding her from the conversation, though the Tsahik had more important matters to focus on. Her job was to interpret the will of Eywa. Living arrangements were not usually things she cared about.
And yet, Lo'ak had just finished speaking when she denied him. He opened his mouth, surprised and confused as to why she would reject him so quickly and so firmly. Her voice left no room for argument, but Lo'ak being Lo'ak, he had to ask.
"Why not?" he asked, his voice soft though it betrayed his confusion. Tonowari's gaze hardened slightly, as if to tell Lo'ak that he should learn to stop questioning the leaders.
"It is not the way," Ronal replied. "And what would you need your own marui pod for?"
Lo'ak sighed. He had known that there was a high chance he would have to explain the motivations behind his request, but it didn't make it any less hard. Tonowari and Ronal were not only the leaders of the clan, but also his girlfriend's parents. His girlfriend's parents who weren't particularly fond of him.
Tonowari had been annoyed by Lo'ak on more than one occasion, yes, but he was always willing to give another chance to those who seemed genuine. And he knew Lo'ak was an honest boy, who loved his daughter with all his heart. So, despite the occasional annoyance he felt because of the Omaticaya, Tonowari liked him just fine.
Ronal, however, was harder to soften up to Lo'ak. He had demon blood, which she had looked down on at first. She was more okay with it now, and had never commented on it since the day they had arrived. She was a critical woman, with strong convictions. Lo'ak was too reckless to her taste. She could tell he loved Tsireya, yes, but she still believed him to be a bad influence, which never made it easy for the boy to be around his- well, mother in law, to some extent.
So really, the Sully boy was even more shy to speak his mind.
"I- Uh," he started, stuttering, looking down at the weaved floor, despite feeling the gaze of the Tsahik and of the Olo'eyktan on him. "It feels like there's not enough air in the one I share with my family."
"Not enough air?" Ronal asked, tensing, because it didn't make sense and it annoyed her that he would make up excuses like this one. "Are you making a joke?"
"No, I'm not- I'm not kidding you," he said, looking up at her, sincerity in his yellow eyes as he met hers. "I know that there is enough air, but it doesn't feel like it. I cannot breathe properly, and my sleep is troubled. Please, Tsahik, consider my request. Olo'eyktan, please."
Lo'ak asked again, looking back down to the floor, his hands on his knees as he sat on the floor. It was the way. When having a serious talk or requesting something from someone of a higher rank like this, it was proper etiquette to be seated.
"We are not granting you your request," the woman spoke again. "I see your struggle, but moving out is not the solution. It will not fix it."
Lo'ak felt a lump in his throat as he felt like crying. For years he had kept this option on the back of his mind, like a lifeline who allowed him to breathe when guilt was too strong. If it ever became unbearable, he could always ask to move out. And now, he had asked and been rejected.
There was no escape from the marui pod, from his brother's paralysed leg and from his father's resentment. There was no escape from his guilt and his anxiety. It made him feel like crying, his heart heavy.
"Please," he asked again, in a whisper, not trusting his voice to speak any louder. He was too scared it would break if he tried. "I will do anything, but please, let me out of there."
"You speak of your family like a prison," Ronal commented.
"What is it, boy?" Tonowari spoke, for the first time since Lo'ak had asked to move out. "If you ask for something so unusual, you have to give us reasons to allow it."
"I can't face my father, my brother, I can't-" he said, his walls collapsing. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to break down and open up to his girlfriend's parents. "I'm a shame to my father, a disappointment. My brother's path has disappeared because of the mistakes I've made."
"And so you wish to run away from the mistakes you've made?" Ronal asked. "You would rather hide instead of facing the consequences of your choices?"
It was precisely what Lo'ak wanted to do. He knew that she was saying out loud what he knew deep down. But hearing it in the cold voice of the Metkayina Tsahik? It hurt more than he thought it would, and a tear rolled down his cheek, as he nodded.
"Yes, Tsahik," he confirmed in a whisper.
"It is not the way," Ronal said once more. "The choices you made are part of you and of the people around you. We could allow you to live alone, but what good will it do?"
"Running away won't change how you feel," Tonowari added calmly.
"It won't, indeed," the Tsahik said. "We don't run away from our mistakes, we face them with strength, and we do better. We learn from the mistakes we have made. Being a coward won't help."
"I've tried, but it did nothing and it's too heavy on my shoulders," he spoke weakly, wiping the tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Then you keep trying," she insisted. "Always so stubborn, constantly fighting everyone and everything, even what's above you, and now you want to run away from the fight because it is yourself you're facing? And you would want us to allow it?"
Lo'ak's chin trembled, as he closed his eyes to try to hold back any more tears, head bowed down to hide, the firm voice of the Tsahik ringing in his ears.
Her words were fair, he probably deserved to hear them. He had fought her and her mate so many times, disrespected them by speaking when he was not allowed to. He had challenged so many rules, even the way of the tulkuns. He had never backed down from a fight, unless it was himself he had to fight. Ronal was right.
"The mistakes we make become part of us," Tonowari spoke. "It is our duty to learn to live with them, even when the fight is tough. You have fought harder battles, boy. This one is not going to be the one to bring you down."
Tonowari gave Lo'ak a pat on the shoulder, like the last words of encouragement spoken to a warrior about to walk onto the battlefield.
Lo'ak gave a little nod, holding back a little sob. He felt so small, sat on the floor, looking down, crying before the Olo'eyktan and the Tsahik. Here, in their marui pod, he didn't feel like a young man, nor like a warrior. He felt like a little child.
"Family is the most important thing one can have," Tonowari said. "Do not let this fight put distance between you and your family. Talk to them."