Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The infirmary is thick with the scent of crushed herbs. A layer of incense smoke drifts through the air, wrapping around the space like a heady curtain. The room is warm, humid, but not uncomfortably so. Eclipse has only just begun, plunging the world outside into midnight. The only light inside the marui comes from the burning hearth in the center of the floor, and a collection of candles near the walls. 

The hearth crackles, the ebb and flow of the bright orange embers like a heartbeat. Neytiri groans. Standing above her Mo’at chants in Na’vi, eyes shut tightly. Words rush off her tongue like a river, too fast for Jake to fully grasp. He has greatly improved in understanding the language in the past ten months, but right now he can only just pick up a handful of words.

Mother. Child. Safe. Blessing. Eywa. 

Neytiri squats in front of Jake, their hands tightly intertwined. One of Mo’at’s assistants, Hawnu, crouches behind her to support her back. She dabs at Neytiri’s damp brow with a cloth. Jake squeezes her hands, trying to reassure his mate with whispered praises. 

“You’re nearly there, love. You’re doing amazing,” he repeats, hoping some of it gets through to her.

Mo’at’s eyes fly open and her chanting halts. She looks down at Neytiri and Jake, quite possibly seeing through them with the intensity of her stare. 

“He is coming,” Mo’at announces. She crouches down and reaches her hands underneath Neytiri.

Seconds later, with one final cry, Neytiri’s grip slackens and she goes boneless, held up only by Hawnu and Jake’s grip. Mo'at catches the infant in her large, steady hands. She stands, slicing a knife through the umbilical cord with practiced ease. All speaking ceases, the only sounds coming from Neytiri’s heavy breaths and the crackling fire. The silence is not welcoming.

They all notice what’s missing. The telltale cries of a newborn. 

Mo’at looks down at the child with a concerned frown. At this angle, Jake can’t see his newborn son, and his mind races with the possibilities of what could cause the Tsahìk to look like that. 

“Sa’nok?” Neytiri croaks. Jake looks back to her. She is leaning her full weight against Hawnu now, her questioning eyes barely open. 

Mo'at shifts to hold the infant in one palm. He’s so small . She presses two fingers to his chest, rubbing firmly. "The boy does not breathe," she says gravely.

Heart pounding and a sinking feeling pooling in his gut, Jake shoots up to stand at her side. He gasps at what he sees. Underneath the blood and grime that comes with birth, the baby's skin is pink .

An awful hiccuping, choking sound starts up from the baby. Jake’s blood turns to ice. He knows that sound. He looks down at his son, at his wrinkled, pink face, blonde tufts of hair matted down with blood and a waxy film. It's not that the baby isn't breathing, it's that he can't . 

Jake snatches his son out of Mo'at's hands. Neytiri cries out in horror as he sprints out of the marui, but there is no time to explain. His mind is a mantra of twenty seconds before you pass out, four minutes until you're dead . He can't let that happen. He runs through the village, past the cook fires and the other Na'vi getting settled for the night.

They jump out of his way, exclaiming in confusion at the sight of their leader tearing by like he’s being chased by a hungry nantang. He crashes through the forest, creatures skittering out from under his feet and branches slapping against his face and chest, until finally he breaks into a clearing. He yips and moments later his ikran is landing before him. Jake leaps onto Bob's back, barely making sure he is steady on the saddle before bonding with his ikran and urging Bob to go, go fast, as fast as possible. To Hell's Gate!

The ikran takes off, cutting through the air at top speed. The direness of the situation translates through the bond, Jake’s panic is like blood gushing from an open wound. He clutches his son close to himself. The baby's chest has started seizing. Jake barely feels the sting of air whipping at his face as they fly, too focused on the baby, his son, who can't breathe.

Great Mother, please .

As soon as Hell's Gate comes into view, they make a haphazard landing. Before the ikran has even come to a complete stop, Jake vaults himself off of Bob, sending a quick apology through their link. He jumps over the fence surrounding the base and throws himself at the labs like a man deranged. When he reaches the door, he curses as the airlock prevents him from bursting right in. The wait for the airlock to depressurize could take ten seconds or ten hours, he doesn’t keep track with how desperate he is to get inside. 

When it unlocks, he barrels into the labs. Even during the late hour, several of the humans are awake and working. The lights inside are dimmed just so, a pale white illuminating the space, bouncing off the gray walls and steel tables.

 "He can't breathe! Give me a mask or something! He's not breathing!" Jake shouts. 

They all jump up from what they are doing, looking away from microscopes and screens and shooting out of their seats as he screams for help. Max comes careening around the corner of a computer desk, reaching for the child in Jake's hands. Instinctively he bares his teeth, the urge to tuck his son close to his chest overwhelming even if that isn't where he is safest right now. Max levels him with a stare, asking with his eyes for Jake to trust him.

Jake wants to. He knows he has to let go if he wants to be able to get the help his son needs. Still, alarms are blaring in his head, screaming at him to protect, defend, my son not yours. It feels as if the moment he releases the baby in his arms he will disintegrate before everyone’s eyes. Underneath it all, though, is the very human part of him that still remains. The fear, the hopelessness, and the understanding that he is not needed at this moment. 

He lets go.

Another scientist, a woman Jake can't be bothered to remember the name of right now, comes forward with a bag valve mask. When she slots the mask over the baby's mouth and nose, it covers the entire lower half of his face. With one hand she holds the mask in place, and with the other she pumps a self-inflating bag. She and Max carry him to the nearest cleared table.

Max takes over pumping the bag while the woman uses both hands to perfect the seal of the mask, and words that Jake can’t even hope to comprehend start flooding out of their mouths. Things like hypercapnic respiratory failure , and cardiopulmonary resuscitation , along with words he does understand but doesn't want to, like brain damage, and suffocation . He watches, helpless, as these scientists try to get his baby to breathe.

Someone puts a little clip on the baby's right forefinger, saying something about a pulse oximetry to see how much oxygen is in his blood. Then a person steps into Jake's eyeline. He looks down to meet their eyes and sees Norm. Norm reaches out careful hands and Jake grasps his forearms like a lifeline. He is speaking, but he might as well be trying to talk underwater with how well Jake can hear him. A rebreather mask is slotted over his own face, but Jake is too numb to reach up and hold it for himself. He tears his eyes away from Norm's face and back to the sight of his child.

For a grueling thirty seconds, he is distantly aware of the sounds of air rushing through the self-inflating bag, the footsteps of people in action, and the exchange of medical jargon. Then, finally, the sound of a gasp, followed by the ear splitting, piercing, sweet cries of a baby.

Jake all but collapses in relief, and then there is a chair underneath him. As if somebody has hit the resume button on the world, all the sounds and sights around him sharpen into focus. Clarity slams into him and he grips the rebreather mask to inhale deeply. Norm's voice finally solidifies into words.

"...Jake, Jake , can you hear me? Who is this? What's going on?"

Jake takes another deep breath before removing the mask from his face. His voice is cracked and rough, and when he opens his mouth he tastes salt on his tongue. He doesn’t know when he started crying. "He's my son," he says. "He— he's my son." 

↔

Time passes in indistinguishable chunks after that. It feels like only minutes since he entered the lab, dying child in hand. He’s been sitting next to his son in a trance-like state, holding the baby’s tiny pink fist in his own hand. The scientists helped him clean the baby up, wiping him free of sticky bodily fluids to reveal ruddy skin underneath. A fine layer of fuzzy hair covers him from head to toe, but the scientists assure that it is normal for human infants, it keeps their body temperature regulated in the womb. The baby should shed all of it naturally. 

The words “human infant” catch him off guard. If someone were to glance at the baby very briefly, it would be easy to mistake him for a human. Sure, he has ten fingers and ten toes, but anyone that takes more than a second to observe his son would be able to tell that this baby is definitely not like the others. Now that he is clean, an array of blue stripes are visible on his skin. His torso, his limbs, and his forehead are all covered in them. Against the pink, it almost looks like they are painted on. But when Jake runs gentle fingers over them, they do not smear.

Another indication of his not-human status is his ears. They are small, but the tips sharpen into delicate points. They twitch this way and that at the unfamiliar sounds within the lab, animated with a life of their own.

Not long after he settled, his son opened his eyes for the first time. The sight of his eyes had Jake reaching for the rebreather around his neck. His son has Tommy’s eyes. Well, Jake supposes he has Tommy and Jake’s eyes, but nonetheless. His eyes are a deep brown, almost black in color. They are huge and wondrous, holding a thousand galaxies within those irises. 

No, he is not human. But he is not fully Na’vi, either. Aside from the pink skin, the inability to breathe Pandoran air, and his small size, there is one more glaring difference. The baby has no tswin.

All Na’vi have one, encased in a neural whip at the top of their skull. It is what makes them one of The People, able to connect with Eywa and all the life surrounding them. Even Jake’s avatar body has one. But not his son.

The ramifications of that fact threaten to send him spiraling back down into the depths of panic. But he can’t risk that right now. 

Instead, he runs one hand over his newborn son’s head, feeling the soft hair there. Someone gave him a clean sock from one of the avatar’s wardrobes with holes cut out for the baby’s arms and legs. When Jake received it, his stare was nothing short of deadly. Norm was quick to explain that while the clothing choice wasn’t ideal, they did not have any blankets small enough to swaddle the infant safely. At the time he hated that Norm was right. But now as he looks down at his oddly dressed, breathing child, he can’t help but smile.

The humans found an empty, topless crate to put him into, with a pillow shoved into the bottom to form a makeshift crib. As a precaution, the mask remains over his mouth and nose, this time connected to an oxygen tank. It’s all a temporary fix to a much bigger problem. Said problem being what the hell they are supposed to do with a not-human baby that is incapable of going outside to be with his family without suffocating.

Max takes a seat beside him. The scientist says nothing, waiting for Jake to look at him before speaking. When they meet eyes, Max’s face is haggard. Jake knows he looks no better. It’s been a long night, and this is just the beginning.  

“You should head back. Neytiri is waiting for you, I’m sure,” Max tells him. 

He’s right. Jake bolted out of the marui like a bat out of hell, no time to waste explaining his thought process. Guilt trickles into his chest, sticky and cloying like sap as he considers how terrifying this all must be for his mate. He needs to go to her, but…

Jake looks back down at his sleeping son. The sight of him does not instill fear within Jake, but fondness, and the fierce desire to protect. He looks peaceful, for now. But what if something happens while Jake is away? As if Max can read his thoughts, or maybe they’re just displayed plainly on his face, Max starts to talk again. 

“He’s as safe as he can be here. You know you’ll be the first one we tell if something goes wrong.” 

Time continues to tick away as he considers his options. He can’t stay away from the village forever. Neytiri is waiting for him, she needs him. Someone has to tell her and Mo’at what is going on. The pain is sharp in his heart when he leans down and kisses the top of his son’s head. The baby hums in his sleep, another reminder that he is breathing steadily.

With that finished, Jake stands. Max does as well, and the two of them grasp forearms. Everyone else in the room had cleared out long ago once the danger passed, courteous enough to give Jake and his newborn son some space. 

“Thank you. Really,” Jake says, trying to project how truly grateful he is for his friend’s help. Max nods in understanding.

The ride back to the village is a silent affair. The panic from earlier has faded, and with it all his energy. Now all he wants to do is hold his mate close to him, feel her heartbeat against his own, and sleep. Bob flies steady and sure, not quite as fast as he did on the way to the labs but still with haste. The need to get home is strong between them. 

When he lands back at the clearing, a group of three Omaticaya warriors are waiting for him. Their expressions are severe, postures rigid and at attention. None of them speak, and he doesn’t try to argue that he can walk on his own when they lead him back to the infirmary. He knows how this must look. He, the former Dream Walker turned Olo'eyktan, has just stolen the newborn grandchild of the Tsahík right out of her arms. Worse than that, he has come back empty handed.

The first thing Jake does when he pulls back the curtain to the marui is look for Neytiri. She is laying on a pallet near the fire, tear tracks staining her face. Hawnu is nowhere to be seen, but Mo'at is right there cradling her daughter's head to her chest. Neytiri is shaking.

She opens her eyes when he kneels next to her. Mo’at and Neytiri both just look at him with loss, confusion, worry, and– on Mo'at's end– fury in their expressions.

"He's alive," Jake says at last. "He's at Hell's Gate. They got him breathing. He's going to be okay."

Neytiri's face crumples. Whether in relief or sorrow, Jake doesn’t know. He has a feeling that it is a complicated mixture of both. Mo’at releases her so that Jake can pull her trembling form close to himself. He gets up on the pallet next to her, and she curls into his front. Neytiri buries her face in his chest and wails .

He clings to her and closes his eyes, kisses her head. His lips move silently on top of her hair, praying to Eywa that he can keep her from falling apart completely.

↔

Word catches on fast throughout the Omaticaya about the birth. How couldn’t it? Everyone knew that Jake and Neytiri were expecting a child, and it was no secret when Neytiri went into labor. But the conversations exchanged are anything but celebratory.

By now, the Olo’eyktan should have revealed his first born to The People. Their child should have had their first communion with Eywa at the Tree of Souls. When neither of those things happen, people start to get curious. And with curiosity comes suspicion. The People want to know why Jake and Neytiri are constantly disappearing to the human base. They want to know why Mo’at, always so open about her visions, suddenly remains tight-lipped about what she sees. 

Jake Sully, for his part, has earned his title as Toruk Makto. He led the Na’vi to victory in the battle against the Sky People, bringing peace and balance back to Eywa’eveng. Nobody refutes this. But while The People respect him, they still talk. No one is brave enough— or perhaps stupid enough to say anything around the Olo'eyktan or his mate. On several occasions a hush has fallen over a group when Mo’at passes by, but the whispers are hard to keep under wraps for long.

The People are smart. They can put things together from context clues, and what they can’t be sure of they infer instead. But rumors can get ugly. So to prevent the spread of unnecessary fear, Jake calls all of the Omaticaya together a week after his son is born. Everyone is eager to hear what he has to say. The light of Alpha Centauri A shines upon them, the land awash with golden rays. Jake is dressed in the traditional attire of Olo’eyktan, further highlighting the importance of the gathering. Neytiri stands at his side, back straight and chin up.

With everyone together, there is no more postponing the truth. The thought of revealing all his personal business like this makes him a little ill, but he would rather the truth come from him than let gossip fester. So, he tells The People about how their child is a hybrid of both Jake’s human traits, and Neytiri’s Na’vi blood. Gasps ripple amongst the crowd. Whispers start up, questions tainted with mistrust and concern.

They go silent again when Jake lifts a hand. He explains that his son is unable to breathe the air they do, but possesses a mix of both human anatomy and Na’vi. Finally, he announces that once they have determined a way to integrate the child safely into the clan, he will be introduced to The People. 

In the following days, the announcement does the opposite of easing the Omaticaya. If anything, the concerned whispers turn more fervent and judgemental in nature. They say that Eywa has given Jake and Neytiri a cursed child. Jake may be Na'vi now, his human body gone and buried, but his roots can never truly disappear. This child, this monstrous mutant of a baby, is a reminder of his sinful upbringing. The egregious actions of his past may have been forgiven by the Great Mother, but are never ever forgotten. 

None of them understand. They do not see Jake’s son. They don’t get to witness how his ears twitch in recognition when he hears his parents’ voices, or how sweet he looks in his sleep as Neytiri holds him to her heart. Only Jake, Neytiri, Mo’at, and a handpicked group of humans at Hell’s Gate get that opportunity.

On the second day after his birth, Jake and Neytiri decide on a name. Atanit, small light , after the dozens of tiny stars that shine in his eyes. More than once Jake finds himself repeating his son’s name in his head like a mantra, reminding him that he has a son at all. Atanit te Suli Tsyeyk’itan . 

Back on Earth, he never expected to have children. Even before the incident in Venezuela, finding love was not in the cards for him. He couldn’t imagine bringing a child into a dying world that ran off greed and poison. He hardly expected to make it past his thirties himself. If he thinks about it now, his future back on Earth was bleak. No doubt if the RDA hadn’t recruited him, he would have been found dead not long after, laying face down in the filthy alley of some bar. Or maybe in his own apartment after a neighbor reported a foul, rotting odor.

That all changed when he met Neytiri. Suddenly, he could imagine a future that wasn’t so hopeless. One of light, of happiness, of love. When Neytiri came to him ten months ago with the news of her pregnancy, he could hardly believe it. There he was, lightyears from the planet he grew up on but never really considered a home, at the very beginning of a brand new life. At that moment, nothing had ever felt more perfect. 

But reality is not always so sweet.

At night, Jake and Neytiri switch off sleeping in the infirmary at Hell’s Gate, laying on a hospital bed built for Avatar bodies. They hold their precious son in their arms, shielding him from any dangers the world may throw at them. His lungs are strong enough now not to need the oxygen mask indoors, but his skin has become wan and pale, the blue stripes sticking out more than ever. He has not yet seen the sun, and even when does he will never be able to truly breathe Eywa’eveng’s air, nor feel the Great Mother’s kiss upon his cheek. 

Some nights, the grief is enough to rise up and choke Jake. He’ll look upon his son’s face, beautiful and strange and whole, with tears in his own eyes. At these times he will wonder, why is this happening? He loves his little Atanit, there is no doubt about that. But it is from that love that comes the pessimism. That’s why one night, when it is Neytiri’s turn to sleep at Hell’s Gate, Jake makes the trek to the Tree of Souls. 

The sky is drenched in twilight, the first rays of day break yet hours away. Jake silently moves through the village. The cook fires have long since burned out, and a peaceful quiet has fallen over the Omaticaya. They still haven’t found a new Home Tree, instead building a village near the place they sought refuge during the war. Bioluminescence dances through the plants and wildlife surrounding the village, and his footprints leave colorful tracks of light as he walks down the familiar path. 

The Tree of Souls is not as grand as it used to be, what was once a small forest in its own rite is now only a single tree. But like The People, Vitraya Ramunong survived the RDA’s attack, and it continues to thrive under the watchful care of Eywa. It has been a month since Atanit was born. He is laughing now, smiling at his mother whenever she sings to him. His songcord begins, like all Na’vi’s do, with his birth.

The first verse is intense, a song depicting the fear and distress of his fretful journey to Hell’s Gate. The tune then dips into a softer melody to represent that passing of danger, becoming a song of relief and unconditional love. For now, that’s all there is. There will be lots of time for the songcord to grow along with his son as he faces the trials, tribulations, and joys of life. 

Jake stops at the base of the tree. Luminescent branches hang down around him, bright purples and whites standing out among the dark sky above. He kneels at one of these branches, his queue in one hand and his son’s songcord held tightly in the other. Reaching forward, he connects with the branch. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. Then like he did once many months ago, before the Battle of the Tree of Souls, he speaks to Eywa. 

“I don’t want to question you. I…I’m eternally grateful for all that you have given me and my family. But what I can’t figure out is why. Why ?” His voice cracks on the question, and when he blinks his eyes open, hot tears stream down his face. “Why would you do this to him? He’s Na’vi, but he’ll never be able to be Na’vi .

“Is this your way of…of punishing me for lying to everyone? For letting Grace die?” He gasps a shuddering breath. When he opens his mouth to continue a loud sob cuts through the air instead. He clenches his teeth, his chin falling to his chest. 

For several minutes, he just sits there and cries before the Great Mother. As expected, she doesn't reply. He leans back on his heels, breaking tsaheylu. He thinks of his son who is locked behind four gray walls, who will never be able to form tsaheylu with anyone. His son, who has been shut out from the world he was born into because of some…some birth defect.

Jake has the fleeting thought that if he’d known this would happen, he never would have had a child at all. As soon as the thought comes, he tosses it away with a hiss. Now that he has felt what it’s like to hold his son in his arms, the possibility of not having Atanit in his life is too unbearable to even consider. That doesn’t make him grieve any less.

Behind him, the sound of footsteps. His ears press back and he sits up straight, sucking in a harsh breath while wiping his face clean. But when he turns to face who it is, his facade falls away. Mo’at approaches him where he sits at the base of the tree, her face the perfect image of serenity and self-assurance. She kneels next to him in one balanced, swift motion. If he stops to think about it, the only time he’s ever seen her unsteady on her feet was when the RDA destroyed Home Tree. 

He thinks back to what she told him that day. 

“If you are one of us, help us.” 

He hopes he’s proven it to her by now.

Mo’at rests a hand on his back. Her skin is warm against his, and it grounds him. She does not urge him to speak, instead she waits for him to gather his bearings. His diaphragm spasms as he hiccups through a sob. Through bleary eyes, he looks at the Tsahìk. 

“Do you think it's true?” He asks her. “That I'm cursed. That Eywa has done this to our child to…to punish me?” 

Mo’at peers at him curiously, her yellow eyes glowing almost green in the light of the tree. He waits with bated breath for her response. After a moment of consideration, she says, "Eywa does not curse. She does not punish, she teaches." Mo'at moves her hand to rest over Jake's heart.

"The Great Mother does not make mistakes. She chose you . You must now choose to love this child for all that he is." She brings her hands to her lap and stands, tilting her head as she continues, “And all that he is not.” 

With that, she leaves him to ponder her words on top of all the decisions he has made that has led him to this moment. It's a long time before Jake follows her. 

↔

When Atanit turns three months old, he gets a nickname.

He started crawling not long after Jake’s talk with Mo’at, and since then he has been impossible to keep a hold of. Jake and Neytiri are visiting him in the labs, Jake watching as Neytiri nuzzles her child’s nose against her own. Norm calls them over to a holodesk, saying that he wants to discuss the results of their medical tests. She puts Atanit back in his crate-turned-crib. One of the woodcarvers in the village has been in discussions with Neytiri about building him a real crib, and where they shall put it when they transfer it to Hell’s Gate.

Neytiri coos in Na’vi as she places him down on the soft pillow. Atanit doesn’t cry when she puts him down. He smiles an infectious, bright grin, and she brushes a loving hand over his cheek before turning away. Norm hits a few buttons, and a projection from the holodesk appears, displaying an array of colorful charts and vitals. 

Gesturing at each chart respectively, Norm says, “His blood pressure and heart rate are all normal. Hearing is good at twenty-thousand hertz, vision sixty/twenty, which is way above average for a human but typical for a Na’vi. He’s hitting a lot of his milestones early, but that could be indicative of his Na’vi geneti—OH MY GOD!” Norm exclaims, his eyes catching on Atanit behind them. 

Jake and Neytiri whip around, their hands outstretched to hold and protect, lips curling back in matching snarls to face whatever the threat may be. But what they see is anything but threatening. Little Atanit has somehow made it outside of the crate, little hands and feet gripping the links along the sides. He looks completely at ease, not at all unsteady or afraid. His head bobs up, and his dark eyes find his parents.

Then he giggles a high, jovial laugh. His two front teeth have started to come in, pearly white and tiny just like the rest of him. Neytiri untenses at once, a mirroring smile growing on her own face as she joins in laughing.

“Kali'weya!” She says. She walks over to the boy with her arms outstretched, easily removing him from the crate and holding him against her. Atanit goes willingly, smiling up at her with a delighted babble. 

Ears twitching at the unfamiliar Na’vi term, Jake turns to Norm in question. 

"Kali'weya, it means arachnoid. It's like a scorpion or a spider," Norm explains. A wry grin crosses his face. "Spider. That sums the kid up pretty well. Ever since he learned to roll over he's been trying to climb every inch of this place, I'm telling ya." 

Neytiri comes to stand at his side, her face so genuinely happy when she looks between her child and Jake. He watches the two of them in turn, an overwhelming feeling of adoration for his beautiful wife and son flooding through him. He studies the tiny baby within Neytiri's arms. His eyes are so big. Is Jake imagining it when he sees a little bit of mischief in them?

In the lull of conversation, Norm looks between them, awkwardly muttering an "ooookay," before returning to the projection of medical stats. Jake tries to listen, but a lot of the terminology goes right over his head. He gets the gist of it. His son is healthy and happy, that's what matters. He sneaks a glance at his child, only to find him staring right back. 

Jake sighs through his nose, crossing his arms in thought. Kali'weya. Spider, the english translation for an Earth creature, known for crawling and climbing, and surviving even in the strangest conditions. 

Spider, huh? He thinks. Very fitting.

Chapter Text

What makes a mother?

Neytiri has asked herself this many times. There are the basics, of course. Feeding a child, bathing them, carrying them until they are strong enough to stand on their own. But what else? The answer: so much. 

A mother is one who cares. She is a pillar of support in trying times, the one to lean on when her child needs help remembering their own worth. She is the other half that leads a family, meant to complement a father and guide him when he loses his way so that she can reach for him in return. A mother protects, loves, nurtures. A mother defends what is hers, and she must be willing to shed tears or spill blood if the situation calls for it. 

She always knew she would have children someday. But she did not expect the trials of motherhood to come to her like this. During the years of her childhood, the concept was fleeting and impermanent. She watched her own mother work and thought one day I will do this , never quite understanding what this entailed.

Then Sylwanin was murdered. Her sister’s blood was hot and thick on her hands, and in that moment she knew things were changing. Overnight, her childhood ended. Her path shifted course and the future rushed up to meet her. She was the sole daughter of Eytukan now, and all of the expectations that were once Sylwanin’s were thrust upon her shoulders. Not only was she to be a mother, but she was to become the next Tsahík, and was betrothed to Tsu’tey, the next Olo’eyktan. 

Tsu’tey loved her. Not in the same way he loved Sylwanin, never in that way. But he cared for her deeply, and she in turn trusted him with her life. Sure, he was hot headed, and sometimes the regal aura he carried came across as arrogant. But a lot of that was a front. She knew that beneath his hardened expression was a boy who still grieved his first love, plagued with guilt over not being able to save the one he thought Eywa had destined for him.

Neytiri would not say that she particularly minded the idea of being his mate. She did not doubt for a moment that he would be a great father. Their future was clear: they would have children together, lead the Omaticaya together, raise up the next leaders of the clan while at each other’s sides. It wasn’t the life that she originally imagined for herself, but it was a good one nonetheless. She had her duties, and she wanted to fulfill them.

And then came Jake. 

Jake Sully was an enigma. He both enthralled and infuriated her. He was stubborn and reactive, a Sky Person wearing the body of her people who expected to be welcomed with open arms. But given time, underneath all that she saw his vulnerabilities, his willingness to learn. For the third time in her life the future in her mind’s eye shifted. On the night of Jake’s initiation into the Omaticaya, she realized that this was what wanting truly felt like. 

Then came the betrayal, the fall of Home Tree, her father’s death. Neytiri no longer knew what she wanted. Everything had been turned onto its head. She barely had time to breathe as the threat of the Sky People loomed overhead, the promise of tomorrow a thing of the past. For all she knew, there was no future. 

But now she knows. The culmination of all of the pain and grief she went through is this very moment. With her mate at her side, her son in her arms, and The People surrounding them. This is what she wanted all along. 

Spider’s skin glows under the light of the Tree of Souls. The automatic use of his nickname in her head makes her nose scrunch in distaste, but it had stuck since that day at the human base two months ago. She can’t argue that it represents him well. At five months old, he is still smaller than a newborn Na’vi. But that doesn’t stop him.

He is maturing faster than a typical human child would, further separating him from the species. Not only does he crawl, but he crawls fast. Always moving, always trying to wriggle out of her arms and explore his surroundings. He’s started standing on his own, and they all suspect he will be trying to walk in a few weeks time. Spider is of his own kind. But he is still hers, and Neytiri is proud to admit it. 

The People raise their arms as they sing, led by Mo’at at the head of the Tree. They sing the tune of his songcord, and when that ends they sing the celebratory song of new life. Spider cannot bond with the Tree of Souls, but it is still his birth rite to see it. They have postponed his first visit long enough. Jake is by her side, and near the front of the crowd is Norm in his Dream Walker body, and the other scientist, Max. They have all come to celebrate him, as Eywa intended. 

Neytiri holds her son out to the Tree, cradling his head with one hand and the rest of his small body in the other. Here, displayed before the Great Mother, Spider smiles underneath the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. A long tube connects to the mask, reaching down to a tank strapped to her back. The circumstances aren’t what she hoped for her child’s first communion with Eywa. But as she gazes upon Spider, finally in his element of the forest, how could she ask for more?

Being a mother was always in her future. That being said, she hadn’t known that with motherhood came joy and fear in equal amounts. Often she feared failure, at times she lay awake at night worrying about never measuring up to her own mother’s accomplishments. Sometimes she feared for her son, even as joy flooded her heart at the thought of him, she felt the sharp tendrils of doubt. What if she couldn’t protect him? What if he resented her and Jake for all that he was? 

Even during a precious moment such as this, as adoration and love consumes her, she feels fear. Fear and grief. She grieves for Sylwanin and the children her sister will never have. She grieves for Tsu’tey and her father. They will never get to see her son. But in her heart she knows they are together now, holding each other. 

As The People sing, the Tree of Souls seems to shine brighter than ever. Little woodsprites descend from the Tree, spinning through the air like they are dancing to the songs. A single atokirina descends upon Spider, its tiny body landing atop his mask. Spider giggles, his eyes reflecting the white bioluminescence of the woodsprite. Tears spring up unbidden in Neytiri’s eyes. She glances at Jake, and his smile tells her that he too is remembering when the atokirina had kissed his skin during their first meeting. 

Jake takes Spider from her arms and holds him up high for all The People to see. Emotion thickens his voice, but he does not waver as he declares, “Atanit!” Then, again, “Spider!” 

As one, Neytiri and the surrounding Omaticaya repeat, “Atanit! Spider!” 

Maybe Spider is not the same as the rest of The People. There are things he will never be able to do, and he will face challenges that others may not. But as his mother, Neytiri knows that what comes will come. Through it all, they will face it together. And if her son should fall, she will be there to catch him. 

↔

In the time that follows, there is peace. 

They have another child, Neteyam. When she first falls pregnant with him, there is once again the fear intermingled with the joy. She remembers the treacherous conditions of Spider’s birth, and all the tears she shed in the following days. But her mother is there to remind her that every child is a gift. Whatever happens, she will not be alone. She must face whatever comes with an open heart, with the grace expected of the daughter of the former Olo'eyktan, and with the wisdom of the next Tsahìk.

Spider is just shy of a year old, his younger sibling well on the way, when Norm calls them to Hell’s Gate, declaring that something monumental has happened. Grace’s Dream Walker form is with child. 

“How?” Jake asks. He is crouching with his hands under Spider’s arms, keeping the boy from running amuck around Grace’s tank. 

Norm looks just as awestruck as the rest of them. He shrugs, speechless, mouth agape like a dying fish. Neytiri stands away from them, peering into the tank where Grace remains suspended in amino fluid. The child’s conception is just as much a mystery as the circumstances of Spider's genetics. 

“Who will raise this child?” Neytiri asks them both, looking over the tank at Norm and her mate. 

The look they send her is definitive. 

When Neytiri goes into labor with Neteyam, there is talk of having her give birth at Hell’s Gate. Neytiri hisses in contempt at the idea, but nobody wants a repeat of the last time. As a compromise, Norm is present in his Dream Walker body at Mo'at's infirmary during the delivery, with an oxygen mask at the ready. But as it turns out, he isn't needed. Neteyam is the exact opposite of Spider. Perfectly Na'vi in every way, with cobalt blue skin, a strong, lively tail, three fingers on each hand, and a tswin to complete it all. 

He is beautiful. The first time she forms tsaheylu with him, as is tradition for all mothers with their newborns, she feels contentment and love flood through her.

“He looks like you,” Jake murmurs beside her. She sighs softly, leaning her head on her mate's shoulder. 

Of course, there is the worry that Spider will grow to resent Neteyam. Why does he get to experience all the gifts of Eywa’eveng, while Spider is stuck at the human base until his lungs are strong enough to breathe with a mask for extended periods of time? Neytiri and Jake make a pact to never pit the siblings against each other, to love them both as they are and care for them however they must. The concern is unfounded. The first day they bring Neteyam to Hell’s Gate to visit Spider, the two are completely enraptured with each other. 

When Kiri is born, she possesses oddities much like Spider. She is neither more human nor more Na’vi, but an even mix of both. Her skin is blue, but her nose is button-like, human. And by Eywa, she has eyebrows . The sight of the hair is nothing short of comical, making her already expressive features that much more pronounced. She has a tail, and ten fingers and ten toes. 

In what feels like the blink of an eye, their family grows into a small army of seven. When Lo’ak and Tuktirey come along, both have their own share of physical traits from Jake and Neytiri. Out of all of them, Spider looks the most human. He exhibits the least amount of Na’vi traits, even going as far as being unable to consume some of the food grown from the planet. 

“Think of it as like an allergy,” Max explains one day. 

Everyone is gathered at Hell’s Gate. The children are all playing together in Spider’s bedroom. Their delighted cries and laughter can be heard through the open door and down the hall. Space for the bedroom was set aside for him when he turned two, and the difficult decision was made to keep him living on the human base. His still developing lungs just couldn’t take the harsh conditions of living outside the base, and he didn’t yet fit a mask. It had nearly broken Neytiri’s heart, but Jake reminded her that Hell’s Gate was not far, and she could visit him at any hour of the day.

Plus, he was not only surrounded by human things. There is a hand carved bed made from the wood of Omaticayan forests in one corner of the room, and a window looking out into Eywa’eveng. He wears the traditional Na’vi clothing, speaks the language, and knows the culture. It isn’t perfect, but it is what they are able to offer him. He is seven now, but already some of his younger siblings have started to grow taller than him.  

“Some kids can’t eat peanuts. That doesn’t make them any weaker of a person, it’s just an obstacle to go around.”

Neytiri listens attentively to Max’s speech, looking at the holographic screen between them displaying all the different plants Spider will have to avoid. She takes a breath from the mask around her neck. 

“What is a peanut?” She asks seriously. 

To her dismay and utter confusion, Jake laughs so hard he falls off the stool he is sitting on. Max’s face turns the oddest shade of red. 

↔

Once Spider is finally big enough to fit into the smallest full-face mask the humans have to offer, it is impossible to keep him inside. Most mornings he is up right as the sun rises, slipping away from the human base with an exopack on his hip and a mask over his face. Norm tries to stop him on multiple occasions, but he is no match for Spider. The child has only half the strength and speed of a Na’vi, but that is already more than a full-grown human.

Some days, he bursts into their marui at the village with all the exuberant energy only a child can hold. He wakes his siblings up by bouncing on them, and they pull him down grumpily to smother him in revenge. But he just laughs as he gets totally engulfed by the pile of blue limbs and swishing tails. On other days, he’ll enter quietly, footsteps silent with the practiced stealth he learned from hunting with Jake.

Neytiri prefers these days the most, because Spider goes straight to her and lays by her side. She’s awake as soon as he enters but pretends not to be until he pokes her cheek with a single finger. Then she will peek one eye open to look at him with a doting smile, cuddling him close and tucking him into her front like he is a baby again. Together they’ll fall back to sleep until the others wake. 

The kids are playing outside today, splashing away in a pond. Neytiri watches them with the trained eyes of a hunter. Their crashing footsteps and joyful yells scare away any wildlife in the area, but that’s not what she’s worried about. She watches as Kiri falls onto her knees with an “oomph!” when Spider grabs onto her tail. She turns around and hisses at him, but he takes none of her attitude, hissing right back.

Neteyam and Lo’ak come splashing through the pond, their hands cupped and full of water that they proceed to throw onto the others. Kiri and Spider cry out when the cold water drenches them. A presence stops at her side, and Neytiri doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that it’s Jake. He kisses the side of her head and she leans against him. In his arms he holds little Tuk, still too young to rough house with the others. 

Lo’ak tackles Neteyam to the ground with a high-pitched war cry. The effect is instantaneous, as Spider jumps onto Lo’ak and Kiri onto him. Spider lands face first into the shallow end of the water, his mask bouncing off the muddy ground. With a concerned gasp, Neytiri starts forward. Jake stops her with a hand on her arm.

“They’re okay. They know how to take care of Spider,” he reassures. As he says it, Spider crawls on his hands and knees out from the tackle pile, springing up to continue playing as if nothing happened.

When the children were old enough, Jake and Neytiri sat them down inside the marui. They explained that Spider was not quite like them. He was more vulnerable because of his human traits, and so they needed to treat him with more care. However, they made sure that it was understood that he was not inferior to them in any way, and that they shouldn’t be afraid of being around him. They all took it in stride, Kiri especially.

Even though she is a year younger, she has taken on the responsibility of older sister. Making sure Spider always had a spare battery for his exopack, checking that the seal was intact for his mask. She was even the first of the siblings to learn how to use the bioscanner that told them what foods were safe for Spider to consume out in the forest.

In turn, all of the siblings are fiercely protective of Spider. He is the smallest of them all, save for Tuk. And even though he had been accepted into the Omaticaya as the child of the Olo’eyktan, the other kids in the village are not always so understanding. He is still seen as a bizarre thing to them. Sometimes they poke and prod at Spider, questioning his pink skin and missing tswin. But Spider keeps his chin up, repeating what Jake and Neytiri taught him to say. 

“I am Omaticaya. I’m just like you, but a little different.” 

It isn’t always enough. Spider has a lot of confidence and might within his tiny frame, but he still gets self-conscious. Sometimes he cries about it, and when he does every tear feels like an arrow to Neytiri’s heart. 

One such night, Norm uses the comms to contact them while everyone is sleeping. He tells them that Spider has locked himself in his bedroom, and they can hear him crying. Neytiri has never arrived at the human base so fast. While she goes to her oldest son, Jake stays behind to look after the others. 

Hell’s Gate is dark at night. Eywa’eveng has been allowed to grow around the structure, so it is an odd mix of cold Sky People technology and nature. But there is no syuratan here. The Great Mother tolerates their presence, but she does not bless them with her light. 

Neytiri storms into the building like a palulukan charging its prey, and the scientists stand clear. She doesn’t care about them, though, not when her child is in distress. She goes straight to his room, barely taking the time to get a rebreather for herself off the rack by the airlock. The door to the bedroom is shut. When she types in the series of numbers on the keypad next to it like Jake showed her, nothing happens. 

“Your technology does not work!” She growls to Norm, who has followed her down the hall. 

Norm runs a hand through his hair. The gesture is something Neytiri has learned to be a human display of anxiety. 

“We think he’s jamming it from the inside. He must have put something in between the locking mechanisms to keep it from opening properly,” Norm tells her. 

Just then, a loud wail sounds from inside. Neytiri’s ears flatten, and she just barely contains the urge to slam her whole body against the door. Scaring Spider will do her no favors here. Instead, she leans close to the door, glaring at Norm. He gets the message and scurries away back down the hall. 

“Yawntutsyíp?” Darling, she calls in Na’vi. She knows Spider hears her when his cries cut off with a stuttered gasp. “Let me in, my love.” 

A moment of hesitation. She does not push further, knowing that her son cannot resist her for long. Just as she expects, she hears little footsteps approach the door after less than a minute. They are followed by an odd, dragging, ripping sound and then the door slides open with a hiss.

On the other side Spider is standing with his shoulders drawn into himself. His eyes are swollen and red, and his tiny chest rises and falls rapidly with uneven breaths. In his hands is a weathered piece of syarlerík. The sticky leaf must be what he used to keep the door locked. Clever boy, Neytiri thinks as she hums empathetically, moving into the room to scoop the boy up into her arms.

At twelve years old, he is no longer as small as he was as an infant, but he is still light enough to carry with ease. SPider does not fight, just wraps his arms and legs around her and tucks his face into her neck, breathing in her scent. The feeling of his damp eyelashes fluttering against her skin twists at her heart. She sits the two of them onto his bed, and he pulls away from her enough for her to see his face. 

“Why do you cry?” Neytiri asks him. She swipes a hand across his cheeks, cleaning off the tear tracks. 

“Why doesn’t Eywa talk to me? What have I done wrong?” Spider’s voice wobbles. 

Breath stuttering in her own chest, Neytiri immediately reaches out for him and pulls him into her lap. He fits against her like an extension of herself. In a way, that is exactly what he is. Her child, her blood. He is as much a part of her and she is a part of him. They are all connected under the eyes of the Great Mother, but the bond between mother and child is something unshakable. 

“Eywa does not ignore her children. She does not communicate in words, but in everything that surrounds us.” Spider does not look convinced. She sighs, a rueful little smile crossing her lips.

“Close your eyes,” She tells him. His brow furrows, but he follows her instruction and shuts his eyes. “Remember the sound of the stream you first hunted at with your sempu. Hear the water as it rushes past your fallen prey, feel the coolness of the water upon your skin.” 

A pause. “Do you hear it?” 

“Yes,” Spider whispers. 

“That is Eywa celebrating your first victory. Now, remember the thunder that cracks across the sky before a great storm. Feel it vibrate through the ground and into your bones.” She mimics the booming sound of thunder and shakes him lightly by the shoulders. Spider giggles at her antics, but shrugs her off just as quickly with a pout, stubbornly trying to stay moody. His eyes remain shut. 

“Do you hear it?” She asks again. 

“I hear it.” 

“That is Eywa, mightily declaring her intentions before she cries. Her tears fall so that everything around us can prosper.” 

Spider opens his eyes. At this point, he has stopped crying, but his breaths still catch when he exhales. “I look so different from everybody else. I hate it.” 

Making a sound of censure, Neytiri grabs one of Spider’s hands. She maneuvers it so they are palm-to-palm. His five fingered hand is dwarfed by her own four fingers. He hisses and tries to pull away from her like he’s been burned, but she catches his wrist before he can retreat. Leaning down, she kisses his fingers one knuckle at a time where they meet the rest of his hand. 

“Different is not bad. Your father once looked like you. I was able to hold him like a baby, cradle him in my arms like I hold you now.” 

All of her children know the story about Jake’s human self. How he once connected to his Na’vi body with Sky People machines, and how he gave that body to Eywa so he could walk amongst The People for good. Jake and Neytiri both have made it a point to never hide their past from their children, finding it of utmost importance that they know where they come from. That is why their family speaks in both English and Na’vi.  

“Eywa does not make mistakes. You are the way you are because she made it so. Oel ngati kameie , Spider. You are beautiful.” 

Finally, Spider smiles a small, bashful smile. He leans into Neytiri and she wraps her arms around him. That night she stays with him, staring out the window next to the bed as she listens to Spider breathe deeply in sleep. This conversation will be had again and again, she knows. It will take time, perhaps an entire life’s worth before Spider finally believes the words for good. 

Neytiri does not mind. She will be the voice of reason until her vocal chords give out, and even then she will find a way to communicate her message. That is what makes a mother.

↔ 

For years, the peace continues. The children grow and thrive under her and Jake. They play, they laugh, they cry tears of pure joy and utter sadness. Through it all, she is there to experience it with them. 

Every day she thanks Eywa for gifting her with the family she has. She communes at the Tree of Souls, relaying stories to the ancestors of Tuk’s wonder, Neteyam’s wisdom, Lo’ak and Spider’s bravery and Kiri’s kindness. She knows Sylwanin, Tsu’tey, and her father are listening, and hopes they are proud of what she made of herself. She certainly is. 

As much as she adores her family and her people, she cherishes the moments she and Jake get to be alone. She loves being a mother and training to be the next Tsahík, but she also does not take for granted the times that she gets to just be Neytiri , no responsibilities in sight. When it is just the two of them, Jake holds her close to himself and whispers sweet words in her ear. She relaxes into him and relishes in the thought that things cannot possibly get any better. 

Then a new star appears in the night sky, bigger and brighter than the rest. 

And everything falls apart.

Chapter Text

His full name is Atanit te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. Small light, son of Jake Sully. 

Small is right , Spider thinks. Even though he is tall compared to the humans at Hell’s Gate, already at eye level with Norm, it doesn’t make much of a difference outside the base. The forests of Eywa’eveng are not designed for someone like him. Most plants and animals tower over him; when he goes to the Omaticayan village he feels like the little human dolls in that ancient Earth movie Toy Story that Norm showed him and his siblings years ago. He is just a green toy soldier playing pretend in a sea of giants.

Dad likes to tell him the story of how they decided his name, but especially likes recounting how he got the nickname “Spider.” No one can say he hasn’t lived up to the title. He climbs better than all of his siblings, can scale the most precarious of trees in the forest and balance easily on narrow beams even without a tail. He has other nicknames too, Parultsyíp is a big one. It means miracle child, because of how wondrous it is that he survived the first night of his birth.

In his sixteen years of life the scientists still have only just scratched the surface of understanding his genetics. They’ve determined that he can breathe Pandoran air for a very short time. That’s why he never suffered brain damage on the way from the village to Hell’s Gate. But in reality Spider knows that he barely made it, and his dad's quick thinking in the spur of the moment is what really saved him. 

The other Omaticayan children call him different things. They hiss his name Spider like it’s a curse, the human nickname a constant reminder of his dad’s roots. This does not hurt as much as when they catch him on his own in the village and call him snewsye , weird or spooky. Once, Lo'ak overheard a girl call him a vrrtep , a demon, while they were all out practicing their archery with moving targets. Lo'ak bit the girl so hard that she ended up needing twelve stitches and a poultice specially made by Mo’at to prevent infection. 

Both of them had been in trouble for that one for weeks. But even years after the fact, sometimes Lo'ak will look over at him during meal times and mime a giant biting motion. They’ll both burst into such raucous laughter Mom fears they will choke on their food. 

He loves his siblings with every inch of his body. They look out for him, and he would risk his life for them in return. But sometimes their care can be a little…smothering. They mean well, and he knows he has weaknesses. And even though his parents have raised him and his siblings the same as much as they can, there are things he just can’t do. This was especially prevalent when his younger brothers' Iknimaya came along.

When Neteyam and Lo'ak both turned thirteen, they each made the trek to the Hallelujah Mountains, along with the other kids that were going to be future warriors of the Omaticaya. Spider was old enough, too, but he always stayed behind. Why bother watching as one by one, all the kids faced off against their ikrans and turned out victorious, knowing he could never be a part of that? The celebrations on those nights were boisterous and nothing short of beautiful, but each time Spider could feel his differences weighing down on him just a little more than usual.

Too human to truly be seen as Na’vi. Too Na’vi to be accepted as human. But if he is neither, then where does that leave him?

When he is alone, sometimes he tests his limits. Today Mom and Dad are out with the war party, and Neteyam and Lo’ak have gone along with them. Spider is never allowed on the Sky People raids. He’s tried to convince Dad to let him ride along just to watch and learn, but after last month when his begging had ended in a screaming match, he gave up.

Mom tried to reassure him after the fact, saying that Dad just worries for him. She tried to make Spider feel needed by saying he has to stay back and look after his sisters. But they’re just excuses. He knows the truth. He would be useless during a raid, just more baggage to worry about. But isn't that just his everyday life? 

His inability to help his people against the enemy stings like nothing else, and he is determined to find a way to be useful. So that’s why during a game of Hide and Seek with Kiri and Tuk, he sneaks away from High Camp. He climbs along the vines connecting the floating mountains until he finds a secluded cliffside that looks over Eywa'eveng. He takes in its beauty, the sprawling greenery and ripples of sunlight that sends dozens of colors dancing before his eyes. He mutters a quick prayer to Eywa to ask her for willpower. Then, he takes a final breath of filtered air, and takes off his mask. 

The fresh air wafting over his face is always the best part. It gets humid inside the mask especially during the warmer season, so the relief of the breeze along his cheeks and brow is indescribable. Breathing through his nose and out through his mouth, smelling the sweet flora and the tang of grass unaided reminds him that this is what life is all about. But the tightening of his chest is undeniable.

For the first thirty seconds, it is a mere twinge. Just a block on top of him, or like being on the bottom of a tackle pile with his siblings where every inhale is a little tighter. The twinge gradually grows into a sharp ache, and his throat dries out like he’s swallowed a mouthful of dirt. Spider opens his eyes and stares hard at a point in the distance. The dryness in his throat blazes up into a steady burn, and his chest seizes on his next inhale. 

Come on, he thinks. It’s just like a muscle. You’ve gotta stretch it a little farther each time so it can get stronger . 

Reaching the two minute mark is agony. He slogs through every breath that follows like he’s trying to breathe through a cloud of thick, black smoke. Fire flashes before his mind’s eye, and he remembers the night that the RDA returned. He remembers Norm waking him up, his panicked voice barely audible over the sirens blaring around the base, warning of enemy fire approaching. He’d barely had time to pack up a few photos, his songcord, and his book on Pandoran botany before he was practically dragged out onto a Samson and fleeing the base.

The memory surrounds him so completely that he doesn’t even notice the black spots rapidly encroaching on his vision. Not until there is a cry of “Monkey Boy!” and he’s being tackled away from his perch on the edge of the mountain. Rock cuts into his back, but he barely has time to feel the sting because someone is shoving his mask back over his face. They initiate the seal and slam a palm hard onto the center of his chest, shocking him into taking a deep gulp of air.

His breath fogs up the front of the mask as the filter kicks in, but through it he sees Kiri. She hauls him up by the shoulders as soon as his breathing regulates, and starts shaking him so hard his teeth clack together.

“What were you doing ?!” Kiri screams. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Her face is turned down into a snarling frown, but when the fog clears from his mask he sees intermingled with the anger is something much more vulnerable. 

Fear, he realizes. 

Kiri yanks him into a tight hug, and he wraps his arms around her back in return. She is trembling beneath his hands. He can’t be sure if that’s with rage or distress. When she finally releases him he puts a good amount of space between them and wraps his arms around his torso. 

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” he says, not meeting her eyes. “I was just trying to see how long I could last. I’ve never let it go that far before, I’m sorry.” 

“What do you mean ‘before?’ Do you do this often?” Kiri’s voice is shrill, and she looks ready to start shaking him again. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘often.' I’ve only tried it a few times." He gets up onto his knees and tries to inject some excitement into his voice. "But every time I do I can breathe for longer. I’m improving, Kiri!” 

His sister rolls her eyes and stands. She begins to pace the length of the cliffside. “Improving for what? So in twenty years you can breathe air for ten minutes? You fucking skxawng!”

The English curse right next to Na’vi would sound odd and out of place coming from anybody else, but when Kiri says it Spider flinches. Her words cut deep, and he flushes in embarrassment. She doesn’t believe he can do it. 

“Mom and Dad are gonna be so pissed when they find out—”

Spider jumps up instantly. He yanks hard at her tail. “You can’t tell Mom and Dad! They’d lock me up for good, or they’d sear this mask right into my skull!” 

Kiri looks at him like he’s the one being unreasonable. She opens her mouth to argue, but suddenly stops. Leaning into his space, her eyes bore deep into his, searching his face for something he doesn’t know. She must find whatever it is she’s looking for, because the anger smooths out of her expression, settling into a mild annoyance. 

“Fine,” she concedes tightly, standing up straight. “But only because the war party just came back and Dad is already pissed enough. By the way,” she reaches out a hand and pokes his shoulder roughly. “I found you.” 

Spider huffs, rolling his eyes. He’d forgotten in the chaos of almost suffocating that they were playing Hide and Seek, and Kiri was the seeker this round. Still, relief and gratitude wash over him as it sinks in that she isn't going to tell anybody about what happened. He’s sure Kiri is going to try and make him swear he won’t do it again, and he already knows he is going to lie to her about it. He’ll just have to be more careful next time. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s just head back before everyone gets worried.” Together they start the journey back, scaling the side of the mountain and crawling along the sturdy vines and branches on the way to High Camp. 

“What is Dad mad about this time?” 

Kiri glances back at him with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think?” She retorts. 

Her tone is an answer in itself. Spider shakes his head exasperatedly. In unison, he and Kiri say the first name that comes to mind.

“Lo’ak.” 

↔

Spider doesn’t know where he gets the bright idea to explore the old battleground. All his life, his parents have taught him and his siblings that they are free to explore all of Eywa’eveng, as long as they use caution. Nothing was off limits, from the great waterfalls to the highest treetops. Except for the old battleground. It wasn’t safe with all the scrap metal and abandoned weaponry. All Omaticayan children know to steer clear, or risk facing the wrath of their elders.

Deep down he knows that’s exactly why he suggests the adventure to Lo’ak. His brother is moping around High Camp, cursing under his breath about being grounded for the next month. Spider is still sensitive from Kiri dismissing him yesterday. So when he approaches Lo’ak with his plan to explore the forbidden battleground while Neteyam and their parents are out flying, he can tell by the dangerous spark in Lo’ak’s eyes that his brother is all in. They both have something to prove, and they both want to show everybody else that they are worthy of being taken seriously. 

Both Spider and Lo’ak have a fair amount of pride and stubbornness built into their very core. They don’t even try to deny it. For Spider it comes from being the oldest son but still the most vulnerable, from being unable to even breathe on his own without somebody’s watchful eye looking down on him. In Lo’ak’s case it comes from being the youngest son and always trying to amount to higher expectations, never quite being as good at fighting as Neteyam or as good at healing as Kiri. So on the occasion that they both put their heads together, the end result is a virulent combination of half-thought through decisions and dangerous risks. 

Of course, they don’t plan to be caught by Kiri on their way out. She finds them in a shadowed corner while they are making sure they have all their belongings for the journey. It doesn’t take much more than a scathing look from her (one she definitely picked up from their grandmother) for them to reveal their plans. 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t try to talk them out of it.

“I’m going with you. Someone has to be there to look after you two knuckleheads,” Kiri announces haughtily. She heard Norm use the human term one time years ago while he was recounting how infuriating their father was back when they first met. It’s still one of her favorite insults today. 

And if Kiri is coming, then Tuk just has to tag along. Lo’ak tries to argue, but he is no match for the Big Threat of “I’ll tell Mom.” So what was originally supposed to be an outing of two quickly becomes an adventure for four. 

The old battleground is as beautiful as it is daunting. 

Great, hulking machinery lay twisted up in trees and scattered in pieces on the ground. Much of the metal is rusted, and glass shards from the shattered windows of gunships have long since been weathered down by rain and other elements over the last sixteen years. Nature has grown in abundance throughout the destruction, more persevering than any Sky People technology could ever hope to be. Spider is awestruck. The sheer amount of history the site beholds raises bumps over his skin.

Even as he tries to enjoy himself, the ghosts of the past seem to stare holes into the back of his head. Every breeze against his back feels like a soft but firm push urging him to turn back , go home where you belong .

Lo’ak climbs a tree to investigate a dilapidated Samson, and Tuk asks flippantly, “Are there any dead bodies up there?” 

Spider laughs and climbs up beside Lo’ak get a look for himself. The cockpit of the Samson has a huge hole in the glass windscreen, like something ginormous and strong had crashed straight through it. There is no pilot inside, just the tattered remains of a seat belt and a bunch of leaves in the footwell. He imagines an ikran swooping down on the RDA pilot and snatching them up like they weighed nothing. He wonders if they even had time to scream.

Then, inexplicably, he thinks about Trudy Chacon. He knows that Norm and his Dad were particularly close to the pilot, and that she died fighting against the RDA. One night several years ago, while he was sneaking around Hell’s Gate instead of sleeping he found Norm wiping his eyes while sitting at a holodesk. He was watching one of his old video logs from his time in the RDA.

In the video Norm looked younger than Spider had ever seen him, his face smooth of wrinkles and eyes wide with naivety. At his side was a woman with tan skin and dark, straight hair. She had a wry smile and a rough voice, but her eyes exuded warmth. Spider never got caught spying, and he never brought it up, either. Something about the moment felt private for Norm, and Spider didn’t have the heart to intrude on it.

Mood effectively dampened, he climbs down from the tree and says, “Lo’ak, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Let’s head back."

“No way, bro!” Lo’ak replies, affronted. “We just got here! And this was your idea in the first place.” 

It’s true. On any other day, he wouldn’t be so anxious to run home. But there’s suddenly a bad feeling creeping up on him. He can’t explain it, he’s not even sure that it isn’t just his conscience reminding him of their parents’ rules. It makes his breathing stutter and his head swim, his stomach turning into knots the deeper into the battleground they go. He checks the exopack at his hip on the off chance that this bad feeling is actually him running out of air, but no. The battery light is still green.

At some point Kiri had gone off on her own. A 360 degree turn reveals that she is nowhere in his immediate view. He makes his way towards a thicket of shrubbery, calling his intentions over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna go look for Kiri. Keep an eye on Tuk!” He tells Lo’ak. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lo’ak responds half-heartedly. His attention has been engulfed by the remnants of another wreckage that looks like it has been stamped into the ground by a massive hoof. 

It feels like he is walking in circles as he searches. This part of the forest is dense with trees and brush after being left virtually untouched for more than a decade. None of the Omaticaya hunt here, unwilling to disturb the final resting place of so many of their brothers and sisters. In their absence, the forest has been left to grow unheeded, the greenery and colorful flora like an endless maze with no true start or finish.

Just when he is starting to get desperate enough to yell out his sister’s name, a woodsprite floats into his periphery. It hovers in front of his face like it is observing him curiously. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Do you know where Kiri is?” 

The delicate little legs of the atorkirina push off of nothing as it starts heading purposefully in the opposite direction Spider has been walking. With a smile he turns to follow it. A few minutes of walking, and it leads him into a shaded clearing. The tall grass under his feet shivers from a light breeze like the very ground is breathing deeply. In the center of the clearing lies Kiri, peacefully sleeping.

So much for looking out for us , Spider thinks fondly.

A dozen other atorkirina surround her, resting on her shoulder and legs and in her hair as she dozes on her side. He doesn’t have the heart to wake her. When he kneels at her side, the woodsprites lean towards him, tickling at any bare skin of his they can reach. The uneasiness from earlier melts away as the sprites continue to twirl around him and Kiri, and he places his bow and arrows down by his side. He lays down on his back next to her. The grass brushes against his shoulders and the soles of his feet, the breeze rustling through his hair like a soothing pass of hands. 

Before he knows it, Spider’s eyes are growing heavier and heavier as he blinks up at the trees. In just a few minutes, he is asleep. 

↔

It’s some time later when small hands shake him awake. He slowly blinks open his eyes, the last wisps of his dream already fading from his memory. All he can see is one large, yellow eye, and the twists of hair that hang down around Tuk’s head. 

“Holy—” Spider jolts to sit up and nearly bumps heads with Tuk. But her reflexes are fast, and she moves back just in time as she giggles uncontrollably. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” She greets. 

Spider huffs a laugh, his heart rate slowing, and looks around. The atorkirina have all gone, leaving only him and his siblings to occupy the space. To his right, Kiri is slowly coming to as well from Lo’ak tapping her shoulder. Raising his gaze to the sky, he sees that the sun is already well past its midway point in the sky. They have less than an hour before eclipse. 

“We should head back, it’s getting late,” he suggests and pushes himself to stand, grabbing his bow and arrows along the way. 

“Wait, I wanna show you guys something!” Lo’ak says, leading them all out of the clearing with a bounce in his step. 

Together they continue walking further from the way they came, until Lo’ak stops at a pair of tracks in the soil. He crouches next to them and spreads his hands out to proudly show off his discovery. Spider analyzes the tracks. They’re boot prints, and about four sizes too big for a human.

“Avatars?” Spider asks, that gnawing anxiety returning in his gut with a vengeance.

“Maybe,” Lo’ak says, sobering up quickly. His eyebrows draw together in focus and he begins walking in a diagonal direction to follow the rest of the boot prints. “But they’re for sure not ours.” 

“What are you doing?” Kiri questions, but Lo’ak immediately shushes her. 

Spider glances worriedly at the sky even as he follows Lo’ak. Thirty-five minutes before eclipse, give or take.  

“We should just call it in. Or maybe we could come back tomorrow—”

“Spider, what is your deal, today?” Lo’ak hisses. “First you want to explore the battleground, then you want to go home, and now you want to tell Mom and Dad about where we are?”

“I just don’t think a little adventure is worth putting us all in danger!” Spider whispers furiously, mindful of their surroundings. Behind him Kiri and Tuk are holding hands, cautiously following. 

Lo’ak ignores him and turns back to the tracks. The boot prints disappear as the soil transitions into thick greenery, but the trail of crushed plants indicate where their target’s heavy footfalls trampled. 

“We’re careful, you know that. Whatever we find we can tell Dad about when we get back, and then he’ll have to see us as real warriors!” 

“Is that what this is about? Some pissing contest with Dad?” Kiri cuts in hotly. 

Tuk runs up to Spider to whisper in his ear, “What’s a pissing contest?” Spider shrugs her off with a hushed promise to explain later as Lo’ak and Kiri continue to argue. 

Movement from the corner of his eye, several yards away. Spider ducks down behind a thick group of ferns, and his siblings quickly join him. They all stare wide eyed as a group of avatars in full camo gear mill about the ruins of a Sky People shack. They’re still too far ahead to see clearly, but going off body language alone, they aren’t friends. 

Spider shares a weighted look with Kiri, then Lo’ak. Tuk leans into his side as she senses their unease, nervous herself even though she is still too young to really grasp the severity of the situation. 

Kiri says what they are all thinking. “We are never supposed to come here.” 

Lo’ak glares at her. “Can you stop?” 

Even as he speaks, Kiri continues. “Dad is going to ground you. For life .”

Taking her words as a challenge instead of the warning they are, Lo’ak dares to move in closer. Spider reaches out to grab his brother’s arm and stop him, but Lo’ak is stronger than him and shrugs him off with a derisive flick of his tail. The dismissiveness hurts just a little, because in all their years growing up together, Lo’ak has rarely ever used his superior strength against Spider. Spider is still the oldest, after all, and even though he is smaller they all try to show him some respect in serious situations. 

Disgruntled, Spider follows after Lo’ak. Kiri and Tuk are close behind, crouched low while sliding silently through the bushes to avoid detection. As the gap between them and the avatars closes, their conversation becomes a bit more clear. 

“Lyle, see if you can get some data off that dash cam,” one of the avatars says. The way he holds himself, head on a swivel as he observes the others working, suggests he is the leader. 

“That thing’s deader than shit, Colonel,” Another male avatar, Lyle, retorts. 

With a smirk and a humorous head tilt, the leader, the so-called Colonel replies, “So were we.” 

Lyle concedes, stepping around a fallen AMP suit as he fiddles with some tech in his hands. Vines surround the suit like a green prison. Standing proud in the center of the suit are two huge arrows. The feathers at the end are a stunning array of yellow, green, and blue, the blend of colors both ominous and lovely in the late afternoon sun. Spider recognizes those feathers. He’s admired them with gentle fingers a million times, stared between them and the steady hands of his mother during hunts as she notched an arrow and prepared to fire.

The Colonel approaches the AMP suit with an inquisitive stare. He brushes his hand over the side and soil crumbles between his fingers, revealing a word carved into the metal. No, not a word. A name. 

In big, bold letters is the name QUARITCH . 

The pieces of the puzzle are slow to come together in his mind, but from what he has already gathered, he doesn’t like the final picture. He turns to Lo’ak, mouth dry and palms damp where he grips his bow firmly. 

“We’ve gotta call this in,” he insists.

Lo’ak looks just as shaken by the reveal of the name as he is, and he nods wordlessly. His fingers move deftly to the comms around his neck, and his hushed voice echoes in Spider’s earpiece as he says, “Devil Dog, Devil Dog, this Eagle Eye, over.” 

Moments later, their dad’s voice returns, “Eagle Eye, send your traffic.” 

Spider listens tensely as Lo’ak explains the situation with the avatars, their weapons and gear, their strange mannerisms that give away the fact that they are definitely not part of any Na’vi clan. He cringes as Dad asks to know their location. Kiri tugs Tuk protectively against her chest, one hand on her own earpiece as she listens to the conversation. 

“Um… we’re at the old shack.” 

Dad’s voice is hard when he demands, “Who’s ‘we?’” 

Spider fights back a wince at the tone, and Lo’ak swallows audibly. “Me, Spider, Kiri…and Tuk.” 

At her name, Tuk whimpers a little, looking skywards. Kiri shushes her softly, rubbing her arm in reassurance. But everyone is shaken up. This adventure is no longer fun, and any gratification Spider might have felt from daring to go somewhere forbidden had worn off long ago. He wants to smack himself for thinking this was ever a good idea. He was supposed to be the older brother, what was he doing putting his younger siblings directly in the line of danger? 

Dad orders them to fall back with caution, and the controlled steel in his voice is worse than any angry shouting of the past. Lo’ak gives him an affirmative, and together the four of them back away from the shack and the strange avatars. Their movements are slow and deliberate, that of hunters realizing their judgment was miscalculated and their prey is actually a predator. They keep backing up until the foliage obscures the avatars and their voices fade out completely. Then, they break out into a run. 

It isn’t nearly as fast as they should be running. But they can’t risk clomping through the forest and disturbing everything around them unless they want to be discovered. Plus, Spider thinks bitterly, his legs are barely longer than Tuk’s at her age, so Kiri and Lo’ak have to be mindful to slow down for the two of them. She’s only eight, but in a few years time, even Tuk will be able to outpace him. And he’ll once again be the slowest and the weakest of the bunch. 

Maybe it’s these self-deprecating thoughts that distract him. Maybe it’s Kiri and Lo’ak arguing in the background, or his own pulse throbbing in his ears. Or maybe, his senses just aren’t good enough. Whatever it is, he doesn’t notice that they’re being followed, not until Tuk says—

“You guys, it’s almost eclipse, come on—” and she cuts off with a shriek of terror as an avatar wearing full camo snatches her up in his arms. 

“Tuk!” Kiri exclaims, followed by a yelp of surprise as another avatar comes up from behind her.

“Gotcha!” The one holding Tuk calls triumphantly, and in moments Spider and his siblings are surrounded by avatars with AR’s pointed right at them.

Lo’ak and Spider draw their weapons on instinct, baring their teeth and pressing against each other back to back. Spider growls, but his intimidation tactics are useless in the face of avatars that are no less than three feet taller than him. It’s like they were waiting this whole time to catch him off guard so they could attack. 

“Put it down! Put it down right now!” Another avatar commands at the same time another shouts, “Hands up! All of you, hands up!”

Kiri is shouting in Na’vi, Tuk is crying, and there’s so much going on it makes Spider dizzy with adrenaline. He doesn’t comply, keeping his arrow at the ready in case he can get a lucky shot at one of the avatar’s eyes. He hisses when Lo’ak breaks their formation and drops his own bow and arrows. What is he doing?

“Spider, put it down,” Lo’ak urges in Na’vi. When he doesn’t immediately listen, Lo’ak says again, resigned, “Put it down.” 

It feels so wrong. Giving up in the face of the enemy while his siblings are at risk is the last thing he should be doing. But he knows that he is no match for these military grade weapons, nor the clearly trained avatars wielding them. Even if he hits one, the others will most certainly fire their guns, and then his siblings will be nothing but bloody target practice. With a final snarl, Spider tosses his bow and arrow into the bushes. 

As soon as he does, the avatars seize them all, yanking them apart. They grab Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk by their tswin, and Spider by the hair at the back of his head. Kiri grunts as the avatar holding her kicks the back of her knee and sends her to the ground. Tuk’s pained cries for her sister feel like blows to his chest, and Spider wonders if maybe one of the avatars have shot him after all. 

“Mawey, mawey,” Kiri tries to sound comforting, but her voice is trembling. 

The Colonel strides up to the group, gun brandished before him with his finger on the trigger. His expression is smug, his steps lazy as he turns in a slow circle to look from Tuk, to Lo’ak, to Kiri, before stopping to linger on Spider. Spider’s ears flick disdainfully at the attention, and he bares his teeth. 

“What have we here?” The Colonel asks. 

The avatar holding Kiri tightens her grip as the one from the shack, Lyle, grips Kiri’s wrist with two gloved hands. Sunlight bounces off the sunglasses resting atop his head. Spider looks up. Fifteen minutes to eclipse. 

“Hey, Colonel, check it out. Four fingers.” Kiri’s hand spasms in his hold. Spider makes an aborted step towards her, but the avatar behind him yanks harshly on his hair. “We got a half-breed.” 

“Shit,” Spider mutters under his breath. 

The Colonel peers at Kiri, looking between her petrified face and human hand. Then he turns to face Lo’ak. The avatar holding Lo’ak presses a handgun against his temple in warning. 

“Show me your fingers,” The Colonel orders. 

Lo’ak’s expression is shuttered, indifferent as he silently raises his hands. At the last second he flips his wrists and sticks his two middle fingers out at the Colonel. Pride zings through Spider, and he can see a similar glint in his brother’s eyes. The hand gesture is distinctly human, something they all learned from the people at Hell’s Gate. They all relished in their ability to do it, finding it hilarious as kids especially since Neteyam couldn’t join them. They all loved him, and were raised to never exclude Neteyam just as they wouldn’t exclude Spider, but there has always been an unspoken bond between Spider, Lo’ak, and Kiri. They were the genetic outcasts, all of them possessing the human characteristics that Neteyam and Tuk did not. 

Any satisfaction glowing in Spider’s chest snuffs out the instant the Colonel starts to laugh. It’s a bitter, humorless sound. 

“You’re his, aren’t you.” The Colonel says it like a fact, not a question. Lo’ak snarls, his sharp canines flashing. “You’re his, alright.” 

The sarcastic camaraderie falls from the Colonel’s frame and he grabs hold of Lo’ak’s tswin in an unforgiving grip. Lo’ak releases a choked scream of pain and frustration, the sound so raw that Spider can’t help calling out for his brother. 

“Lo’ak, don’t!” Don’t show them you’re afraid. Don’t answer their questions. Don’t get hurt or else I’ll never forgive myself.

Spider’s message is received loud and clear, because when the Colonel interrogates Lo’ak on the whereabouts of their dad, he reveals nothing. It doesn’t make it any less painful to watch. The Colonel’s Na’vi is choppy and unpracticed when he demands answers, but he shakes Lo’ak so hard that the phantom pain makes Spider’s own skull ache. Tuk starts yelling when the Colonel draws a knife, its serrated blade like sharp teeth promising to hurt and hurt bad , and Kiri starts begging. 

But to their surprise, the Colonel drops Lo’ak down to the forest floor. Then he turns menacingly on his heel back to Kiri. He stalks up to her like a predator about to pounce, and his intentions are clear. If Lo’ak isn’t going to talk out of preservation for his own life, then surely he will talk to protect his sister’s. Spider sees red. 

“Hey! Hey don’t touch her! ” He howls, throwing himself with all his might at the Colonel. The fervor with which he fights is enough to surprise the avatar holding him, and they stumble one step forward before finding their balance again. 

It doesn’t get him free, but it gets the attention off of Kiri. He hisses and snarls as the Colonel turns to face him. Fingers dig into his bicep so hard it feels like his very bones are grinding together. The Colonel looks him up and down, unimpressed. 

“What’s your name, kid?” He asks, dropping his knife to his side. 

Spider feels nauseous. He wants to throw up at this douchebag’s feet, get his shiny combat boots all dirty and then spit on his face for good measure. He wants to run away. He wants to snatch the knife out of the Colonel’s hand and slice the blade right through his jugular. He wants to hide.

Instead, he replies with as much hatred as he can muster, “Spider. Sully.” 

The revelation draws a genuine look of shock from the Colonel. His lips part just a little like he is at a loss for words, and he flicks his hand at the avatar holding Spider. Just like that, Spider is released, but he fights back his immediate urge to lunge. That won’t bode over well for anybody. Maybe he’ll get a good few licks in, an eye gouging at best, but it’ll just result in him getting shot, probably. Or worse, he’ll be restrained and forced to watch as the avatars kill his siblings instead. 

The Colonel gets down on one knee in front of Spider. “You one of his, too?” When Spider does not elect to answer, he continues, “What test tube did you come out of, looking like that?” 

Next to Spider, Tuk snarls ferociously at the insult. 

“I’m not the one who’s a science experiment here, dipshit.” 

The Colonel is unbothered, eyeing Spider’s blue stripes and pointed ears. His tail flicks behind him in amusement, and there’s a spark in his eye that makes Spider’s blood freeze in his veins. But he doesn’t acknowledge Spider any further, motioning for the avatar to restrain him again. 

“What are we gonna do, boss?” Lyle asks. 

The Colonel stands to his full height, hand going to the comms device around his throat. It’s like the one Spider and his siblings have, but thinner and more modern. The technology is obviously newer than the near twenty year-old models that the Omaticaya could get their hands on. They wait in silence with baited breath as the Colonel has a conversation with someone over the comms, discussing extraction and rendezvous points. The avatars begin to move, dragging them along even as Lo’ak gnashes his teeth and Kiri struggles. 

“Be advised we are bringin’ in high value prisoners,” The Colonel relays. 

“Let us go!” Kiri shouts, and the avatar holding her shakes her by the arm, hissing at her to shut up. 

They all fight to no avail as they are dragged back to the old shack. The avatars bind their wrists with orange slap cuffs. Spider grunts when he gets thrown down next to the rusted foot of the AMP suit. He darts glances at his siblings, noting how they've all been forced to sit apart from each other. The avatars are rough with them, barking orders to stay silent and comply. When he counts them, what he thought was originally a group of six turns out to be twelve avatars, each armed to the teeth and with a vendetta against Dad to boot.

He looks up at the sky once more, noting that they have less than five minutes of sunlight left. Nobody speaks except for the avatars making passing comments about fuckin Jake Sully , got to live and have a whole bunch of runts while we were rotting away . Thunder rumbles close by, promising Eywa’s wrath in an oncoming storm.

A few feet away the Colonel and Lyle huddle together over a holopad screen. On it plays a video from the dashcam of the AMP suit. Spider peeks around the giant rusted foot he’s sitting next to and watches with them. It’s a video of his parents, except they’re sixteen years younger and their faces are covered in war paint. He listens and growls quietly as Lyle and the Colonel exchange horrible words about his mom, cursing at the image of his dad.

Where are they? They must be so worried right now. Guilt settles heavy and thick like tar in the back of his throat. This is all his fault. His siblings are going to be imprisoned and possibly executed by the RDA because of his stupid idea to come to the old battleground. He really was the weakest link for thinking this would work out in their favor.

Tears spring up in his eyes and he shuts them tightly to keep them from falling. As eclipse finally settles over Eywa’eveng, darkness overtakes the light behind his eyelids. On the video there are the sounds of an arrow unleashing from a bow, followed by a grunt of pain and a large crash. He opens his eyes again just as words on the holopad blink red, reading signal lost . The distant horror on the Colonel’s face all but confirms Spider’s suspicions. 

The Colonel is the avatar of Miles Quaritch. Which makes no sense, because Miles Quaritch has been dead for over a decade, and his skeleton is currently rotting in the very AMP suit he sits next to. The other avatars must also be dead RDA soldiers, old friends of Quaritch's from the war that stole away his people’s home. It’s impossible, and yet it’s right here in front of him. He watches, unable to so much as blink as Quaritch plucks his own tiny, human skull from the suit. 

Quaritch examines the skull, cleaned of flesh and hair after years of being exposed to nature’s wildlife and elements. But the three claw marks Spider remembers seeing cut across Miles Quaritch’s face in old pictures are carved deep into the bone. 

“You want us to recover these remains?” Lyle asks at his side. 

In lieu of an answer, Quaritch crushes the skull in one hand. It collapses into dust and fragments of bone, so fragile under Quaritch’s grip. Spider flinches and gasps, tearing his gaze away. His heart pounds furiously in his chest, matching the pace of the thunder that rumbles from directly above them. A light rain starts up. Spider curls his knees into his chest, staring down at the exopack at his hip. The battery light has turned yellow since the last time he checked. Has it really only been a couple of hours? It feels like a lifetime ago. 

“Heads up, three minutes,” Quaritch declares, a hand on his earpiece. His voice booming through the forest after so many minutes of hushed conversation. 

Spider is hauled up from the ground along with his siblings, and he thinks this is it . This is where we all die. An avatar with a thin face and an ugly half-mohawk restrains him with one arm and Kiri with the other, and they’re forced to stare straight ahead. Rain begins to fall in earnest now, and Kiri starts praying under her breath for the Great Mother to grant them a way out of this. 

They both grunt when their captor drags them roughly to face the other direction after Quaritch mutters for him to “watch their six.” Kiri's prayers get more intense, and Spider silently joins her. Please Great Mother, please. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, just please get them out of here . 

Then, from somewhere nearby, an animal yips. Kiri’s ears flick in recognition and she opens her eyes just as Spider sucks in a sharp breath. His own ears turn towards the sound as it comes again, closer this time. He turns to look over his shoulder to find Lo'ak staring right at him. His brother nods once. 

Chills that have nothing to do with the cold rain race along his arms and down his spine. 

The yip sounds for a third time, and he knows that they are saved.  

Chapter Text

“Srung si aylaru ma Eywa.” Help us return to the others, Eywa, Kiri whispers. 

Mom’s signature call rings through the air again, and she prays more fervently. 

But everything is wrong. These avatars are disturbing the balance around them with their hostile words and rough hands. In fact, ever since the Sky People returned Eywa’eveng has felt distinctly off , like the world has been tilted off its axis. It vibrates down to her very bones like she’s plucking an instrument with a chord out of tune.

She isn’t the only one to sense it, either. The forest is pitch dark, no bioluminescence in sight. The only light comes from the moon above, painting the forest in shades of pale gray. It’s as if Eywa herself is hiding. Kiri gets it. The fear is so thick in her own throat she feels like she might just choke on it. 

“Ayoe mong ma sa’nok za’u.” Come protect us, mother . 

She doesn’t know who that last part is for. Whether it’s for Eywa, for her birth mother, or for the mother that raised her. Maybe it is all in one. The rain is cool against her flushed skin, dripping down her face and past her moving lips like chilled tears. 

She says it again, “Ayoe mong ma sa’nok za’u .”

Finally, the avatar restraining her gets fed up. “Shut up!” He hisses right in her face. 

He yanks her head back so forcefully that he rips out some of the hair on her scalp. It stings, but the change in position grants Mom the opening she was waiting for. The dull twang of an arrow being unleashed from a bow is undetectable to anyone not listening for it. But in the breath between release and impact, Kiri can almost see the arrow’s path, like she and the arrow are one and the same as they cut through the night. 

There's a fleshy squelching noise as the arrow embeds into the avatar’s skull, and he drops to the ground.

Dead. 

“Contact rear!” Quaritch bellows.

Miles Quaritch , the man who murdered her birth mother. He’s right next to her in a lab-grown Na’vi body, scar free but with a snarl just as ugly as Grace described it being in her video logs. Kiri recognized him right away, and she doesn’t know what that says about her. Maybe his features have been impressed into her very genetic code or something.

Quaritch and the other avatars start shooting. She covers her ears against the deafening gunshots, barely hearing Spider’s shout of “Kiri!” as he shoves them both down to avoid getting hit.

Blinding bursts of fire illuminate the darkness. There is screaming, but she can’t tell who it is among the chaos. Then she’s choking through a thick cloud of artificial smoke hissing into the atmosphere. Somebody pulls her to her feet and shoves her forward as she coughs. 

“Run!” Spider yells. 

She books it away from the hazy fog and gunshots, but doesn't make it far before somebody snatches her by her tswin and pulls. With a yelp she turns, coming face to face with a pissed off avatar. Shit .  

An arrow whizzes past her face and the avatar screams as it burrows into her shoulder. Kiri is frozen as the avatar falls back, distantly aware that she should be running, or looking for her siblings, or trying to find Mom in the trees. But she can’t . Her head is throbbing, the skin of her wrists is chafing against her binds, and her legs just won't respond. 

Then Spider appears right next to her again, even though she could’ve sworn she saw him run past her when the avatar caught her. He grabs her arm and throws her in front of him.

“Come on!” 

Her feet act before her brain does. She unfreezes and they propel her forwards, the callouses on the soles of her feet keeping her upright as she slips on the wet fauna. Spider’s voice keeps her grounded, shouting for her to keep going, that he’s right behind her. But it’s so dark, and no matter how many times she tries to blink the rain out of her eyes it continues to pelt down on her. She’s unfamiliar with this part of the forest so she just keeps running straight in hopes that distance will help her gain the advantage. 

The gunfire abruptly ceases, leaving a ringing in Kiri’s ears. She doesn’t dare stop running. All she can hear now is the crunching of plants under her feet and her own heavy breathing. What’s going on? 

She doesn’t have to wait long to find it out. Just as she considers turning behind her to check the state of things, a ground-shaking BOOM comes from directly behind her. There’s a great heat at her back as a ball of fire explodes into the tree branches right where she and Spider had just been. It rocks through the wide branch they are running across and she stumbles, her tail just barely keeping her from overbalancing off the side. 

Spider screams. Kiri whips her head around to check on her brother, but he’s not behind her anymore. Branches crack below and Spider’s grunts echo, and she looks down. Spider is rolling down a sharp incline, barreling through the brush at neck breaking speed. The forest is too wet for him to grab hold of anything to stop his descent. 

“Spider!” She screams. “Spider!”

The image of him disappears into the darkness. No, no, no . Shouted voices relaying orders, distant but still way too close for comfort. She has to keep going, but she can’t leave Spider. He didn’t leave her.  But she can’t possibly climb in this state. The visibility is too low, any footholds are too wet, and her hands are bound together. 

There’s only one option. Bracing herself, she brings her hands up to cover the back of her head, and throws herself off the tree branch after her brother.

The descent is brutal. Leaves and twigs scratch against her skin and tangle in her hair, and she keeps her lips tightly shut to prevent anything from getting in her mouth. All sense of direction is lost as she careens down the hill, her stomach in her throat as she rolls and rolls. The air is knocked right out of her lungs and she’s barely able to keep her knees and elbows bent to protect her torso. 

Finally, she hits the ground on her back with a breathless “oof!” As soon as she is no longer actively falling, Kiri forces her feet underneath her. The movement nearly sends her off balance again. The world in front of her spins like the glowing wings of a kenten, but just a few feet away Spider is sprawled out on the forest floor. She scrambles over to him, his name on her lips. 

“Spider! Come on, they’re right behind us, they'll be here any minute!” She urges, helping him sit up by pulling on his arms. 

But Spider does not stand. He growls in frustration and shakes his head. 

“Forget it! My ankle got caught in the fall, I– I can’t—” He cuts off with a hiss of pain as he prods at the bone on the outside of his left ankle. 

Even in the darkness, the swelling is visible around his foot. When she gingerly puts her fingers against his ankle, he flinches away. The skin is hot to the touch. There’s no way he can put pressure on that leg at all. Angry voices reach her ears at the same time they do Spider’s and they both turn in that direction. 

The avatars are getting closer. How did Quaritch find them so fast? Kiri turns back to Spider, sliding her bound hands under one of his arms.

“Come on, we have to go! They’re coming—” 

“Kiri, no!” Spider cuts her off. “You can’t carry me and I can’t go on my own. You need to leave now .” 

He squirms out of her hold and drops back to the ground with a pained shout. Every time she tries pulling him back up, he smacks her hands away. 

“I can’t just leave you here! They’ll find you!” Kiri cries. 

“Please, Kiri.” The pure desperation in Spider’s voice slices through her like a dagger. A ray of moonlight shines down on them through the trees, illuminating his beseeching eyes. “I couldn’t live with myself if they caught you, too.” 

This can’t be happening. Kiri can’t really be expected to choose between her own safety and her oldest brother’s, right? Her mouth opens and closes but no words come out. The voices continue to get closer, and Spider shoves her away with all his might. He’s shouting at her to go, to hide, and against her better judgment she listens. 

She leaps onto a low branch and slides her bindings over the one above her, wrapping her legs around the trunk and pulling herself up. It’s an arduous, slippery task, but she doesn’t stop. She climbs as fast as she is able even as her limbs scream at her from the poor climbing form. Only when she deems herself a safe enough height from being spotted does she finally pause for breath.

She scrambles around so she is right side up on a wide branch and looks down through a cover of leaves. Two avatars led by Quaritch surround Spider, their guns drawn. Her heart wrenches as she watches Spider snap and kick at them to no avail. Quaritch throws Spider over his shoulder with no difficulty.

He’s so small . How could she have listened to him when he told her to run? She should’ve stayed and fought for him, or hidden him in the bushes and let them take her instead. One of the avatars starts barking orders for them to move out, and she watches helplessly as they go. 

A sudden hand grasps her shoulder and she swings her arms out blindly. Her mom rears back from her flailing limbs to avoid getting hit, and Kiri relaxes immediately when she recognizes her. 

“Mom!” She cries. 

“Kiri, come, come!” Mom exclaims shrilly, grabbing her by the cuffs on her hands and pulling her away. 

Kiri tries to pull back, tries to explain that Spider is down there and the avatars are getting away, but she can’t get the words out. It’s like her vocal chords have been snipped, and all she can do is gasp as she stumbles through the forest, dragged along by her mother. They run until they meet up with Dad, who has Tuk wrapped in a firm embrace. Lo’ak is there, too, heaving with exhaustion and not fighting like he usually would be as Neteyam looks him over for injuries.

Then, a giant spotlight ignites the sky above them, and Mom shoves her into the undergrowth of some trees to hide. The sound of whirring blades from a giant Samson roars over the rainfall. The light is nearly too bright to stare at directly, so she has to squint as she watches the tiny forms of the avatars ascending up into the ship. She can’t see him, but she knows that among them is Spider.

Only when the light fades and the Samson flies off does her family come out of hiding. 

“Okay, we’re good,” Dad declares. They all breathe a sigh of relief. 

Kiri lets Mom pull her and Tuk into a hug. Mom’s arms are strong, but Kiri feels her shaking. Or is that herself? A whimper falls from her lips as Mom thanks Eywa for bringing them back to her safely. 

“Where’s Spider?” Lo’ak’s question breaks through the moment. 

Kiri pulls away from Mom to look at her brothers. Dad has a supporting hand on Lo’ak’s chest as Lo’ak looks around despondently. Neteyam lifts his head from where it was pressed to their dad’s shoulder at the stretch of silence. 

A ragged gasp escapes Kiri and all eyes turn to her. She looks to her dad hopelessly trying to explain what happened. But her tongue feels heavy in her mouth. 

“Kiri, where’s your brother?” Dad orders a little breathlessly. His eyes are wide, too, but he seems to be catching up to the situation all too quickly even as she struggles to answer. 

“They took him!” She finally bursts out. A sob bubbles up in her chest. She looks to Lo’ak. “They took him!” She says again, and her voice cracks. 

Dad kneels down and wraps his arms around her. He rubs soothing circles into her back, but it does nothing to settle the tumultuous grief crashing around inside of her. This is all her fault. This is all her fault . Since she was little, her parents have told her to look after Spider. He was older, yes, but he was smaller, and that put him more at risk. She knew that, Spider knew that. But she still let him go. 

A pained, heartbroken sound comes from Mom. It's like nothing Kiri has ever heard before, and she can’t stand looking over in fear of the expression she’ll see on Mom’s face. A deep rumble of thunder booms above them.

“It’s okay. We’re gonna get him back. It’ll be okay, he’s a tough kid,” Dad whispers in her sopping wet hair. 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left him there. I should have done something, Kiri wants to say. But her voice is gone again. She finally breaks down and cries, full-bodied sobs that wrack through her frame. Dad cups a hand around the back of her head, shushing her. 

“We’re all gonna be okay, I promise,” Dad says again. 

Kiri just cries harder against his shoulder. Don’t make promises you can’t keep , she doesn’t say. When Dad’s breath quivers on his next inhale, she’s pretty sure he already knows. 

↔

She falls asleep almost as soon as they get back to High Camp. She sags into her hammock and curls up tight, hugging herself as if that'll protect her from the Sky People that attacked her family. 

The morning after, Kiri wakes up and thinks it was all a dream.

She's had vivid dreams before, especially after the humans returned. Horrible nightmares of her family being burned alive, of the Omaticaya being rounded up and executed. The one she has most often is of being trapped in an amino tank while the scientists walk right by her, not paying her a single second of attention even as she bangs on the glass and chokes on the fluid inside the tank. So the first morning that she wakes up after Spider is taken, she treats it like every other day after having woken up from a horrible dream. 

First, she opens her eyes and just breathes. She feels the woven material of the hammock surrounding her, letting it ground her and remind her where she is. The morning after a really bad vivid dream always leaves her muscles feeling weak and shaky, her heart rate elevated as if she had been screaming and crying for hours. But that’s all it is, a dream. She’s home, she’s safe.

When her eyes adjust to the darkness inside the tent, she sits up and yawns. The sounds of other early risers drift in from outside the tent: quiet morning chatter, cookfires starting up, the flapping of ikran wings as hunters return with fresh game. 

It’s still dark inside, meaning Spider hasn't come to their tent yet. It is the responsibility of the first one awake to get the fire started up, so she has gotten used to waking up and seeing him crouched by the hearth, stoking the flames. He must be sleeping in today. Stretching out her limbs, she smiles as she considers sneaking into his room at the shack and waking him up with one of those smelling salts that grandmother uses for unconscious patients.

Blinking the last residuals of sleep from her eyes she looks around at the place she has called home for the last year. It isn’t as spacious as their marui in the forest, all of The People had to size down when they fled to the Hallelujah Mountains. But home is not so much a place as it is the people you choose to make it with. And her family is most certainly her home. She feels them as much as she feels Eywa, in every breath she breathes, in every step she takes. She is at home because she has her family with her.

She steps out of the hammock and immediately goes to the hearth at the center of the tent. She whispers good morning prayers to the Great Mother as she works, paying close attention to the way her practiced hands move along the dried out bark and coals. She pushes the last bits of her bad dream from her mind. The deep orange embers start to glow; they cast flickering light along the walls, and she stands and looks over the faces of her siblings.

Lo'ak is drooling in his sleep, and his arm is slung over Neteyam's neck in a position that definitely means his shoulder will be sore when he wakes. Neteyam is face down with his arms at his sides, looking more like a log than a person. All of their hammocks are arranged right next to each other. Kiri's, Tuk's, Lo'ak's, and Neteyam's are all in a neat row, fastened between two large branches that help to hold up the walls of the tent. Right now Tuk's hammock is empty, but a quick turn of Kiri's head reveals that she is sleeping with Mom and Dad on the opposite side of the tent. Her little sister is swaddled between the two of them, so small she would disappear completely if it weren't for her tail that swishes languidly in her sleep.

Mom has an arm wrapped firmly around Tuk's chest, and Dad has an arm thrown across both of them. That's when Kiri sees the dried tear tracks on Mom's face. They glint in the firelight, hinting that her mother has had a restless sleep. She has a brief thought where she wonders why Mom might be crying.

Then it hits her. 

Spider, rolling down the hill in the forest. His desperate face as he pleads for her to run. Rain blinding her as she watches the avatars kidnap him. A bright, white light in the sky, coming to swoop down and tear her family apart for good. 

The influx of images are so severe and sudden and real that they send her toppling over onto the ground. She catches herself by throwing out her hands behind her, but she crashes right into a pile of tools by the fire. They go rolling across the floor with loud clunking noises. When she tries to exhale, a strangled cry comes out instead.

Her parents wake up at once. Dad leaps out of the hammock and gets into a defensive stance. He's holding a handgun, and he looks around the tent with critical eyes searching for threats. Kiri didn't even notice he had the weapon in a sheath strapped to his back until now. Mom is up seconds after, getting down to Kiri's level and throwing her arms out in front of her protectively, snarling. A terse beat passes in which they realize there are no intruders, and they both turn to her in question.

"Ma Kiri, what has happened?" Mom asks, running a hand over the side of Kiri's face. 

The air is suddenly too thin inside the tent. Just like last night, she struggles to speak. What is happening to her? Is she sick or something, has she caught some Sky People illness from the avatars that steals away her control of her own voice? 

"Hmmm? Wuz goin' on?" Lo'ak mumbles, partially sitting up after being awoken from the commotion. 

In his own hammock, Neteyam has begun to stir as well. Hot tears well up in Kiri's eyes as Mom continues to fret over her while Dad double checks outside that there is nobody lurking. The fire is burning bright now, filling the tent with warmth that should be comforting. Instead, the heat is stifling and it makes Kiri break out into a sweat. 

"Sp-Spider," Kiri manages to get out.

Mom makes a punched-out noise, like all the air has left her body. Her face sags in despair. 

"Spider? Is he back?" Tuk's voice comes from their parents' hammock. She is sitting straight up, her eyes half-closed while she yawns widely, but she's gradually waking up at the mention of her oldest brother. 

That's what really makes Kiri lose it.

She wails, and the sound gets halfway out of her mouth before it gets muffled against her Mom's skin when Mom pulls her in for a tight hug. Kiri buries her face in her mother's neck and cries just as hard as she did last night. She didn't think she had enough water left in her body to shed more tears, but clearly she was wrong. Dad kneels behind her. His huge arms surround both her and Mom, hanging on for dear life. Wetness drips into Kiri's hair, and she realizes belatedly that her mom is crying again. 

She expects her dad to whisper reassurances like last night, but no words come. They just hold each other, and she is distantly aware of her siblings crawling down to the floor to join in the hug. They must be crying too, all of their collective tears flooding the tent as they mourn their missing piece. Why else would she feel like she is drowning on dry land, like her chest is actually caving in from the lack of air? 

Air. She can’t get enough of it. Is someone smothering her? Is this what Spider feels like every time he takes off his mask outside like the damned skxawng he is? Her sobs peter out into hiccups, and then just straight up gasps. She can’t breathe. It's absolutely impossible at this point. 

The arms around her turn urgent, squeezing her biceps and pressing against her chest to try and stimulate her into inhaling. When she does not cooperate, several voices rise in volume. Numbly she lets herself get manipulated into being laid out on her back, her arms brought to rest above her head. Everything feels dream-like and far away, like it is happening to her but also to someone else entirely. It makes her nauseous. She can see everything and yet nothing, unable to respond to the calls of her name or even open her mouth to scream for help. 

Her eyes fall shut at some point, but she has no desire to open them again. Not even when someone starts patting at her face and wetness drips onto the skin of her forehead. The darkness behind her eyelids is much more inviting than the pain of being aware. It promises shelter from the howling rain and wind that are her memories of last night, from the image of Spider's small body being hauled away by a monster wearing her skin.

Kiri gives into the darkness without a second thought.

↔

The smell of incense greets her when she wakes again. 

She feels worse than she did after waking up this morning from the dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream. Her eyes feel like they have been scraped and hollowed out, and her throat feels like someone has run a piece of firewood over her esophagus. When she opens her eyes, a blurry face is hovering above hers. The person has a concerned frown and large eyes full of wisdom, framed by dark braids pulled back by a woven headband. Age lines their forehead, but their beauty is not lost with time. 

“Grandmother?” Kiri croaks.

Grandmother shushes her then tilts her head up with one hand. A cupped leaf is put to her lips and liquid drips into her mouth. When Kiri realizes what it is, she gulps the water down gratefully. There is a floral aftertaste to it as she swallows, and the static overtaking her mind solidifies into lucidity at the exact same time she places the taste as Grandmother’s calming tincture. 

“What happened?” Kiri asks. 

“You had what your father’s human friends call a ‘panic attack.’ You are overtired, but will be fine with rest,” Grandmother explains, leaning back on the balls of her feet once Kiri is done drinking. 

Kiri remembers. The memory from this morning should be scarier. She’s never lost complete and utter control of her body and mind like that before. A panic attack? Isn’t that what Dad explained soldiers have sometimes when they get flashbacks from war? She pushes herself into a seated position just as the tent flap to the infirmary's entrance is tossed open. 

“Lo’ak?” Kiri asks when her brother barges in. 

He doesn't acknowledge her right away. 

“Is she free to go?” Lo’ak asks Grandmother hastily, pointing at Kiri.

His eyebrows are high on his forehead, the line of his shoulders riddled with tension. He’s upset about something, and that alone should make Kiri worried. She should be feeling more than this blanket of indifference that is wrapped around her brain, but she can’t. That calming tincture really does work. 

“There is no sickness that keeps her from leaving, but—”

Lo’ak grabs Kiri’s hand and yanks her up and out of the tent. He pays no mind to Grandmother’s exasperated calls for him to come back, which he will definitely be reprimanded for later. Usually the thought of Lo’ak being scolded for his misbehavior would spark some amusement inside her, but again there is nothing. He drags her quickly all the way through High Camp, slowing outside their own tent. She begins to ask what it is that's got his tail in a twist, but he shushes her harshly. 

Netyam and Tuk are crouched by one side of the tent. Distressed voices spill out from underneath it, and Kiri’s ears twitch towards the sound.

She hears her mom cry out “this is our home!” followed by her dad replying something indistinguishable, but just as charged. Mom and Dad are arguing about something. When was the last time that happened?

When Neteyam looks over and waves a hand for them to come closer, she and Lo’ak creep over to him and crouch down to his level. The three of them lean their ears against the tent to hear better. Tuk has twisted herself nearly upside down to peek at their parents underneath a gap at the bottom of the tent. 

Now that Kiri’s right there, the conversation is clearer. Mom’s voice is hoarse as she says, “My father gave me this bow as he lay dying! He said…he said to protect The People. You’re Toruk Makto!” 

“This will protect The People!” Dad argues. Kiri isn’t sure what this is, but whatever it is must be bad if her mom sounds the way she does. “Quaritch has Spider. He has our son! He is not going to stop until he knows where we are, and then he will come for all of us!”

Beside her, Lo’ak exchanges a worried glance with Neteyam. They are all thinking the same thing. Surely Dad doesn’t think Spider would give them up? Kiri knows for a fact he would die before putting them in danger. He proved that when he sacrificed himself so she could get away last night. 

A pregnant pause. When Mom speaks next, her voice is low, wounded. “Our son would never betray us.” 

Dad makes a frustrated noise. There is the sound of pacing feet along the ground. Kiri can imagine her father walking back and forth, his tail flicking agitatedly behind him, his hands running down his face as he tries to think of the right words. 

"I know that,” Dad says, strained. “But I also know the RDA. I know that they will tear him apart to get the information they want. Break him down to nothing, drive him to his lowest point so that they can build him up into something unrecognizable! If he’s even still–" He cuts off with a shuddering breath.

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. They all get the message loud and clear. 

If he's even still alive.

The possibility that she might have left Spider for dead is unthinkable. No doubt that if she hadn’t drunk the calming tincture, Dad’s words would bring up such a storm of emotions in her that she would have been sent right  into another panic attack. Instead, all she feels is a dull pang of remorse for leaving Spider behind, and sympathy for her mother. 

Mom lets out a keening whine, and Dad sighs. His next words are softer. “If The People harbor us, they will die. Do you understand?” 

Before Kiri can listen in any longer, Neteyam grabs her and Lo’ak by the shoulder and tugs them away from the tent. She wants to fight back and hold her ground, but doesn’t want to run the risk of her parents hearing. Tuk rushes to keep up with them as Neteyam leads them all to the community cookfires. The flames are burning low, all the dishes have been retrieved as the others move on with the start of their day. Morning meal must have already passed by the time Kiri regained consciousness. That makes this as safe of a place as any to discuss what they have just heard. 

“So…that’s it? We’re just leaving?” Lo’ak asks as they sit. His tail curls beside him in displeasure. 

“It might not be what we want, but Dad knows what’s best for us,” Neteyam says. He keeps his expression collected, but he’s twisting one of the beads in his hair around and around between his fingers. He’s nervous. 

Lo’ak jumps up to stand. “Bullshit, man! What’s best for us is to find Spider . You remember him, don’t you?” 

His volume draws the eyes of a few people nearby. Tuk wraps a hand around Lo’ak’s ankle in gentle warning. He looks down at her with an angry frown, but sits down again with his arms crossed. Neteyam glares at his brother but does not rise to the bait. He's hurt, though, Kiri can tell. She remembers how his shoulders curled inwards from sorrow last night. Spider is as much his older brother as he is the rest of theirs. 

“Breaking into the RDA base is suicide. We’d never make it ten feet into that place without getting mowed down,” Kiri says. She doesn’t try to sugarcoat it, because they all know it’s true. 

“Spider would do it for us,” Lo’ak insists, turning to her with a betrayed expression. 

Neteyam speaks before Kiri does. “Spider would know better than to risk the lives of everybody to save one person. He wouldn’t want us to go to battle for him!” 

Lo’ak lunges forward and shoves at Neteyam’s chest. The push is hard enough to send him falling onto his back. Neteyam saves himself with flailing arms, rocking with the momentum and standing. Kiri gets up when Lo'ak does, putting her hands out between the two of them to stop the altercation from escalating. But Lo’ak slaps her hands away and advances on Neteyam. 

“What do you know about what he would want? You’ve barely talked to him in the last year. You’re so obsessed with being Dad’s perfect little warrior, you practically forgot all about him!” 

Tuk’s little voice pipes up, scared but sure, “Both of you need to stop! Spider wouldn’t want either of you to fight over this. We have to stick together!” 

They all pause to stare down at her. Tuk is every bit her mother’s daughter, from the hands she has placed on her hips right down to the way she purses her lips in indignation. She’s small, for now smaller than even Spider is. Kiri is hit with another dulled pang of emotion as she realizes that Tuk is having to go through all of this at her young age. She’s lost her home, her sense of security, and now her brother and she isn’t even old enough to decide what path she wants to take in the Omaticaya.

Looking down at her, Kiri is sure that Tuk could be any number of things. She could be a warrior, like her brothers, or a healer, like Kiri is planning to be. She could weave, or tend to the wildlife, or any number of things. 

That is, if she lives to see the day. After last night, their very obvious mortality is more prevalent than ever. Kiri doesn’t even want to consider it, but it’s possible that Spider is already dead. But that wouldn’t make sense. Why would Quaritch go through the trouble of bringing Spider along if he was just going to be executed? Why not shoot him dead on the spot? 

Another part of Kiri feels like she would know intrinsically if her brother was dead. She would feel it, like if she were bleeding from a wound that could never be patched up. It’s the same with all of her family members. If she were to lose any of them, it would tear her apart inside and out. The fact that she is still up and breathing is a sign to her that he is alive somewhere. Knowing him, Spider is making the lives of the humans in the RDA a living hell. 

“Tuk is right,” Kiri declares. She tugs on both Neteyam and Lo’ak’s tails. They jump away from her with matching hisses, but don’t interrupt her when she continues, “You’re both being fools. We can’t turn on each other, especially not now. Mom and Dad aren’t just going to leave Spider to rot. But we all have to be smart about this if we want to get him back.” 

Lo’ak and Neteyam visibly deflate. A deep sadness overtakes Neteyam’s features, while Lo’ak is a subdued kind of angry. They all know this situation isn’t going to be preferable for anyone. That doesn’t make the truth any easier to swallow. 

“So what do we do?” Lo’ak asks, staring hard at a spot on the ground between the dying cookfires and his feet.

That is one hell of a question. Honestly, Kiri has no idea. She’s not the wise one of the family. She’s always been more in tune with emotions and nature than anything else. Sure, she’ll defend her family with everything she has when it comes down to it, but she’s not a leader or a warrior. Giving pep talks isn’t in her repertoire. But right now her siblings are looking at her like she holds all the answers in the palms of her hands, and she knows she has to come up with something. 

Taking a steadying breath, she channels all of the sappy family talk that Dad loves to spew, and hopes she doesn't sound like a total fraud when she says, “We go back to Mom and Dad, and we follow their lead. Our family is our home. It doesn’t matter where we are so long as we’re together.” 

Tuk barrels into her side for a hug, and Kiri catches her easily. Netyeam and Lo’ak don’t reach out, but the words definitely seem to strike a chord within them. They nod their assent, blessedly done arguing for the time being. Lo’ak trails behind them as they head back to their tent, and when Kiri looks back at him, he’s still frowning a little and his tail is dragging. What could he be thinking about? Is he feeling the same guilt she is about letting Spider go? 

The calming tincture is still working through her system, and thank Eywa for that. Without it she is sure that she would not have been able to handle this whole situation as responsibly as she did. She understands that their family is going to have to leave High Camp. Just as much as she understands that there’s no telling when or if she will ever see Spider again. When the tincture has run its course, who knows how well she’ll be able to hold herself together. For now, though, she must be strong. 

When they get back to the tent, Dad steps out and ushers them inside. He sits them down and tells them that he has some hard news. She already knows what it is going to be. 

Years ago when she was still afraid to be away from her parents for too long, Dad told her a story about when he was little. He got lost once inside somewhere called a Mall on Earth. He told her how scared he was, and how he cried. The image of her Dad, tiny and vulnerable and human, was mind boggling to her. But, Dad told her, he remembered that his mother taught him how to prepare for that exact situation. His mom told him that if he ever got lost to stay put where he was until she found him again.

So Dad did. He was afraid, but he listened to what his mom said. He stayed where he was, and just like she promised, his mom found him soon after. Kiri thinks that situation isn’t all that different to what’s going on right now. Spider is lost. He’s probably scared. And their family is leaving, fleeing their home for the second time. It feels just a little bit too much like they are leaving Spider behind.

Spider is lost, but they aren’t staying put. How will they ever find each other now?

Chapter Text

“A half-human half-Na’vi hybrid, incredible!” One of the scientists says in the observation room. He’s looking at a screen displaying the Sully kid’s stats and photograph. It’d been a hassle getting him to stand still for the picture, and the black eye he’s sporting both on the screen and in-person attests to that. 

Another scientist comes up next to the other, wide eyed and bushy tailed and just plain dorky with her huge square glasses and a holopad in her hands. “What do you think this means for the future evolution of Na’vi? Is he a result of a full-blooded Na’vi having intercourse with an avatar, or could Sully have been a human at the time of consummation?”

Quaritch tunes them out, looking back out through the glass to the laboratory below. He couldn’t give less of a damn about the science of the Sully Kid. He just wants to know where Jake Sully is. But the kid has given them nothing even after almost an hour in the neuroscanner.

Colorful little lights bounce around the hologram of his brain, and someone behind Quaritch says, “Watch this. You’re peaking all along the prefrontal.”

The kid just screams and screams. Quartich turns back and sees Lyle studying the hologram with baited breath, like he’s waiting for an image to pop up of Sully’s hideout, or maybe of the Na’vi’s battle plans that they use on their raids of RDA transports. Down in the lab, the kid is strapped down as the machine spins circles around him. Just looking at it makes Quaritch feel a little dizzy. Bright red blood streams down the kid’s face from his nose, and he begs them to stop, but General Ardmore keeps pushing.

“Where is Jake Sully hiding? We know you know.” She stands on the platform before the neuroscanner, staring coldly. “This can all stop if you give us something.” 

“I told you I don’t know!” The kid yells, then devolves into Na’vi curses.

Nothing.

All this time wasted, and they still don't know anything more than they had before they brought in the kid. Someone at the controls hits the off switch on the machine, recommending they call it quits for the night. Something about not wanting to risk permanent damage to the kid’s brain, apparently. Quaritch sneers and stalks out of the observation room as the whirring of the machine slows to a stop, and the kid’s screams die down into weak sobs. At this rate, the neuroscaner is more likely to overheat before he reveals any secrets. Billions of dollars had gone into making the damned machine, and all it takes is one half-breed mutt to reveal its shortcomings. 

Quaritch ignores Lyle’s questioning gaze as he storms out. He doesn’t have the patience to play nice right now or talk about his feelings . Instead, he makes his way down twisting corridors and ducks through building airlocks. Humans in his path quickly make themselves scarce, acting busy or turning in the opposite direction they were heading just to avoid him. It makes satisfaction curl in his stomach.

When he gets to his living quarters he takes a hit from his rebreather mask before hanging it up by the door, then heads into the bathroom. He promptly strips and switches on the shower. The water temperature is set to cold, not icy but cool enough that when he steps under the stream it sloughs away the stickiness of humidity from his skin. The jungle is a nasty thing, and even now with his Na’vi body that was made to adapt to Pandora’s climate, he remembers the grimy feeling of the thick, hot air on his skin. It was a new experience feeling the breeze on his face that he never could with a mask on, back when one breath was enough to send his weak human lungs into a death spiral. 

But no longer. Now he is one of them , or an approximation of it, at least. The Sully kid had called him a science experiment. Guess they have that in common, now. Even if he doesn’t cough up any information, the General will find other uses for him. He is the first human-Na’vi hybrid the RDA has ever seen, after all. That comes with its own opportunities. During the debriefing after they first arrived back at base, Ardmore said they were going to run every test on the list and then run them twice more, just for the hell of it. Quaritch thinks she hates Sully almost as much as he does, and this is her way of getting back at him for all that he has done to betray his own kind.

Water from the showerhead pelts down on him, and he closes his eyes while rolling out the kinks in his neck. It’s just a few degrees off from the cool rain in the forest. He thinks back to the moment where it all went tits up. Mrs. Sully’s animal call had signaled her little hellspawn to her arrival. He’d heard it, too, sure, but he didn’t know her voice from the tweeting of a brainless alien bird. Really, it was the kids’ reactions that should have tipped him off. The fragile hope in their eyes, the little tremors of relief in their bodies. 

Instead, he’d been foolish. He’d not paid any attention to it, too focused on the General’s voice in his ear telling him they were two minutes out and counting. For his oversight, he’d lost six members of his team. General Ardmore made the declaration during the debriefing that they were not going to recover the bodies of the fallen recombinants of Project Phoenix. They died in enemy territory, and it wasn’t worth risking the lives of more soldiers. 

The loss is not too great, he supposes. There are already plans underway to bring them back. The science pukes have really cracked the code on that one. They say that Walker, Fike, Brown, Zhang, and Warren will be back in a few years, five to ten give or take. Science is always improving and all that shit.

They'll be given new Na'vi bodies to puppet around, with the same memories screwed into their lab-grown brains. Quaritch wonders if they'll do the same to him when he dies; if they'll just keep making copies of him until he is nothing of the man he once was, just a clone of a clone, a 3-D printed version of himself. He wonders if they'll tell him how many times he's died and come back, or if they'll keep him in the dark about it so he never questions how much of him is really real.

Or have they already done it? It could be that he isn’t even the first rendition of this recombinant body but is in fact the third, or the tenth, or the two-hundredth and he has no way of knowing. He shuts the water off and steps out of the shower. Paying no mind to the fact that he’s dripping wet and making a mess on the tile, he examines himself in the mirror above the sink. It’s surreal, seeing the face of a man twenty years younger than he remembers being, never mind the fact that he’s blue and striped. It still feels like only a few days ago he was shooting at a runaway gunship in the aircraft hangar at Hell’s Gate. 

The claw marks on the side of his head are gone, leaving just smooth skin and dark hair, buzzed short in a military cut. He’d had blonde hair once upon a time, back before it had gone gray and white with age. The Sully kid has blonde hair, too, which is strange. Where he could have gotten that from, Quaritch has no idea. Certainly not his traitor of a daddy, no, Jake Sully had mousey brown hair as a human. Quaritch remembers watching the video logs of Sully raking his hands through it like a teenage girl, droning on about his love for The People and his newfound savage of a girlfriend. 

In the mirror, Quaritch examines his flat nose, and his huge, yellow eyes. They used to be blue. Again, he thinks back to the kid. He has a mostly human face, not quite a spitting image of Sully but damn near close to it. But his eyes are almost as big as Quaritch’s are now, bug-like and beady on a human’s face. They’re a dark brown instead of the Na’vi’s neon yellow. Dark brown, almost black, just like Sully’s.

The kid called himself Spider, like the little Earth insect. It was a stupid name. But looking at his own reflection, unable to get the kid’s image out of his mind’s eye, Quaritch realizes there’s one thing a spider and Sully’s kid have in common. It’s the fact that he would be more than happy to squish both of them under his boot.

He wonders what Jake Sully will do when he sees Spider’s dead body. Because inevitably, he will die, they all will. Sure, the kid is half-Na’vi, but he is small like a human. Can’t even breathe air like his siblings could. He would break easily. Quaritch smiles in the mirror, his sharp canines flashing in the tiny white lights above the sink.

There’s so many different ways he could kill the kid in front of his father. He could crush Spider’s windpipe in one hand, dangling the kid in the air while Sully begs at his feet. He could get Spider to put a bullet in his own brain, maybe, if Quaritch promises not to touch his precious little siblings afterwards. It’d be a lie, of course, but the kid might just be stupid enough to believe it. Fantasies continue to run through his head as he dries himself off from the shower, each one more convoluted and illogical than the previous. He exits the bathroom and retrieves a white t-shirt and sweat shorts from his drawers, then stops. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to kill the kid at all. As sweet as seeing Jake Sully plead and cry for his son’s life sounds, there are even better scenarios. How glorious would it be to witness Sully reunite with his child, only to find out that it isn’t his child anymore? He could keep Spider alive, but kill any resemblance to the boy from the jungle. Turn him against the family he knows, plant seeds into his head that the Na’vi are the real demons for abandoning him. But to do that, Quaritch is going to need to gain the kid’s trust. 

That shouldn’t be too hard. Quaritch dresses, then grabs the rebreather mask off the wall and fastens it around his face. He lays down in his bed and considers his options. The lab coats are going to do a number on Spider, he’s going to need someone to look to for support. Quaritch could be that. He could be the one to extend a hand and some kind words, the savior that whisks the kid away from the clutches of evil. 

Yes, that'll do nicely. By the time he’s done, there will be no Spider Sully. He’ll be something else entirely, happy to take down the great Toruk Makto . It’ll be quite the sight to see horror dawn on Jake Sully’s face when Spider turns his back on him, when he realizes that his kid is no longer his, but Quaritch’s. 

Quaritch shuts his eyes, a little smile settling on his lips. He’s always wanted a son of his own. 

↔

“He’s got the increased stamina and the lung capacity of a typical Na’vi. Bone density is thirty percent lighter than a human’s, an indication of his evolution growing up on Pandora," A woman says, reading off stats on a screen.

Quaritch tunes her out as she goes on babbling about brain waves. He focuses on Spider on the other side of the one way mirror. The kid is approaching the three hour mark of running himself ragged on a treadmill in a testing room. He's hooked up to seemingly every machine the RDA has under Pandora's two suns, covered in little electrodes keeping track of his vitals. 

He's had a shower since last night. The mud is gone from his skin and the dried blood from his tumble in the forest is wiped clean, revealing the scrapes and bruises underneath. Someone threw out the tarzan rag he was wearing and forced him into a pair of shorts. 

General Ardmore stands right next to Quaritch, and she takes a silent sip of coffee from her mug, watching as the kid’s head sags between his shoulders. His breathing is labored, but he doesn’t slow down, limbs a flurry of motion as he pumps his arms in time with his strides. His willingness to comply during this exercise no doubt has something to do with the two soldiers in the room with him, electro prods strapped to their belts. 

“How’s the kid’s leg?” Quaritch interrupts the scientist to ask. Yesterday when they returned to Bridgehead with Spider in tow, the kid was limping as he got half-dragged to a cell. His legs are moving plenty fast now, though. 

Her head swivels on her neck like a bobblehead when she faces him. Her painted red lips hang open, her round eyes are set deep into her face and her cheeks are plump like a chipmunk. The spiky blonde hair framing her face sways with the motion. She swallows visibly, then clears her throat to gather her bearings. Obviously, she’s a little overwhelmed at being addressed by him. He smiles at her with all his teeth, sharp and menacing, glancing down at the nametag on her lab coat. Murdoch , it reads. 

“We had one of the medics look him over last night. There’s no breaks or fractures, which isn’t a surprise. Na’vi skeletons are reinforced with a naturally occurring carbon fiber—they’re literally built to withstand more force.” Murdoch explains.

“We’re going to monitor the ankle sprain to see how the injury is impacted by running for extended periods of time. It’ll give us a great insight on how long it takes for him to heal…” 

Quaritch turns away, bored again now that he gets the gist. The kid’s fine, lucky bastard. He watches through the one-way mirror as Spider stumbles on the treadmill. There’s a technician inside the room with him, flitting about all the different machines within the testing space. The technician jumps between the computer controlling the treadmill’s speed and incline, to the cardiometer, to the dozen electrodes stuck to the kid’s chest and head making sure none of the wires get crossed. 

Some of those machines are familiar to Quaritch from the first time he woke up in this new body. He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

For the first two days he felt like a baby fowl, waddling around like he was on stilts. Once he got used to the new five-foot height difference, there was the struggle of his tail always getting caught up in things while he passed by. Then it was getting over instinctively holding his breath every time he stepped outside without a mask. 

The compulsive thoughts were also a surprise. Really, he should have expected it. Bigger bodies come with bigger brains, and that means bigger emotions, too. He's always been on the more concerning side of sadism, but it was never a problem when he was fighting for his life in the field. 

Still, just looking at the half-breed boy is a struggle. He's a constant reminder of Quaritch's failures from his past life. The boy's existence is a hot brand on his brain, searing every wrong decision he made into his mind and leaving the edges of the burn raw and bleeding. Jake Sully got to live and play house with the natives, while he got to decompose in a jungle. It'll be like a sweet salve when Spider is his once and for all. But that’s going to take time, and the wild part inside of him doesn't want to be patient.

That part of him wants to take a razor and slice it across every one of the stripes on the kid's skin until the red blots out the blue. He wants to sand down the sharp points of the kid's ears. He wants to inject ink right into every goddamn sparkling spot on his face, until any reminder that he is Sully's kid is wiped away. But he can't, and he knows this. He will have to be okay with that. Whether it feels like it or not, Quaritch has been waiting sixteen years to enact his revenge. What's a few more months? 

Finally, Spider collapses. Like a puppet with its strings being cut, his legs give out and he hits the moving belt of the treadmill hard. With a raucous, screeching crash, he goes skidding onto the floor into a heap of limbs. The electrodes on his body rip off him from the force of his fall, and machines start to wail. The technician shouts as he runs around the room again to quiet them.

General Ardmore stares at the chaos apathetically. She tilts her head in Murdoch’s direction. “Hit him with a dose of epinephrine and make him go again,” She orders. 

“No,” Quaritch interrupts before Murdoch can relay the order over the intercom. “He’s done for the day.” 

Taking a quick breath from the rebreather mask around his neck, he goes to leave the observation room. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Colonel?” Ardmore demands. 

He turns back to her as the door slides shut between them. “Trying the personal angle.” 

The door shuts between them before she can say anything else.

When he enters the testing room, everyone except Spider looks up at him. The two RDA soldiers have their hands on their electro prods, just a half-step away from the kid on the floor. The technician freezes at a computer midway through powering down the treadmill. Spider is still heaving, on his side in the fetal position.

Vulnerable. Weak. 

“Take a break, boys,” Quaritch announces, ducking down a little to fit into the room. 

The soldiers back off with pissy expressions on their faces, like they’re toddlers who are being denied playtime with their favorite toy. Quaritch pays them no mind as he scoops Spider up into his arms and carries him out. The kid groans at the sudden movement.

Spider’s head lolls against Quaritch's bicep. Without opening his eyes, he mumbles, “Sempul?” 

“Not quite,” Quaritch replies wryly. 

That gets the kid's attention. He startles weakly: his eyes open and lock onto Quaritch’s face. With a growl, he starts to struggle. Reaching up he rakes blunt fingernails down Quaritch’s shoulders and kicks fruitlessly in the air. He’s stronger than a human, but not stronger than Quaritch, especially not now in his exhausted state. It’s no harder to subdue him than it would be for an unruly baby. 

“None of that, now.” 

Spider doesn’t stop fighting all the way to his cell. He slaps and claws, balls his fists up and pounds at Quaritch's chest. When that doesn’t work he tries flinging himself onto the floor, which just results in Quaritch changing position. Spider hisses when he gets thrown over Quaritch's shoulder in a fireman's carry. It'd be funny if it weren't so pathetic. 

When they finally get inside, Quaritch deposits him onto the thin cot in the corner of the room. There isn’t much to the cell. It has the cot in one corner, a curtained toilet stall in the other, and the door against the opposite wall. There is another one way mirror taking up almost the whole wall adjacent to the door, and cameras are stationed high up in every corner of the ceiling. The red dots blinking in the lenses send a clear message: you are always being watched .

Spider doesn’t stay down for long. He lunges past Quaritch and slams his hands against the cell door just as it slides shut. With a frustrated growl he searches for hand grips to try and force it open, cursing fluently in both English and Na'vi when he finds none. Quaritch sits on the cot and waits coolly for the kid to tire himself out. 

Moments later, Spider slumps to his knees with one last defeated shout. He presses his forehead against the glass door, his shoulders shaking. But he doesn’t cry. For a beat there is just the sound of his trembling breathing. Then he turns around, leaning heavily against the locked door. 

They stare at each other from across the room. Spider's gaze is full of animosity, and Quaritch raises an amused eyebrow. Carefully, he stands and circles around to Spider. But the kid maintains his distance, baring his teeth while crawling away horizontally with his back against the wall. Kind of like a Spider. Guess the name makes sense after all. Quaritch moves until he's at the cell door and the kid is on the other side of the room by the cot. 

"Kid, you got heart," Quaritch finally breaks the silence.

"My dad is going to kill you. He's going to come for me and he's going to rip you apart," Spider snaps immediately. 

Quaritch has to fight back the urge to cross the cell and slap him across the face. Instead he huffs a laugh, pretending not to notice when Spider’s ears flatten against his skull. 

"Maybe so. Your old man could burst in here any minute leading the cavalry, with their wooden weapons and war paint; come to rescue you from the big bad dragon." 

He ignores Spider when the kid mutters, "What the fuck is a dragon?" 

He continues, "But I'm counting on that not being the case." 

Spider spits something in Na'vi, then, and while Quaritch needs to brush up on the language he thinks the words mean something along the lines of "eat pa'li shit." It's immature and irritating to no end. But if he's going to play the long game and earn the kid's trust, then he has to let some things slide.

"Listen, kid. I'm not here to hurt ya'. The General wanted to put you back on the treadmill until your legs just about fell off, but I got you out of there. I'm risking a lot, disobeying orders for you."

"What, do you want me to thank you?" Spider sneers. "You think getting me out of constant torture just to lock me up counts as doing me a favor?" 

Tipping his head in consideration, Quaritch shrugs. This conversation is a dead end. Of course Spider isn't going to let down his guard right away, Quaritch sure as hell wouldn't. It's going to take a lot more than this to persuade the kid. But he'll break eventually. Soon enough, Spider will be eating out of the palm of his hand, and that's when the real fun can start. 

"Get some rest," Quaritch says. It's a deliberate non-answer, and they both notice it. "You've had a tough day, and you and I both know this won't be your last." 

With a flick of his hand, Quaritch signals for whoever is on the other side of the mirror to unlock the cell door. It slides open instantly, and he steps out into the hall without looking back. This time, Spider does not try to rush the door. Maybe he knows better, or maybe he just doesn't have the energy. 

Rolling his shoulders, Quaritch mentally prepares himself as he beelines straight for General Ardmore's office. She is most certainly expecting him any time now. He's got a lot of explaining to do if things are going to go his way. 

Which they will. If there's one thing people can say about him with confidence, it's that he does not quit once his mind is set on something.

Once upon a time, Jake Sully told him to give up, that everything was over.

"Nothing’s over while I'm breathing," He'd said. 

Then he died. Sully’s bitch wife shot him, and that was meant to be the end.

Except it wasn’t, because now he's back, and his goal remains. Jake Sully will die at his hands, end of story. Quaritch could die ten more times in pursuit of achieving that. Because if the RDA's mad scientists have any influence, then he's got a long future ahead of him to get it done.

Chapter Text

For as long as he can remember, Neteyam has had Spider. 

Even in his earliest memories, back when everything was still just an amalgamation of colors and sensations, his brother was there. Pink skin held up to blue, shared laughter over things lost with time.

Dad often refers to them as "being attached at the hip" when he talks about those times. They learned to hunt in tandem, with Spider always getting the best shots from above while Neteyam stayed on the ground, blending into the forest to get close to their prey. They practiced their English together by playing out the Earth fairy tales Dad recited to them. They teased Kiri for being the only daughter, and then promptly tried tripping each other to get ahead when she inevitably chased them down for it.

Spider was his first friend, his first playmate, his first brother. He was also Neteyam's first responsibility. For a while, the only time he could play with Spider was inside Hell's Gate. Sometimes Spider would look out the window longingly, and Neteyam would find increasingly creative ways to distract him from his pensive thoughts.  At the time he didn't know why exactly his brother wasn't allowed at the village, or outside to play at all. That's just the way things were. Neither of them had ever known anything else, so why would they wonder? 

There is one specific memory that Netyeam holds close to him wherever he goes. The day he realized that his older brother was different in a way that really mattered. He was around seven, Spider eight, and Spider had just grown into a mask. The two of them were playing by a shallow pond, rays of sunshine twinkled off the water through the tall lush canopies of the trees. They giggled as they ran back and forth between the two little waterfalls, the water that splashed onto their heads a nice reprieve from the heat.

To this day, Neteyam’s memory is hazy on the build up to the moment. But he knows that one of them suggested they put their faces under the water to see who could go the longest without coming up for air. 

“That’s not fair!” Neteyam said. “You’ll win with your mask.” 

Spider shook his head vehemently, crossing his hand over his heart in an ‘X’ motion. “I promise I won’t cheat! I’ll hold my breath, ‘teyam.” 

But Neteyam was unconvinced. Spider had cheated at plenty of games before, and there were several instances that they all knew it but had no idea how to prove it. How could he be sure this wouldn’t be one of those times? The odds had to be even. Neteyam remembers that he huffed in displeasure, then uncrossed his arms to reach underneath the edge of Spider’s mask and—

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sound of Spider’s scream. 

It was so full of fear, guttural and ripped from his lungs like someone was tearing a limb from his body. Back then, Spider barely understood the purpose of the mask more than Neteyam did. But he did know what their parents had told him, and that was how important it was that no one could touch it when he was outside. To remove the mask meant bad things, and a child’s mind could conjure up some scary stuff when it came to words so vague. Neteyam jumped back like the mask was a bunch of hot coals, and Spider slapped his hands down on the glass protectively. 

Hearing his scream, Mom came charging through the trees. She was always there when they were little, out of sight to give them space to play but never too far that they couldn’t call for her. What she saw was Spider crying fearfully, rocking back and forth where he sat in the pond while he clutched his mask. Neteyam was standing a few feet away, hands outstretched but too afraid to touch anything lest he make things worse. Mom kneeled down in front of Spider and ran careful fingers over his hair. 

“Atanit, what is it? What is wrong?” Everyone knew that if Mom used Spider’s birth name, things were really serious. 

She tried moving Spider’s hands so she could check if the mask was broken in some way, but Spider refused to budge. He was breathing fine even through his tears, so that must have been enough for Mom to switch from healer-mode to comfort-mode. She started whispering soothing words while rubbing circles into Spider’s shoulders and back, until he fell limp against her. Neteyam watched the exchange, shock and nauseous guilt rippling through him. He remembers wondering why Spider always cried so much. 

Eventually, he said, “I didn’t mean to.” 

His mother looked over at him with resigned understanding on her face. Then she led him back to the village, carrying Spider in one arm while holding Netyam’s hand in the other. That night after they dropped Spider off to sleep at Hell’s Gate, his parents explained to him, Kiri, and Lo’ak how important it was to leave Spider’s mask alone when they were outside.

Now, Neteyam feels that same nauseous guilt. 

Awa’atlu is gorgeous. Eclipse has fallen, but the land does not sleep. 

Colorful arrays of fish as far as his eyes can see glow in all shades of purple, yellow, orange, and green. The sand is soft beneath his feet as he walks along the beach, and it sinks around his ankles when the surf crashes against him before it retreats back into the sea. One of Eywa’eveng’s sister moons winks down at him, casting silvery streaks of light across the ocean. 

Still, he can’t appreciate its beauty like he should. All he can think about is how Spider would love it here. He’s never been to the sea before, none of them have. Even with the circumstances that have led his family here, Neteyam feels like he is betraying Spider by not experiencing this first time with him. 

“Why are you pouting?” Aonung asks. He gestures at Neteyam’s tail, which is dragging in the sand behind him. 

“I’m not pouting,” Neteyam insists, a bit of petulance in his voice. 

Aonung laughs sharply. “Yes, you are. You’ve been doing it all day. Even when we were swimming, you were frowning like this.” He exaggerates his facial features to mimic what he thinks Neteyam looks like, with a big frown and wide, sad eyes.

Irritation flits through Neteyam. This boy is supposed to be the son of the Olo’eyktan, but he behaves so brashly. All day Aonung has made comments about him and his siblings, mocking them for their inexperience in the water or their weird forest-people mannerisms. Neteyam is (or, he was) a chief’s son, too, and he can’t imagine ever acting in such a way towards strangers. Just his luck that he gets stuck with an arrogant tour guide. 

They’re on their way back to the village from the tide pools. Aonung had explained what each sea creature was inside the pools, and together they sat there and watched as eclipse fell. The sky was painted purple and pink as the sun withdrew along the horizon. It was breathtaking. 

“Are you not thankful that you are allowed to stay here?” Aonung accuses. 

“I am! That’s not why— ugh, never mind,” Neteyam groans. 

He can’t tell Aonung about Spider. Mom and Dad never explicitly said that Spider’s kidnapping was a secret, the entire Omaticaya knew about it, after all. But these people don’t know Spider. They won’t understand the impact his loss has on their whole family. Neteyam has seen the dirty looks Aonung and his friend were giving Lo’ak when he was trying to learn their sign language. He doesn’t even want to know how they’d react to Spider if he was here instead, looking more like a Sky Person than any of them do. 

It’s an awful thought that comes to him then. But once it is in his mind he can’t let it go. If one of them had been kidnapped in Spider’s place, and Spider had come to Awa’atlu with everyone, would they have been allowed to stay? Or would they have been chased out, threatened with spears and hissed insults of demon blood , cursed one , rejects of Eywa ? Guess he’ll never know.

The two of them are silent as they approach the village. The communal cook fires in the center of the village burn bright and welcoming, the scent of grilled fish and mouthwatering spices reaching Neteyam’s nose. His stomach clenches, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten since this morning, when his family stopped to rest on their journey here. Up ahead, The People of the Metkayina laugh and swap stories while they enjoy their meal. It’s not so different at all from the cook fires back at High Camp, except for the fact that Neteyam doesn’t recognize a single face. 

Aonung pushes past him without so much as a goodbye to join a group of boys that must be his friends. Neteyam stands at the edge of the space, feeling more out of place than he has in years. So he decides to do what he does best, he fakes it. Straightening up and smoothing his expression out into one of comfortable nonchalance, he makes his way through the throng of Metkayina in search of his family. They must be around here somewhere. 

 Neteyam has grown used to feigning confidence, to adapting his personality to the desires of others. He has no choice but to be the responsible one, or the wise one, or the brave warrior and son of Toruk Makto. Lo’ak is constantly in trouble, rebellious to the core and always testing the boundaries. Meanwhile Spider is more tame, but he can often get stir crazy and will act out. Expectations are different for Spider, while expectations are the bane of Lo’ak’s entire existence.

That leaves Neteyam stuck in the middle, with everyone waiting to see if he too would be a problem. Which means he can’t afford to rock the boat, as the humans at Hell’s Gate like to say. Back home, Neteyam had a clear path as the son of the Olo’eyktan. His childhood ended long before the RDA returned in a shower of flames. Now, even though his path has shifted, he is still being held to the same standard. He has to be the model child, proof that the Sully family are not a stain on The People. 

Finally he spots Kiri in the crowd, looking just as thrilled to be there as he feels. That is, not very. She's sitting with her knees to her chest, picking at her fish skewers. A little ways away from her are the others. Mom and Dad are sitting by the Metkayina Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk. Dad is exchanging pleasantries with them, Tuk sitting in his lap and trying to sneak bites of his meal even as he expertly avoids her grabbing hands. Mom focuses on her food, her expression falling just short of being what Neteyam would describe as sour.

His gaze slides to the left and finds Lo'ak. His younger brother is smiling shyly, deep in conversation with the chief's daughter, Tsireya. Tsireya laughs brightly at something he says, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ears, and Lo'ak's ears flick excitedly. It's the happiest Neteyam has seen him since they ran into trouble at the train raid. 

Someone hands him a large leaf wrapped around some fish skewers, and he accepts it graciously with a half-bow in thanks. The food is warm in his hand, still steaming from being fresh off the fire. He makes his way over to Kiri, sitting down close enough to her that when he crosses his legs, his knee knocks into her calves. 

"Not hungry?" He asks her.

He unwraps the leaf in his hand and picks up a skewer. The fish has been cubed up and seasoned, arranged on the skewer between slices of grilled vegetables he doesn’t recognize. His stomach rumbles in approval, and he gives up on manners and takes a large bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue. The fish is rich and melts in his mouth, and the vegetables are surprisingly sweet with a spicy kick.

Kiri is staring into the middle distance, her fingers picking at the edges of her own leaf. Her skewers remain untouched. 

"Do you think they're feeding him?" She asks. Neteyam stops mid-chew.

She doesn't elaborate on whom she means when she says "him." But then again, she doesn’t have to. 

"I don't know," he responds solemnly. "I hope so."

Neteyam imagines Spider locked in a cold room with no contact with anybody. He imagines Spider wasting away, his tan skin turning sallow and his ribs jutting out, the knobs of his spine looking more like spikes than vertebrae from how starved he is. How far would the RDA stray from treating him like a person? Are they withholding food from him, only offering it in exchange for information?

Neteyam puts his half-eaten skewer back inside the leaf. He suddenly isn't so hungry. The fish which tasted so delectable moments ago has become ash on his tongue. The nausea returns with a vengeance. Now that his mind has turned on the faucet of thoughts about what could be happening to Spider, he doesn’t know how to turn it off.

Images pass through his mind of his brother strapped down to a steel table, giant needles and sharp surgical tools cutting him up. His fearful scream from years ago rings through Neteyam's head. He is reminded of that scary Earth movie about a little boy and his alien friend, running from evil humans like the RDA. Max said it was called E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial. Lo'ak woke them all up from nightmares almost on a nightly basis for a month afterwards, crying about humans in lab coats breaking his ribs and ripping out his heart. Mom had nearly clawed Max's eyes out when she found out he showed them the movie. 

The difference is that those humans are fictional, and the movie ended happily. The RDA are terrifyingly, unavoidably real, and happy endings are not always so attainable. 

Neteyam feels eyes on him. He casually glances around and sees that several Metkayina are looking at Kiri and him questioningly. When he catches their eyes, they don’t even bother turning away. Even though his appetite has all but vanished, he forces himself to take another bite of food. Keeping up appearances, faking it until the end. 

"Eat your food. I know you haven't eaten all day, and Dad would not want us to look ungrateful," he orders Kiri, nudging her arm gently with his elbow. She rolls her eyes, but acquiesces and takes a bite from her own skewer at last. 

They finish their meal quietly, listening to but not participating in the joy and familial camaraderie around the cook fires. Neteyam eats until his skewers have been picked clean, and as soon as they are he retreats back to his family's marui pod. He unwraps his bed pallet and curls up on top of it, uncaring that he didn't bid anyone goodnight. The food in his full stomach gurgles ominously, feeling awfully like a heavy stone sinking into the pitch black depths of an unfamiliar, tumultuous ocean. 

↔

Some days are easier than others.

When all his hours are occupied with practicing his diving, or learning how to stay mounted on an ilu underwater, he is often too exhausted at night to have bad dreams. There are days that Aonung refuses to speak to him with his voice, forcing them to communicate explicitly through sign language. On those days he is often too frustrated over his fingers not cooperating with him, or the stupid smirk on Aonung’s face when he mixes up signs like 'genitalia' and 'anemone' to worry about much else.

Every day at mid-morning, Netyam and his siblings all practice their breathing together. They sit in a circle with Aonung, Tsireya, and another Metkayina boy named Roxto. During these times he has to clear his mind of all things, focusing on slowing his heartbeat and the motion of his breaths. The sunbathed rocks he sits on warm his thighs, the smell of saltwater filters through his nose, and the soft crash of waves against the reef lulls him into a trance. Everything is calmer here. Worries melt from his subconscious. 

“Your breathing is too erratic. Mawey,” Aonung instructs. Neteyam peaks open one eye. 

Like this, even Aonung is less irritating than usual. His face is smooth of any arrogance or condescension, at peace in the moment. Water droplets glint on his shoulders and trickle down his face from his hair. He is in his element here, and Neteyam wonders if he will ever be able to achieve the same. 

“Mawey,” Anonung repeats, reaching out and placing his hands on Neteyam’s chest and stomach. 

Involuntarily, the muscles of his stomach jump under Aonung’s hand. He inhales sharply, pointedly avoiding making eye contact. Shutting his eyes again, he tries to take Aonung’s words to heart and calm his breathing. He tries timing his exhales to the movement of the waves, imagining he is one with the tide. Satisfied, Aonung pulls away, and his touch leaves a tingling sensation on Neteyam's skin.

After a good half hour of breathing, they all dive into the water. They practice staying under for longer periods of time, guiding ilu through increasingly more complicated maneuvers. When he manages to complete a full corkscrew without being thrown off his mount, Neteyam lets out a whoop of triumph. Bubbles float out from his mouth and bob up to the surface, and he does the corkscrew trick twice over again just because he can. He catches Aonung’s eyes on him where he sits still on his own ilu by a bed of coral. Aonung smiles a little, something akin to pride in his expression. 

“Not bad, forest boy,” Aonung signs. 

↔

Tsireya likes to tell them all that water heals. Neteyam thinks there might actually be some truth to that. Perhaps not for physical wounds, but emotional. He watches as over the course of the first few weeks, Kiri opens up. She spends as much time as possible underwater, cuddling the glow fish and admiring the ilu. Tuk is happy to help in whatever way she can, always eager to join the Metkayina on tending to the sea creatures or weaving fishing nets. Lo’ak tries to hide it, but it’s obvious how enraptured he is with the chief’s daughter. 

Even Mom and Dad are adjusting well. Dad works hard on mastering a warrior’s mount on the skimwing. He learns to spar with spears and other reef people weapons. Mom and the Tsahìk, Ronal, form a begrudging companionship. They exchange knowledge on the traditional healing practices of the Omaticaya and Metkayina.

But things aren’t perfect. There is still an emptiness in all of their spirits, one only Spider can fill.

Dad remains tense, his mind preoccupied with the looming war. Neteyam can tell by the way his features remain pinched in his sleep at night that he is worried about being discovered. Some nights, he is woken up by his mother slipping out of the marui pod. She tries to be quiet, but he can hear her sniffling through tears as she steps out onto the walkway to cry in solitude. Tuk struggles to make friends. The Metkayina children her age don’t always include her in their playtime, claiming she would not be able to keep up with her weak tail and thin limbs.

Lo’ak gets angry, fury overtaking his every movement, when he catches Mom and Dad plotting contingency plans in case the Sky People attack them here. Neteyam knows they constantly shut him down when he proposes a way they might rescue Spider. Kiri will retreat in on herself randomly. She’ll curl up on her sleeping pallet all day, unable to so much as step outside or join them during mealtimes. Neteyam tries to be strong for the rest of them, never showing the anxiety he feels, or the gnawing guilt slowly turning him inside out. He’ll be the shoulder to cry on for his mother, the listening ear for Lo’ak’s rage-fueled tangents, the silent presence at Kiri’s side.

But sometimes his resolve fails. When the loneliness reaches up and digs its sharp claws into his very soul, it takes all he has not to crumble under the pressure of keeping up appearances.

It happens during the first big storm to hit Awa’atlu since his family arrived. Torrential rain pours down from giant, dark clouds. The sun is completely blocked out even at high noon, casting multiple shades of gray across the sky. The waves are so turbulent that even the most experienced swimmers are unwilling to step too far into the water. 

While most people are tucked into their marui pods tending to fires to keep dry and warm, Neteyam finds himself outside, alone. He’s sitting on a dock near the ilu pen, shielded from the worst of the rain by a woven canopy above him. Like this, there is no mistaking the tears rolling down his cheeks for rain or ocean water. He gasps on an ugly sob. The sound is immediately swallowed up by the crack of thunder. In his hand is an old photograph of him and Spider. 

The edges of the photograph are frayed from age, the colors a little faded. The photo displays Spider when he was a toddler holding Neteyam in his lap at Hell’s Gate. Even though there is a year and a half age gap between them, they’re nearly the same size in the picture. Spider is smiling brightly at the camera, and he’s got his arms wrapped around Neteyam’s torso. A baby Neteyam is staring up at Spider in wonder, completely oblivious to the fact that his photo is being taken. It occurs to Neteyam as he studies the photo that he has no idea who was behind the camera at the time, and he doesn’t know why that suddenly matters. 

He curls over the photograph and clutches it to his chest. Tears dribble off his chin onto the dock below as he bites back a scream of anguish. There is a cavernous black hole in his chest like the ones he’s seen through the telescopes at Hell’s Gate. It engulfs all light and happiness, leaving only crushing nothingness in its wake. 

Spider has been gone for over a month. There’s no way to know if he’s okay, or even alive.

He straightens up and looks at the photo again. Spider was such a happy little boy. He tried to be the best big brother even with his limitations. How could this be happening to him? To their family? Why did the Sky People have to come back and ruin everything, when life was so peaceful and finally healing from all the death and destruction of the war?

Resentment, fear, and shame all tangle up into one indecipherable knot in his gut. Wind howls in his ears, blowing his braids back up into his face. He tightens his hold on the photograph. 

“Who is that?” A finger reaches around him and points at Spider in the picture. 

Jolting in surprise, Neteyam pulls it away from Aonung’s grasp. He was so caught up in his grief he didn’t even notice the boy coming up behind him. Aonung stands over him on the dock, head tilted curiously. His eyes widen a little when he notices the tears on Neteyam’s face. Carefully, like he's trying not to startle a small animal, he sits down next to Neteyam.

Their relationship is weird like that. One day they are griping at each other so much that Neteyam feels ready to rip Aonung’s throat out with his teeth, the next they are having friendly competitions trying to see who can saddle an ilu the quickest.

Aonung always wins those, of course, but Neteyam is getting better every time. Once, Neteyam challenged the other boy to a climbing match on the beach. It had been the highlight of his entire week to see Aonung fall flat on his back into the sand before he’d even gotten halfway up the palm tree. Moments like that have allowed it not to be uncomfortable between them now. 

Neteyam looks down at the picture and sighs. There’s no use in lying now that Aonung has seen it. He holds out the photo to show Aonung more clearly. 

“He’s my older brother,” Neteyam says. 

“I didn’t know you had an older brother.” Aonung scrutinizes the image of Spider. No doubt he is wondering about the blue stripes standing out against his pink skin, his pointed ears and dark, brown eyes. Obviously trying to keep the judgment out of his voice, he asks, “Is he… a Sky Person?” 

Neteyam draws back his arm to look down at the picture. Running his thumb over the glossy paper, he shakes his head. “He is half-Na’vi like the rest of my siblings. He just looks the most human out of all of us. No one knows why.” 

For once, Aonung is the nervous one between them. His jaw works like he is chewing on the words he is about to say before he says them. “Did you leave him back in the forest?” 

Sharp stabs of guilt hit Neteyam like a dozen tiny daggers. He knows that Aonung did not mean it like that when he said the word “leave,” but the question still reminds him of his failure to save Spider from the Avatars. He should have done something more than run from the gunfire. But what he could have done differently that wouldn’t have resulted in his own death or that of one of his parents, he doesn’t know. 

“He was taken by the Sky People. That’s why we fled here.” Neteyam breathes in shakily, and when he blinks more tears fall. So much for staying strong in front of others.

"I'm worried about what they might be doing to him. I don't know if he's hurt, if he thinks we abandoned him or…" His voice cracks, and he doesn't continue.

In a surprising act of empathy, Aonung places a hand on his shoulder. His face is somber, not a hint of sarcasm or hostility in his blue eyes. His ears press against his head when he tells Neteyam, “I’m sorry.” 

It isn't much. It's not I See You , or I understand your pain , because how could he? Aonung has never woken up one night to flames raining down from the sky, or had to be uprooted from his home multiple times in fear of the lives of his family. If he’s lucky, he will never have to experience those things. 

But they still stare at each other, neither of them speaking. Neteyam doesn’t shrug the hand off his shoulder and Aonung doesn't retreat. In that brief moment, just the two of them together in the middle of a brutal storm, Neteyam feels the rift between his world and Aonung's move a little bit closer.

Chapter Text

Spider hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week.

Well, no, it’s been longer than that for sure. The last time he has been able to genuinely rest was before he was taken. He probably shouldn’t count a good night’s sleep as passing out from utter exhaustion after a day of experiments, or not being woken up from nightmares every hour. But at least during those days he actually sleeps. 

He keeps track of the days by counting how many times the lights in his cell go dark. That’s the only way he can tell when night falls. Or he thinks it’s night, unless RDA is playing with his concept of time. There are no windows wherever he goes, and they certainly don’t allow him outside. When the lights are off he curls up on his cot and tries not to be overrun by the dread of what’s in store for him the next day. He can’t believe they haven’t killed him yet, honestly. 

If his mind is reliable, which has been called into question more recently, it’s been a little over six days since the alarms started wailing.

The first night they sounded he thought he was being saved. He’d been deep in a blessedly dreamless sleep when the lights in his cell abruptly powered up to full brightness, and ear-splitting sirens started ringing through speakers on the ceiling. Even though every one of his muscles ached, and nausea threatened to have him spit up whatever meager food was in his stomach, he’d forced himself to stand. He grinned through the pain and shouted a triumphant warrior’s cry, because he thought the Omaticaya had broken into Bridgehead to recover him, and the sirens were a warning of the approaching battle. 

But then the sirens dropped off into silence, and the lights went dark again. It was like all power had been cut in the whole base. He stood there, his breathing loud in his ears and heart pounding in his chest, confused but nonetheless hopeful. Any second he was sure the cell door would open to reveal one or both of his parents, or Norm in his Avatar form, or anyone, really. But no one came that night. Instead, thirty minutes later, the lights came back on and the alarms started up again, staying on for several minutes longer this time before shutting off once more.

The third time it happened, not an hour later, Spider realized what was going on. 

It was just another one of the RDA’s scheming torture methods. Every night thereafter for the past six days, the lights and sirens have started up at random times. He can never prepare for them. They start and stop at different intervals, an unbearable assault on his senses that spans anywhere from five minutes to a whole hour. It happens multiple times a night, usually, but even on the nights that they only turn on once, he can’t fall asleep in fear of being startled awake at any moment. 

During the day, it's as if nothing happened. For the entire week no one comes into his cell except to drop off his twice daily meals. When “night” falls the alarms come back with a vengeance. Sometimes he screams with them, because it feels like the only other option is to lose all his sanity for good. If only.

It's not unusual for there to be days when the RDA scientists don’t come for him. He has taken to referring to them as his “off days.” They aren’t a time for him to relax, he’s still a prisoner above all else. On those days a group of four soldiers will come in and antagonize him. But during the week of the sirens, not even they pay him a visit. It's an unfamiliar experience, not having them kick him until he can’t see straight, or shock him into oblivion with their electro prods and spit horrible things at him about his family and the Na’vi in general. They have their names on their uniforms, but he much more prefers to call them The Ugly Bunch.

He doesn’t distinguish the soldiers from each other except for when he calls them Ugly Number One, Ugly Number Two, and so on. He let the nickname slip out once when they were in the cell with him, and Ugly Number Three slammed his face into the ground so hard that he felt a tooth come loose in his mouth. Ugly Number Three has a particularly strong hatred for him from being one of the soldiers that tried wrangling Spider into the neuroscanner on his first night of capture. The soldier still has a chunk missing out of his left earlobe from where Spider bit down and yanked with all his might. To this day, it is one of Spider’s proudest achievements.

It’s on the morning of the seventh day that things change. Spider is curled up on the floor with his hands pressed against his ears. The muscles in his limbs are stiff from being in the same position all night long. The sirens and lights had gone off all night in five minute increments. His head is still ringing, and his eyes burn so badly it feels as if he’s been staring at the sun for an hour straight.

His cell door opens with a muted, mechanical hiss, and he doesn’t react. He expects to hear the quick footsteps of another nameless soldier dropping off his morning meal, but instead the person’s gait is measured, stopping right by his head. Leather boots creak as the person crouches down to his level. 

“Hey, kid.” 

Spider whips his head up so fast he has to blink dark spots out of his vision. Quaritch looks down at him with his brows drawn together and his mouth in a thin, downturned line. It feels awful, but the sight of him is such a relief that Spider has the urge to cry. He flops over onto his stomach and tries to push himself up to sit, but his arms tremble too much to support him. Quaritch lifts him in one smooth motion to prop him up against one of the cell walls. Spider hates that he leans into the touch just a little bit.

“Wh–where have you been ?” Spider exclaims. 

Quaritch has the decency to look apologetic. 

“I’ve been off base for the week, tying up some loose ends. Just got back a few hours ago, and after I was briefed on how they’ve been treating you I came right over,” Quaritch explains.

Quaritch is an anomaly. He and Spider aren’t friends, they can’t be after all that’s happened. But they aren’t enemies anymore, either. In all his time trapped here at Bridgehead, Quaritch has been the only one that doesn’t expect anything from him. Their bond did not come easily. 

Quaritch started out by hand-delivering Spider’s food, baring through the tantrums that ended up with mashed vegetables and lukewarm soup all over his uniform and face. Gradually, this transitioned into Quaritch spending time in Spider’s cell with him on the days that being subjected to the whims of the RDA scientists left him too exhausted to do more than lay there and breathe. He didn’t try to get Spider to talk, but rather filled the space with mundane chatter about his life back on Earth. It felt almost like when Dad used to talk about his time as a marine. 

One time the scientists withdrew vials and vials of blood from Spider, to the point that he couldn’t sit up unaided without passing out. He’d been cuffed to a bed in the med-bay for the rest of the day. Quaritch stayed with him, making sure he reacted well to the fluids in his IV bag and hissing at anyone who got too close to Spider’s bed. He never asks for information on Dad or the Omaticaya, and he doesn’t punish Spider even when he has bad days and doesn’t do anything except scream. A few times, he’s walked in when the Ugly Bunch is in the middle of having their fun. It’s always nice to see how one look from Quaritch is enough to send them running out with their metaphorical tails between their legs. 

All this to say that Spider maybe, tentatively trusts Quaritch more than he initially had.

“You’re a tough kid, Spider. That’s why The General is doing all this. She thinks that she can break you down.”

“And what do you think?” Spider asks, staring intently at his hands. 

There’s a long pause. Long enough that Spider looks up at Quaritch questioningly, only to find the man staring back at him with a similar quizzical expression. Finally, he sighs and comes to sit down next to Spider against the wall. 

“I think you can’t keep going like this. You’re gonna burn out sooner than later, and you know it.” 

It’s true, and Spider hates it. So far he hasn't revealed anything in the neuroscanner. But he’s been slipping. Last week for the first time, the RDA dragged him off the table in the labs and stuck him right into the machine. He’d tried so hard to keep his mind blank, nothing but white noise like static over the comms.

But something came through. The chirping of an animal high above the trees. Lush, green forests, the smell of soil and flora. The feeling of eyes on him, golden and warm, like holding his hands up to a comforting flame. 

“Monkey boy!”

He slammed down on those memories like a yerik trap. Locked them behind walls not even he could break through, let his thoughts shift to the meandering flow of a river, the rustling of trees in the wind. But it was a close call, way too close, and General Ardmore knew it. He’s so afraid that the next time he gets strapped down in the machine, they’re going to crack him open right down the middle like a ripe melon.

“I want to show you something,” Quaritch says. He grabs Spider’s hand and places cool metal in his palm. “Miles Quaritch, deceased. Killed in action.” 

Spider looks down at the necklace in his hand. The name is engraved into the metal tag, along with Miles Quaritch’s blood type and below that, the word “agnostic.” Why is Quaritch showing him this? It’s no secret who he is, or rather, who he was. Quaritch has explained before that he is a Recombinant Avatar now, not quite a human but not quite Na’vi. He’d said that he gets confused some days, caught up in wondering where he lies in that middleground. They aren’t at all the same, Quaritch and him, but the words struck a chord within Spider. 

Quaritch continues when Spider does not respond. “I’m not that man. But I do have all his memories, enough to know that he wasn't the most moral-driven person.” 

The necklace slips through Spider’s fingers and clatters onto the floor. His eyelids are growing heavy now that the night has passed. Quaritch’s presence at least lets him know that no one is about to barge in to stick him back in the neuroscanner, and the exhaustion that has pent up and boiled over nightly for the past week is catching up with him again. He blinks hard and wills for himself to stay awake and alert.

“Now, that’s not an apology for all that’s been done to you and your people. But I do want to help you.” 

“How can you possibly help me?” Spider asks bitterly. 

He lifts the rebreather mask from around his neck and takes a deep breath. Then, he says, “I can get you outta here.” 

It’s impossible. General Ardmore will never let him out, he’s come to terms with that. He’ll sooner die here during an experiment gone wrong than be set free, or Eywa forbid, rescued. So what could Quaritch possibly be talking about? And why does it ignite a tiny spark of hope in Spider’s heart? 

It’s obvious that Quaritch has piqued his interest. He smirks a little, not menacingly like back in the forest, but not kindly, either. “I’ve got my own team, I follow my own orders. The General can only do so much to reign me in. So here’s what I’m proposing: come on out with me and the other recoms.” 

Spider swallows audibly. It sounds like a trap. It’s too good to be true. But Quaritch hasn’t done anything to directly hurt him yet, even if he can’t always protect Spider from the hands of the RDA. Still, he’s hesitant to accept. 

“Listen, I’m not asking you to betray Jake Sully. You’re loyal to your family, I know you’d never give them up. I admire loyalty.” His gaze bores into Spider. “But this is your one ticket out of this hellhole. One chance, that’s all I’m offering.

“Just ride along." Quaritch pauses. His tone turns grave when he continues, "Otherwise I gotta give you back to the lab coats.” 

A chill runs up his spine at the implications. He hasn’t been left with much of a choice, now has he? Either follow after Quaritch and his team of clones or be stuck here playing science project forever? He knows that Quaritch knows he is desperate. He might very well just be using Spider for his own gain. But if that’s the case, should he even try to fight it? He doesn’t know if he’s ever getting out of here, so is he wrong for seeking out even the smallest amount of comfort in this place? If he turns Quaritch down now, the man will likely leave him in this cell that will inevitably be his tomb. They’d probably never see each other again. 

But isn’t that what Spider should want to happen? 

Spider runs his hands over his head and settles them at the base of his skull. His fingers find the raised scar there, where the two twin needles from the neuroscanner jabbed into his brainstem. The needles were like a twisted, mechanical tswin, sending electric pulses straight into his brain and burning him up from the inside. Tsaheylu is something he’ll never be able to truly experience, and after what he’s gone through here at Bridgehead, he’s not sure if that’s really a bad thing. Being in that machine feels like his very blood has been turned to molten lava, and now Quaritch is offering him a way out.

If he’s careful, he might never have to step foot into those labs again. Eywa’eveng is his playground. He knows all her hideouts, has grown up adapting to her eccentricities. He knows for a fact that he can climb better than any of these RDA dipshits can. Maybe he could escape during the mission. Maybe…if Eywa watches over him, he can go home. 

Quaritch sits next to him silently, still waiting patiently for an answer. He won’t be waiting forever. But Spider’s already made up his mind.

“When do we leave?” 

↔

He blinks open his eyes to bright white lights above him. Everything is blurred, cloudy. Like he’s floating on air, or surrounded by the softest bed of grass. 

When did he fall asleep? 

His hearing comes back, and he didn’t even realize it was gone. Muffled voices nearby make his ears twitch. 

"He's coming to," Someone announces. 

A blue face appears above him. Short hair, strong eyebrows, piercing eyes that used to terrify him in his dreams but now offer a modicum of comforting familiarity. 

"Quaritch?" He tries to ask, but his tongue is slow in his mouth, so it comes out sounding more like, "Korish?" 

His vision stops twisting enough for him to focus on Quaritch's easy grin. It's nothing like Dad's, which is so much more genuine and soft. This smile always has a razor sharp edge to it, like Quaritch has got a secret tucked into his cheek. 

"Rise and shine, kid. The lab coats had to do one more operation on ya' as a  precaution. Couldn't be helped." 

Oh, so that's what's going on. He's in the med-bay again. Spider thinks he remembers Quaritch leaving him in his cell after their talk, and a different soldier coming in not long after with his morning meal. He'd eaten it faster than he's eaten anything since being locked up here at Bridgehead, if only to get it over with so he could be let out of his cell sooner. He barely tasted the watery, porridge-like food, and downed his water as quickly as he could without choking it all back up.

That's when things get foggy. Was he drugged? 

"Wha—what did they do?" 

His sense of feeling is coming back to him now, and with it, a slowly building headache. It pulses at the base of his skull like the beat of a drum. Trickles of confused horror drip into his mind through the haze of the drugs. He reaches clumsy hands behind him and sticks his fingers between his head and the starchy pillow. There is a bandage there, and as soon as he feels that, a mad itch starts up on his skin underneath it. Quaritch firmly grabs his hand and returns it back to his side. 

"Best not to touch that right now. I'll explain on the way." He leaves Spider's field of vision, and his voice gets more distant like he's walking away. Spider doesn’t know if Quaritch is talking to the doctor or to him when he says, "Wheels up in thirty!" 

↔

Stepping outside for the first time in weeks nearly sends Spider to his knees. It isn’t home, the scent of sweat and dirt and metal no match for the freshness of the grass in the forest, or even the stone caves of High Camp after a fresh rain. But it’s still outside . It’s real air filtering through his exopack. It’s the sun on his skin, warming the ground under his bare feet as Quaritch guides him to a Samson. It’s nowhere near the same thing as freedom, but it’s a start. 

“Get on the ship, find a seat and keep out of the way!” Quaritch instructs, shouting over the din of whirring airship blades. 

He squints up at Quaritch and nods his assent. The natural light is near scorching to his eyes after so long being adjusted to fluorescents, and it only adds to the rhythmic beating in his head. One of the doctors said he is on some sort of pain medication that he can’t even dream pronouncing the name of, and that it will wear off in a few hours. It makes him a little nauseous that he still has no idea what they’ve done.

When he could finally stand up long enough to change out of the medical gown and into the pair of shorts they provided him, he inspected himself very closely in the bathroom mirror. It stung that his reflection barely shocked him anymore. He’d gotten paler, obviously, he had a near-permanent frown on his face, and bags under his eyes from a week of little to no sleep. Green and yellow bruises littered his ribs and back, courtesy of The Ugly Bunch. The thing he hates being used to most though are the scars. They aren’t jagged and scary like the ones some of the Omaticaya warriors have from past battles. At some angles they even look like a trick of the light. The scientists are precise where they work on him, and that somehow makes it all worse. 

There are several tiny puncture scars on the insides of his arms from IV’s and other needles. One long, thin scar runs from the top of his sternum to just above his abdomen. He’s grateful they put him to sleep for that one. Some of the skin is a little uneven along the meat of his thighs from when the scientists nicked him too deep when trying to get samples of his stripes.

There are more still. The tiny one on his lower spine from when they extracted spinal fluid. The two punctures from the neuroscanner. The raised bump on one of his hip bones from the time they took out bone marrow.

But there were no new markings that he didn’t remember getting. Just the bandage on the back of his head, and he couldn’t get a good look at it no matter how much he twisted and turned in the mirror. Eventually someone started banging on the bathroom door and threatening to drag him out, and he’d been forced to give up trying. 

He leaps onto the landing of the Samson and plants himself on one of the benches. The other recombinants are filing in as well, looking surly and intimidating with their giant guns and Sky People tattoos inked into their stolen blue skin. He isn’t the same as them, he’s not. No matter how much his time here at Bridgehead has made him feel like a lab experiment, or how many awful words the Ugly Bunch have beaten into him, he is still more Na’vi than they could ever dream to be.

There is a large automatic gun mounted to the Samson, and he eyes it longingly. He imagines taking control and shooting down every RDA soldier in sight, heroically saving himself and taking off in the ship back home. If Dad were here in his place, he’d be brave enough to try it. But he’s not here, and Spider is half as tall as the soldiers on the ship with him. One wrong move and he’ll be tackled to the ground just to end up back on the scientists’ steel tables, sharp surgical tools digging into him and carving things out until he can’t even remember his own name. 

Quaritch comes up to the ship, but before stepping inside, he looks down at Spider and taps on the glass of his mask. 

“You listen up,” He says when Spider bats his hand away. “There’s a tracker built into this mask. We hit the ground and you take off, I’ll have you back here in two minutes.” 

A tracker in the mask? That’s what they are banking on to keep him tied down? Anticipation bubbles in Spider’s chest and he forces his face to remain neutral. This is what all of his training has come down to. He could totally slip away at the soonest opportunity and breathe air unaided for long enough to dig out that tracker. Then he’d be home free. 

As if reading his thoughts, Quaritch continues, “I see that look in your eyes. Don’t be getting any ideas of a great prison break, now.”

He takes a small, rectangular device out of his breast pocket. It is smooth and gray, with two non-descript buttons on the front. He presses the bottom one, and a flashing green light starts up along the tip of the device. Spider is suddenly hit with a wave of vertigo as his headache becomes a steady pulse in time with the flashing light. It’s like a mechanical beeping, but going on inside his own head . He looks up at Quaritch, dread pooling in his gut. 

“You hear it, don’t ya’?” Quaritch asks. “The docs put something called an electrochip into your head. You act out, try to get away, or do something to compromise this mission, and this device here has the power to deliver a shock so powerful to your brain that you will fry from the inside out before you even have time to spell the word ‘dead.’” 

A metallic taste fills Spider’s mouth. Surely he is lying. The RDA are cruel, but they wouldn’t be that cruel. But what else could it be? Would they go through the trouble of drugging him and putting something in his head just for an elaborate bluff? No, probably not.

This is the price he pays for wanting out of that damned cell. Out of one nightmare and straight into another.

“Not my call, kid. But I won’t hesitate to use it if you make me. That sound is the only warning you’re gonna get. Understood?”

Spider shrugs, unsure if he can even try saying anything without vomiting. Quaritch is not satisfied. 

“ Understood ?” 

Definitely not understood. Spider wants to scream that he does not understand anything that has happened to him, that is continuing to happen to him. He wants to demand to know why Quaritch has taken such a liking to him, and why he’s even being let out in the open if they are just going to turn his body into its own cage. He wants to scream out to Eywa and demand to know why she hasn’t hit the RDA with all of her power and wiped them off the face of the planet already. Most of all, he wants to understand why he still craves feeling protected, why he wants to be kept safe from the evil of others with such ferocity that when the man that tried murdering his parents tells him to jump, he is willing to say “how high.” 

He doesn’t say any of this. There is no point. So he swallows down his pride, his confusion, and his terror. Even though he wants to run away and hide, or scratch and kick until nothing can hurt him ever again, he musters up the courage to look Quaritch straight in the eye. 

“Yes, Sir,” he says. 

Quaritch nods, finally appeased, and Spider hates himself for the tiny bit of relief he feels at doing something right.

Chapter Text

The constellations in the night sky are different in Awa'atlu. They’re the same stars, but flipped around and upside down. Different viewpoints, different stories. Lo’ak hasn’t gotten around to asking Tsireya what their names are, too afraid of what it might mean. If he asks what each constellation is and takes the time to learn the stories about them, it almost feels like he’s resigning to his fate. That he is accepting the ocean as his home. 

He is sitting on one of the fins of the tulkun that saved his life, feeling the gentle lap of the sea against his submerged feet and the smooth skin of the tulkun against his back. Staring up at the twinkling lights above him, he can come up with any story he likes about the stars. Norm had explained to him once that everything and everyone is made up of something called matter. The grass, the trees, even the Sky People technology and the animals on Eywa’eveng are connected by matter. The stars, too. He used to think that if that’s the case, then that meant the little pinpricks of light on his body were stars of their own.  

“You like looking at the stars?” He asks the tulkun.

When he glances down, the creature is staring right at him. The tulkun whistles a happy note that he doesn’t understand but likes to think means an enthusiastic ‘yes.’ Lo’ak stands up, bracing one hand on the tulkun’s back to keep his balance. He searches the sky for a specific constellation, trying to flip the stars right side up in his mind to match the picture in his head. 

“You know my dad came from a star. Right…” He finds the cluster of stars a little more to the left than he is used to. The Milky Way, Dad calls it. Named after an Earth candy bar, or maybe it’s the other way around. Lo’ak points it out to the tulkun. “There.” 

He’s never been to Earth before. He knows he never will, and he has no desire to visit even though it was his dad’s home for so many years. Dad says he doesn’t wish to return, either, that he had nothing and no one left for him there. But he gets this look in his eyes some nights that Lo’ak can’t decipher. More recently now after the humans returned, he’s caught his dad staring up at the Milky Way on sleepless nights. He thinks that while Dad may not miss Earth itself, he misses the ghosts of a past he left behind long before coming to Eywa’eveng. 

The ghosts of the past are haunting Lo’ak now, and they’re not even all dead yet. He sees Spider in his dreams, but others, too. Tsu’tey, Mom’s closest friend; Grace, Kiri’s birth mother. They speak to him with reed-thin voices and stare at him with hollowed out eyes, condemning him for always being the problem. He protects no one, saves nothing, only stirs up more trouble for his family who are already stressed enough. 

But he just gets so angry. Nothing can quell the anger for long. It festers inside of him and rips through his insides with razor sharp teeth. It eats right through him until those teeth become his own, bloody words spat off his tongue while his fists crack against whatever breakable thing is closest to him. Like Aonung’s face. 

He doesn’t know what Neteyam sees in the Metkayina boy. In fact, he doesn’t understand how any of his family members tolerate any of the people in this village. Tsireya is the only one that seems sane enough for him to have more than a five minute conversation with. She can calm him down anytime, bring him back to the ground when he feels like his emotions are going to send him flying off into the sun. But she wasn’t there today, and Lo’ak thinks that is for the best. 

He was already pissed off today. The sand was irritating his skin, his breathing was all out of whack during diving practice, and the sun felt hotter than ever with little to no shade on the beach. He’d like to deny it, but he was itching for an opportunity to let the anger loose. Just a little bit. Then he found it.

Aonung and some other rocks-for-brains Metkayina boys were picking on Kiri. They were making fun of her hands, the same hands Lo’ak has. Real original stuff, if it weren’t for the fact that he hears people whispering about them every moment of every day. Freak , they called her. Then they started grabbing him, pulling on his tail and laughing with each other. Laughing at him and Kiri.

He was just about ready to slam two of their skulls together when Neteyam stepped in. Neteyam the wise warrior, model child and big brother come to save the day. Always trying to help, but only making things worse for Lo’ak. Aonung and his friends backed off only because of whatever weird thing Neteyam had going on with the chief’s son. Some kind of respect, a kinship that formed after that huge storm a few weeks ago. If Neteyam said he and Kiri were off limits then Aonung would abide. As if Lo’ak couldn’t defend his own damn self. The anger boiled inside him for a different reason then, wounded pride drawing his fingernails into his palms until the skin stung. 

“Go back to your half-breed Sky Person brother!” One of the boys called at their backs. Lo’ak hesitated, unsure if he heard that right. Because how did these boys know about Spider? 

One look between Neteyam and Aonung answered his question. The betrayal on Neteyam’s face, the way his tail curled behind him like someone yanked too hard on it. The shock that had Aonung’s mouth dropping open, looking at his friend with huge eyes screaming at him to shut his mouth. But his ears pressed to the side of his head, and it was obvious Aonung realized it was too late. Neteyam entrusted in him something secret, and now they all knew he’d blabbed. 

That was one time too many that Aonung had done something to harm his family. It would be his last. Lo’ak barely remembers the fight that ensued, only that he punched Aonung so hard he felt his knuckles split, and he would’ve ripped the other mouthy Metkayina boy’s ear right off his head if someone hadn’t pulled them apart first. 

So much for making peace. For staying out of trouble. Somehow, it was still all his fault. 

Now Lo’ak is stranded with just the tulkun and the stars to keep him company. Not the worst thing to be subjected to (he refuses to think about what is probably happening to a certain someone right now). He imagines being out here for the rest of his days, foraging for food, learning to communicate with the tulkun and never having to face the disappointed look in his dad’s eyes ever again. The anger is gone out here. It feels nice, relieving like water being poured over a raging fire. He doesn’t think his mind has been this clear in months. 

Beyond the rocks, someone makes a yipping sound. Instinctively his head turns towards the familiar sound.

"Lo'ak!" His dad calls in the distance. 

Small yellow-orange lights from lanterns illuminate the silhouette of Dad's ikran. The calls continue, different voices, now. A search party. He ducks down with a curse.

"I'm in trouble," he says when the tulkun clicks curiously. 

Worry is evident in the creature's eyes. The search party is getting closer, and Lo'ak can't think of how to explain. 

"Go!" He says. His hands are shaky, he's not nearly as good at signing as the rest of his siblings have become. "I promise I will see you again." 

Thankfully the tulkun gives in. It deposits Lo'ak on the rocks and dives down with a final whistle of goodbye. The creature dives and dives, leaving fading trails of blue bioluminescence, and Lo'ak's chest twists in longing as he watches it go.

↔

"Why did you speak for me?" Aonung asks. 

Lo'ak grits his teeth. Why can't anyone just let him be alone? He's trying to get away before he loses it completely, but Eywa forbid he gets one thing he wants these days.

"Because I know what it's like to be one big disappointment."

The honesty in his statement is like a pulled muscle, an old wound that never quite heals properly. To his dismay, Aonung keeps following him. He walks just a few paces behind Lo'ak, nearly side by side, and Lo'ak wishes he could scream at him to get lost. 

"Thank you," Aonung says awkwardly. The words sound stilted on his tongue, like he isn't quite sure if his gratitude is in the right place.

Or maybe he just isn't used to being indebted to someone he sees as lesser. But Lo'ak doesn't want him to owe any favors. He didn't do it for Aonung, not really. He did it for everyone else. For Neteyam, for his parents, for his own appearance's sake. Why bother dragging someone else down, even assholes who deserve it like Aonung, when he's been alone in this pit of failed expectations since he can remember?

They are alone this far down the beach. No one cared to follow them. The excitement of his so-called rescue has passed, his celebrity moment is over. Back to your regularly scheduled programming, like Norm says. It's for the best, because that means only the soft lull of waves and the wildlife glowing in the water hear what Lo'ak says next.

He stops, turning fully to face Aonung. "Don’t thank me. Believe me when I say that if you ever do anything to hurt my family again, I'll kill you."

Aonung winces at the word "family." They both know it includes Spider, it even includes his grandmother and Norm and Max and the entire Omaticaya. When Aonung only nods, Lo'ak continues walking. This time Aonung does not keep up with him. He wants to run, but he doesn’t like the implications of running from the chief's son. So he stumbles along the beach with his head held high, even as his throat gets tight and his head starts to pound. 

Only when the firelight of the Metkayina marui pods are mere pinpricks in the distance does he allow himself to break. Breaths coming faster and faster, he collapses on the beach in a heap of limbs. He finally lets himself feel the aches and pains from swimming for his life hours earlier. The sorrow of always being the screw up no matter how hard he tries. 

You've brought shame to this family. 

Digging his fingers into the cool, damp sand ( four fingers, demon blood, half-breed, freak, go back to where you came from ), Lo'ak finally cries.

↔

Things change after that. 

Lo’ak resolves to be on his best behavior. He vows to show them all, the Tsahík and Olo’eyktan, his own parents, everyone. He can be useful. He throws himself full on into helping out around the village. He weaves nets until his fingers are numb, he fashions spears and fishing gear, he even helps out with retrieving supplies around the island for the infirmary. From dawn to dusk he tries his best to prove himself. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed. He gets a strange look from Ronal the first time he enters the infirmary and hands her a basket full of sea kelp he knows she is always running low on. Tsireya constantly whines about the chore of retrieving it, so he takes it upon himself to help her out. After the third time, Ronal starts appraising him with new eyes, like she misjudged him and is reconsidering her opinion. He starts cleaning up the training range after sparring sessions. While Dad and Neteyam have been teaching the Metkayina warriors how to shoot, Lo’ak takes it upon himself to complete the mundane task of retrieving stray arrows. 

Part of the reason he does all this is to get that look of pride back on his dad’s face when they make eye contact. He can’t help but melt into his dad’s hand when he ruffles Lo’ak’s hair and says, “Good work, son.” He begins to crave Dad’s approval like he’s a little kid again. And when Kiri asks him what he is up to, always the suspicious one in the bunch, he shrugs her off. 

“I felt it was time for a change,” he tells her, ignoring the doubtful look she sends his way. 

Like most times, Kiri is right. His new attitude towards living in Awa’atlu is not all because he wants to be better for the sake of it. It’s nice not being stared at with judgment, sure, but he’s not a goody-goody like Neteyam is. He doesn’t curl towards praise like a plant does to the sunshine. A large part of his change is so the eyes always watching him let up a little. Just enough so that when he sneaks off past the reef, no one is any wiser. 

He visits the tulkun as often as he can. Just for a few hours every couple of days, but they are the most riveting hours in all the months he has been stuck on this island. He travels by ilu out to Three Brothers Rocks where he was found that first night. He doesn’t know the tulkun’s name, and he can’t understand its language quite yet. But the tulkun still waits for him at their meeting spot either way.

Even with this in mind, a little tendril of doubt worms its way into Lo’ak when he comes into view of the rocks, clicking his tongue to signal the tulkun. What if this time it doesn’t show up? What if Lo’ak scared it away like he does everybody else? Sunlight shines off the miles and miles of ocean water, waves crash against the rocks, but there is no sign of the tulkun. The ilu he is bonded with chirps anxiously, feeling Lo’ak’s own worry through the bond. 

Then, the surface of the sea breaks as the tulkun leaps into the air. It lets out a giant groan of delight as it flops back into the water, sending a wave rippling powerfully in every direction. Lo’ak whoops, bobbing up and down in the water as the wave nearly sends him and the ilu off balance. 

“Yeah, bro!” 

The tulkun approaches him and he leaps off the ilu to grab its fin instead. He inspects the injured spot where he removed the Sky People weapon.

“This is healing well,” Lo’ak says. 

The tulkun hums, spraying a happy gush of water into the air from its blowhole. Its eyes are shining. 

Lo’ak grins widely. “I’m happy to see you, too.” 

He spends hours swimming next to the tulkun, yelling in joy as he is catapulted into the air by its giant tail. They dive deep into the ocean, exploring forests of coral and swimming past schools of fish that Lo’ak has never seen back in the village before. When his limbs tire, he lays on the tulkun’s back to rest. He tells the creature about how bad the Metkayina are with a bow and arrow, how his stomach flutters whenever Tsireya congratulates him on a new breath-hold record. Dutifully, the tulkun listens, responding in a language of whistles and clicks that Lo’ak doesn’t understand, but tries to infer the meaning anyway. 

The sun is halfway past its highest point now, which means he’ll have to head back to the village soon. He runs his hands along the sleek back of the creature, flips over onto his stomach and leans over the side of the tulkun. Not for the first time he glances at the stub of one of the fins and wonders what could have happened. 

The tulkun whistles a sad note as he stares. Lo’ak pats its side in sympathy. 

“It’s okay. Look at this.” He puts one of his hands in the eyeline of the tulkun. “Four fingers. We’re both different from the rest, right?” 

Suddenly, the tulkun turns onto its side and does a barrel roll. The world tilts on its axis and Lo’ak grips tightly onto the tulkun’s back to keep from being thrown off. Water rushes around his ears as they spin around and upside down three times in succession. When the creature rights itself, Lo’ak splutters, shaking sea water from his eyes. There are three tulkuns in his dizzy vision, and he tries sending an affronted look at the one in the middle. His friend whistles again, lighter this time, and sprays water like it is laughing. 

↔

He has no intention of telling anyone about the tulkun. Everyone on the island seems to know all about his personal life already, and his new friendship feels like the one thing that is just his own. He isn’t hurting anybody by keeping it a secret, anyway. 

It’s something he keeps to himself for weeks. The routine is foolproof. On the days he visits the tulkun, he does some chores in the morning, eats midday meal with everyone, then slips away to Three Brothers Rocks for the last several hours of daylight he has. He is always back before eclipse. 

Except one day after diving practice with everyone, Roxto brings up something Lo’ak hoped everyone forgot about. They’re sitting by the tide pools watching the sunset. He didn’t visit the tulkun today, and he already misses his friend dearly. Lately, he’s felt more alienated from his family than ever, drawn more and more to his meeting place with the tulkun like that’s where he’s always belonged. 

“How did you survive by yourself out there, anyway?” Roxto asks him out of the blue. When everyone looks at him, Roxto shrugs haplessly. “It’s just that we all expected you to drown.” 

Tsireya glares at Roxto for his boldness. Even Aonung who’d been in on the scheme sets his jaw in displeasure. He’s changed his ways recently, too, been more defensive when his friends try to tease Lo’ak and his siblings. Maybe it has something to do with their talk that night on the beach, maybe it has something to do with why he and Neteyam are always sneaking off together. Lo’ak is too busy to think about it too much. 

Shifting on the balls of his feet, Lo’ak tries not to look caught in the act. He’s not been doing anything wrong. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. Going outside the reef is what got him into trouble in the first place. But that’s a small discrepancy. He could probably tell them the truth, or at least part of it. It is rather miraculous that a forest boy like him could survive out in the ocean, alone, for so long. No one has to know that he’s still going out there. 

“I was saved by a tulkun.” 

He raises his hands at the exclamations of awe and confusion. When they settle, he tells them everything about that night. About the akula attack, about the tulkun saving him from drowning. He doesn’t tell them about the special bond he’s formed with the creature, or how much he’d rather be with his friend than having this conversation right now. 

“I wish I’d been there. The ocean blessed you with a gift, brother,” Kiri says. She’s gone all starry-eyed like she always does when they talk about the wildlife. It’s the only time she ever looks truly happy nowadays. 

Aonung scoffs a little. “The tulkun have not returned yet.” He crouches down from where he is leaning against a tree. “And anyway no tulkun is ever alone.” 

So he doesn’t believe Lo’ak. Typical. He has half a mind to tell everyone he doesn’t care if they believe him or not, but then he sees Tsireya’s doubtful look. The idea of her thinking he’s a liar is too much. 

“This one was,” Lo’ak insists. “It had a missing fin, like a stump on its left side.”

Tuk makes a sound of sympathy. “Poor tulkun.”

Tsireya looks contemplative before her eyes widen. She grabs Lo’ak’s arm firmly. “Payakan. It’s Payakan.” 

The name is unfamiliar, but feels right as soon as he hears it. Payakan . It’s a fitting name for his friend. His heart jumps a little when he thinks about finally being able to call for it by name next time they see each other. But looking around at everyone, the Metkayina do not look nearly as enthused. Roxto and Aonung’s expressions have gone dark. Even Tsireya looks worried. 

“Who’s Payakan?” Kiri asks. 

Roxto says, “A young bull who went rogue. He’s outcast, alone. They say he has a missing fin.”

Outcast? Sounds familiar. Lo’ak has felt like an outcast all his life. Roxto says it like it’s the worst thing in the world. Like the very word is a curse that he’ll get punished for saying if he says it too loudly. 

Tsireya squeezes Lo’ak’s arm gently. “They say he is a killer.” 

He’s already shaking his head before the words are fully out of her mouth.

“No, no,” he denies.

“He killed Na’vi. And other tulkun!” Aonung says. “Not here, but far to the south.”

It’s not possible. Payakan is kind. He’s playful. He treats Lo’ak like he matters. There are hundreds of thousands of tulkun out there. Surely they are mistaking his friend for a different, more sinister one. 

“He’s no killer.”

The akula doesn’t count. Lo’ak would have died if Payakan hadn’t been there. People kill when they hunt all the time. If that makes Payakan a killer, then every Na’vi is a criminal. It’s not the same thing, no matter how sure Aonung and Tsireya look. 

“Lo’ak,” Tsireya says softly, her head tilted as she looks at him like he’s a stupid child. “You are lucky to be alive.”

He’s losing this battle that he didn’t even know he was a part of. He can see it in his siblings’ faces that they think he’s gone off the rails again. Why is it so hard to believe that Lo’ak knows what he’s talking about for once in his damn life? Even Tuk, who sees the good in everyone, is leaning into Tsireya’s other side like she’s shielding herself from the big bad monster in Lo’ak’s story.

Lo’ak grips Tsireya’s wrist with his free arm. He looks at her beseechingly. If he could just convince her—

“I’m telling you guys. He saved my life! He’s my friend!” The words slip out without him meaning to, and he immediately knows it is the wrong thing to say. Tsireya barely represses a flinch, and his stomach sinks to his feet.

“My baby bro,” Neteyam says lightly, trying to force the heaviness from the atmosphere. Trying to save the day again.

He stands and grabs Lo’ak’s shoulders teasingly. The touch is like a thousand stinging insects, and he feels the familiar anger rising up within him once more. 

“The mighty warrior who faced the killer tulkun, and lived to tell about it, huh?” 

He’s so fucking condescending. Never once has Neteyam ever been able to take anything Lo’ak says or does seriously. He’s the older brother, so of course he knows more. But he wasn’t there. He knows nothing, none of them do. He should have expected this to happen. Lo’ak growls and throws Neteyam off of him to stand on his own. 

“You guys aren’t listening.”

He backs away from them, done with the conversation even as Tuk calls, “Lo’ak, I’m listening!” 

The others call for him to come back as he stalks away but he ignores them. There’s nothing he can say to get it through their heads that they’re wrong. No amount of good behavior and helping out around the village can change that. But what does he care, anyway? He doesn’t need their approval to believe what he knows is true. Payakan is his friend, the closest one he’s made since being forced to move here. And nothing any of them have to say is going to change his mind. 

↔

“Payakan!” Lo’ak calls. His ilu makes a bleating sound of its own, echoing him. “Payakan!”

As soon as he could get his hands on an ilu he was out past the reef. He barely slept through the night, too anxious to escape the village and find his friend. The waves are stronger today than usual, and he tightens his hold on the saddle’s reins to keep him steady. Or maybe that’s just his own tumultuous nerves making him feel uneasy in the water.

At last, the water rumbles and Payakan emerges in front of him. Lo’ak treads over to him and gets up on his fin. 

“Good to see you,” he says, but Payakan does not respond. His eyes peer closely at Lo’ak, sensing that there is something wrong. No sense in procrastinating then. “Why are you outcast? What happened?”

Payakan closes his eyes and makes a pained warble, like he knew this conversation was coming. Lo’ak makes sure to lean close to him and keep his face open and understanding. He doesn’t want this revelation to make Payakan think their friendship is broken. Of all people, Lo’ak would be the last to abandon someone just because of what others think of them. For whatever reason, Eywa brought him and Payakan together. Maybe she knew Lo’ak needed someone out here, maybe this was always what was supposed to happen. Either way, he isn’t going to let go of the purest relationship he’s formed in months slip away from him over the opinions of some skxawngs. 

When Payakan reopens his eyes, Lo’ak tries to sign what he wants to say in the simplest way possible. “I trust you. You can trust me.” 

Another set of sad whines and clicks, and Payakan dips his fin deeper into the water. Lo’ak clings onto him to keep from sliding off. It’s like Payakan is trying to tell him to just go, which makes him a little sick. Does he think that Lo’ak is just trying to make him feel better before he leaves him forever? 

“I don’t care what you did in the past. That doesn’t change anything for me. I won’t just leave you!” 

There is genuine, raw grief in Payakan’s gaze. What Lo’ak wouldn’t give to know what he is thinking right now. He’s never been the best at giving pep talks, he’s always been quicker to punch someone for hurting his loved ones than be the shoulder to cry on. For that reason no one ever really comes to him to talk about their feelings. No one except…

“I’m a killer, too,” Lo’ak admits. His hands shake as he signs, unsure if he really wants to continue. “I think I killed my brother.” 

It’s been four months since Spider was taken. The days stretch on and the world keeps turning, all the while his oldest brother is somewhere out there, suffering without them. He might not even be alive anymore. And there’s nothing Lo’ak can do about it. Maybe that’s why he jumped into his friendship with Payakan so fast. He hates to think that he’s replacing Spider, but maybe he needs Payakan to fill that void.

“My brother was taken by the Sky People. They’re hurting him like they hurt you, and it’s all my fault.” His vision blurs and he blinks to clear it, tasting salt that has nothing to do with the sea water surrounding him. 

Payakan whistles comfortingly, flicking his fin to bob Lo’ak up and down like he’s saying cheer up, it’s not your fault . A part of Lo’ak knows that’s true. He had no control over the humans returning, and how was he supposed to know that the RDA raised a geonicdal maniac from the dead? But that doesn’t change the fact that the last thing Lo’ak did to Spider was shrug him off like he didn’t matter. He let his pride get in the way of heeding to his brother’s warnings, and now he might never get to make it right. 

A spray of water mists over Lo’ak from Payakan’s blowhole. His eyes glimmer with newfound trust. Relief settles over Lo’ak like a hug. He didn’t realize until now just how much he has been yearning to admit the truth to someone. Not just anyone, but someone that understands. He hasn’t brought up Spider around his family in weeks, because whenever he does it’s like he’s said something vulgar or forbidden. Everyone just wants to forget his brother, and without even realizing it Lo’ak has let them. 

He puts his hand on Payakan’s head and the tulkun trills softly. An understanding passes between them that is so clear it goes beyond all language barriers. Even if he lost Spider, even if Payakan is outcast, they have each other. And that has to count for something, right?

↔

It is well past eclipse when he gets back to Awa’atlu. This is the latest he’s ever stayed out since the first time he met Payakan. But when no search parties came after him, he figured his risk paid off. He is putting away the ilu saddle when hands grab him by the shoulders and flip him around. 

“Where have you been?” Neteyam hisses. When Lo’ak tries to pull away from his grip he doesn’t budge. 

“Out,” Lo’ak says curtly. Neteyam doesn’t look happy about that answer, but that’s just tough. He doesn’t owe his brother shit. 

Finally shrugging the hands off him, he starts down the walkway to their marui. Neteyam is hot on his tail, calling his name. He can’t ever just leave well enough alone.

“Lo’ak! Lo’ak, listen to me!” Neteyam grabs his shoulder again and Lo’ak throws him off, whipping around so fast he stumbles backwards. 

“What!” He snaps.

Anger is burning up inside him like it never left, hot and itching to be taken out on someone. But when he actually looks at his brother, he hesitates. 

There’s something different in Neteyam than there was earlier. None of that swaggering confidence he usually exudes, or the superiority he always hangs over Lo’ak’s head. He doesn’t look like he’s about to rip Lo’ak a new one with one of his infamous big brother lectures, either. His ears are flat, his tail tucked close to his legs. He’s worried. 

“What?” Lo’ak says again, softer this time. “What is it?” 

Neteyam hugs himself, something Lo’ak hasn’t seen him do in years. It’s a rare, vulnerable display of how young he is, when usually he likes to act so big. That’s how Lo’ak knows something must be really, really wrong.

“It’s Kiri,” Neteyam says. “Something has happened to Kiri.” 

Chapter Text

It is Spider’s every intention to hate the recombinant avatars. He knows they are monsters with the sole intention to hunt down and murder his family, his People. The only reason they haven’t killed him, too, is because he is still of use to them. 

But it’s so hard to hate them when they act like toddlers running around a playground. Toddlers with big, automatic weapons, sure, but still. They race each other on their new ikrans and cheer when one of them successfully does a trick in the air, they splash each other and giggle in the lakes during rest days. They tease each other over their pronunciation when they are practicing Na’vi, and ask him what the translation is for childish things like ‘butt’ and ‘stupid head.’ They aren’t good people by a long shot, but even bad people need to take a break sometimes. 

Some days Spider can pretend that he isn’t tagging along with a bunch of trigger happy maniacs, and just enjoy flying over the expansive forests of Eywa’eveng. He sits around the campfires during mealtimes and teaches Quaritch the ceremonial prayer thanking their prey for its sacrifice, and he feels a little bit normal. If he ignores the recombinants’ military fatigues, their distinctly human accents, he can almost imagine he’s at home.

But he’s not home. He’s still a prisoner. Even as he falls asleep listening to the wildlife and not the hum of cameras in a cell, even though the incision where the RDA put the electrochip in his head healed and nobody ever brought it up again, he isn’t free. Eventually, this gang of toddlers with kill counts will grow tired of their wild goose chase. They will either find where his family is hiding and kill them, or they will cut their losses and kill Spider.

It’s another one of those sleepless nights where he can’t forget his reality. The scar at the base of his neck from the neuroscanner itches like crazy, and his stomach turns with the kind of sickness that comes with loneliness. He hasn’t seen his family in months. He misses Lo’ak’s carefree laughter, Tuk’s childish whines, his mom’s singing voice. He misses grandmother and her stinky balms for when he would get scrapes and cuts running around the forest, and Norm with his weird, human pop culture references. 

He fiddles with the beads on his songcord where it is strung through the belt loops of his shorts. They didn’t let him keep his tewng, but he kicked and screamed when they tried to take his songcord with it. And for whatever Eywa-blessed reason, they let him keep it. Maybe they took the smallest bit of pity on him for being a child prisoner of war, or maybe they just didn’t want to deal with his tantrums over something so seemingly insignificant. Either way he has it still, the last little piece of his home. The shorts bother him. They give him a limited range of motion when he climbs, and the fabric (the recombinants call it polyester ) turns stiff when it air dries after he washes them in the springs. For now, he puts his involuntary state of dress out of his mind and hums the tune of his songcord quietly. His voice has never been nearly as good as his mom’s or even Neteyam’s, but he gets by. 

“What are you messing with, kid?” Quaritch asks, startling Spider.

Spider stops humming. He didn’t even hear Quaritch come out of his tent, a testimony to how off his game he is tonight. Quaritch doesn’t look tired in the slightest as he sits next to Spider by the fire pit. They've set up camp for the night. Tomorrow they’ll move on again. They’re headed South, going in the opposite direction that Spider knows the Omaticaya are hiding. The fire isn’t needed, it’s a warm night and the forest is plenty bright on its own with bioluminescent plants all around. Or at least, it should be. 

Like the night Spider was taken, the forest surrounding the recombinants is dark. Every living thing gives them a wide berth, so much so that it feels like the very trees are arching away from where they reside. It’s like the land knows they bring evil in their wake, that they don’t belong. It’s just another reason that Spider can’t truly feel at home here.

Spider drops his songcord back down to his lap and curls his knees up to his chin. He stares into the firelight for as long as he can before memories of flashing green and white lights force him to look away. Looking at Quaritch instead, a dreadful question comes to the tip of his tongue.

“Are you going to kill my dad?”

He doesn’t want to hear the answer, not really. He already knows what it’ll be. But a small part of him wishes that things were different. Quaritch hasn’t hurt Spider, not yet, but he’s hurt so many others before him. Killed men, women, and children in cold blood. It shouldn’t matter that he’s treating Spider with kindness. It’s a naive hope, but he wants to believe that maybe, if he is good enough, he can change Quaritch’s mind. He can teach him and the other recombinants how to live with Eywa, and they will turn over a new leaf and fight back against the RDA. 

Quaritch clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “We don’t need to talk about that right now.” 

“You are, aren’t you? You’re going to kill him, and my mom. For killing you. Are you going to kill me, too, then?” 

He doesn’t realize he’s started spiraling, shaking, voice rising with emotion, until Quaritch puts a firm hand behind his head and forces him to be still. Quaritch holds him there, his hand firm but careful, and if Spider were to close his eyes he could kind of imagine that it’s his dad’s hand, instead. But he doesn’t close his eyes, he looks right at the man in front of him who just a few months ago used to be more of a ghost story than a person. 

“You’re not dying any time soon if I can help it, you hear me?” Quaritch says. His voice is so sincere, yellow eyes glowing in the darkness with an emotion Spider can’t place. 

“Yes, sir,” He replies. 

“Good.”

Quaritch releases Spider and stands back up, beckoning him over to their shared tent. There are two people per tent to save space, and Spider is grateful Quaritch insisted they bunk together instead of sticking him with one of the others, like Lyle Wainfleet. As Quaritch’s right hand man, Lyle is definitely not the worst of the bunch, but he can just be so downright strange sometimes. A little too quick to jump for his gun, his eyes bright with an uncomfortable sort of malice whenever they’re hunting for game.

Quaritch calls over his shoulder, “C’mon and get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow.”

Watching the fire for a few more seconds, Spider sighs heavily before getting up and following Quaritch into the tent. 

↔

“Okay this one: ‘I See You.’” 

They’re flying over blue-green waterfalls and great, towering rock formations. Spider can smell the fresh water through the filter of his mask, and has the urge to take it off just for a minute to feel the breeze on his face. Quaritch is sitting behind him on his ikran, relaxed and confident in steering while at the same time holding a conversation after weeks of practice. The others are all on their own ikrans, fanning out in a diamond formation, with Quaritch leading the pack. 

“Oel naati kameie,” Quaritch says. He butchers the pronunciation of the word ‘ngati,’ and Spider can’t stop himself from laughing. 

“Ngatti , ngaati ,” he corrects. 

Quaritch gives him a deadpan look. “That’s what I just said, ain’t it?” He extends his hand from his forehead like Spider taught him and says again, the exact same way, “Oel naati kameie.”

Maybe Spider isn’t the best teacher, but Quaritch is also one hell of a stubborn student. His smile must be leaning on the side of patronizing because the ikran, Cupcake as Quaritch dubbed her, roars in frustration that is not quite her own. He runs a soothing hand over the side of her neck and she shakes her head a little, preening. 

“Not ‘naati.’ Ngatti .” Spider tries to emphasize the first syllable by drawing his hand away from his face like he is stretching out the letters.

Quaritch mimics his gesturing and finally says, “ Ngatti. All right. Like it’s comin’ out your nose, or something.” 

Spider laughs again, turning back to face forward. He looks down at the rippling water as the ikran tilts into a right turn. To his left is an endless expanse of pointed mountains, and way out to his right is the broad Eastern Sea. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d say they’re just passing the territory of the Tayrangi Clan. Spider has never been this far out before, but he’s seen pictures of it on screens back at Hell’s Gate, and Mom and Dad always used to bring back little gifts of jewelry and toys when they came home from trips.

Every year before the RDA returned, his parents would make their rounds visiting the different clans that helped them defeat the RDA the first time at the Assault of the Hallelujah Mountains. Spider and his siblings have heard stories about the clan leader of the Ikran People, Ikeyni, of her strong spirit and her foul mouth. Dad would say he learns a new Na’vi curse word every time they meet, and Mom would shake her head in disappointment when they all begged to know what those words were. Those times are over, now. All of the clans from the war alliance know that the Omaticaya have gone into hiding, and since then nearly all communication from groups outside High Camp has ceased. 

He wonders now if his family has relocated again. Are they still at High Camp, planning train raids and battle plans for a war that is yet to come? Or did they run as soon as they realized Spider was taken, out of fear that he might give up their location? Maybe, Dad is biding his time, gathering resources, reforming alliances with other clans so together they can strike Bridgehead when the RDA least expects it, all in an effort to save his first born. Will they tear the base apart only to find Spider missing again? 

The com in his ear crackles to life and his ears twitch when Lyle’s voice comes through, “Boss, long-range patrol picked up a radar hit. A rogue gunship.” 

All lightheartedness leaves Quaritch immediately. He goes fully into what Spider calls Colonel Mode. His face closes off, his posture straightens. The hyper-focused, dangerously sharp persona always sends chills down his spine, and now is no exception. 

“Where?” Quaritch asks. 

Lyle says, “Eastern Sea. Four hundred klicks north.” 

A pause. Spider hopes for a rare miracle that Quaritch will disregard the information, say to hell with it and keep on practicing Na’vi with him. This would be the perfect moment to abandon orders and take the reins on his own mission, one far away from war and vengeance. But of course, none of this happens. Instead, Quaritch tells him to hang on and dives sharply, redirecting Cupcake and the others to head straight. 

A hand on the comms device around his neck, Quaritch calls for Iron Sky to come in, saying something about scheduling a debrief. Locations and times and airships are discussed, but Spider barely hears any of it, too caught up on the uncanny feeling that this is where things take a turn for the worse. 

↔

If Spider thought the forest was huge, then the ocean is a behemoth. Miles and miles of endless stretches of blue and green water, reaching all the way to the horizon and further still. The human ship Quaritch commandeered glides smoothly across the water, all reinforced metal and Sky People technology. Amongst the vast rock formations and sea creatures swimming by, it doesn’t belong. He looks down at the wake the ship makes as it cuts through the ocean, and feels slightly nauseous.

Did his family really flee to the islands? Is he about to be face to face with them after months, and furthermore does he want to be?  On one hand he wants nothing more than to be wrapped in his mom's arms again, to run around with Lo'ak and Kiri. He'll take whatever lecture Dad has been planning for him about how stupid he was for taking his siblings into the forbidden parts of the forest, if it means he gets to see them all again. On the other hand, the idea of reuniting with them sounds like the worst thing that could happen right now.

Spider isn't the same person he was four months ago. He's been turned inside out and rearranged and put back again with pieces missing. He walked with the enemy, laughed with them, and shared meals with them. He taught them how to bond with ikrans, how to pick the right branches in the trees for climbing, and how to survive out in the forests of Eywa’eveng. Will his family be able to tell that he is a traitor just by looking at him? 

The urge to hurl himself overboard is stronger than ever at the thought of his parents turning him away after what he’s done. Someone will surely kill him after all this, so he might as well just get it over with now. He leans further over the deck railing until the cool metal grazes his belly. His hands tightens around the railing so he doesn’t tip over. 

"If you're gonna puke, you have to take the mask off first," a voice comes from behind him. 

Spider startles hard enough that he almost slips. If he were anyone else, someone with less experience with balancing on precarious ground, he would have fallen right over the side of the ship. But instead he just bangs his ribs against the railing in his haste to stand up straight. The pain rattles through his abdomen and he winces, but doesn't cry out. 

"I'm not seasick," Spider says. 

The man behind him is one of the crew members. The marine biologist with the salt and pepper beard and frown lines around his mouth. Garvin, Spider remembers. Garvin shrugs like he doesn't quite believe Spider, but walks over to stand at the railing with him anyway.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Nothing like the oceans back on Earth. These ones are so…clear." 

Spider has no idea what the oceans look like back on Earth. But he's heard about them briefly from the scientists at Hell's Gate, and even less often when he was able to pry a story from Dad. They told him about the way plastic pooled at the surface of the Earth's oceans. The toxicity levels made the water too dangerous for humans to swim in, and so what was once a popular tourist destination over a hundred years ago became just another reminder of the way humans murdered their planet. 

Garvin gives him a sidelong look when he doesn’t respond. "You’re not one of them, are you? The avatars?" 

Spider tries to come up with some denial, but his ears press against his head shamefully, and Garvin's eyes lock on the movement. Then he looks Spider up and down, obviously noting the many surgical scars that never fade even when the bruises do. Garvin's frown deepens, and there's no denying his circumstances now.

"You’re their prisoner." Garvin sounds a little disturbed, a little angry.

"What’s it to you?" Spider asks instead of saying something ridiculous like can you help me or, worse,  I'm not a prisoner, they’re nice to me.  

The air between them is thick with unsaid words. Garvin looks at him, and Spider looks back until he can’t take it anymore and looks out to the water again. After a beat, Garvin sighs.

"Nothing at all." 

Then Garvin walks off to the other side of the deck to talk to some other crew members. Spider watches him go pensively. From the back he looks almost like Norm. He's just as tall, and they dress similarly, wearing t-shirts instead of military fatigues. It makes Spider wonder what would have become of Norm if he stayed with the RDA. Would he have developed the same frown lines, the deep purple bags under his eyes, the desolate look of a man who knows he's a part of the problem and not the solution? 

At the thought of Norm, homesickness twists his insides so violently he leans back over the railing with a heave. He wants to go home. Wherever that may be, the forest or High Camp, he wants to be anywhere but on this boat right now. The realization hits him that even if he does get the chance to go home again, he can’t be sure anyone would welcome him back.

Bitter stomach acid burns up his throat, and he has just enough time to rip off his mask to puke for real. 

↔

The world is on fire. 

This morning saw a sky darkened with deep gray clouds, and now the wind carries the flames up to them, whistling an ominous tune. The wails of the Ta’unui people harmonize with it. 

As soon as he saw the RDA use their electro prods on the villagers, he froze up. The phantom burn of electricity still races through every nerve ending in Spider’s body and threatens to send his muscles locking up, like he’s back in his cell at Bridgehead with the Ugly Bunch standing over him and jeering at his pain. But he’s not there. He’s on this burning beach, where families have woven their very lives into the giant trees and gnarled roots jutting up from the gray-green water. And it’s all turning to ash before their eyes. His family isn’t here, and he’s relieved for that, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing in the favor of the Ta’unui people. 

They are bound with the same orange snap cuffs that Spider and his siblings were. He stands at Quaritch’s side, trying hard to remain present but wanting nothing more than to drift away from the chaos. He said he wouldn’t be a part of this, but what does it matter if his words don’t match his actions. It isn’t like he is trying to put out the fires, or tackling the RDA soldiers with their guns that shoot flames instead of bullets. 

Words spill from his mouth. Apologies, excuses. He’s sorry, he didn’t know this would happen. But that’s a lie, he did know. He knew exactly what kind of man Miles Quaritch was, blue skin or not, and he’d chosen not to believe it. He’d let himself be lulled into complacency because of a few kind words and gestures, because Quaritch took him out of Bridgehead like he was a damsel in need of rescuing. And this is the result of his stupidity. 

“Stop this madness!” The Tsahík begs him, as if he can do anything here. Storms have gathered inside her eyes as tears stream down her face just like a downpour while the the burning maruis flicker in her pupils like lightning.

Spider shakes his head hopelessly. “I’m sorry,” he says. It’s not enough, but it’s all he has. 

Quaritch’s hand lands on his shoulder. It’s cold even with the whole village being turned into a raging inferno, and something in Spider snaps. How could he have ever found Quaritch’s touch comforting? He rips himself away. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

It’s pointless. Quaritch grabs him again with a bruising hold and drags him over to the group of ikrans waiting by the shore. Spider kicks and screams, putting all his weight into staying on the ground as Quaritch tries to wrestle him onto Cupcake’s back. 

“Stop being a brat, kid, let’s go!” Quaritch demands, but even as he does Spider keeps screaming.

“Eywa will destroy you for this! You’re all demons! Get off!” He’s speaking in a jumbled, indecipherable mix of Na’vi and English, but he doesn’t care. The message is clear. 

Then Quaritch takes the remote for the electrochip out of his breast pocket. He holds it up in warning. Spider surprises even himself when he speaks next.

“Do it. Kill me just like you killed my People.”

A terse beat. Quaritch looks at the other recombinants who are watching the exchange in silence, waiting for the word to intervene. Quaritch nods at them.

“Head on back.” His tone is final and rings with consequences to come should someone disobey.

Lyle looks between the two of them warily, but then he says, “You heard him. Let’s move.” 

The recombinants take to the sky, and then it’s just Quaritch and Spider standing at the edge of a burning village. His mask filters out the smoke in the air, but he can still taste charred wood on his tongue when he breathes in. He tries to muster up as much hatred into his gaze as he can, but if he succeeds it doesn’t matter. Quaritch’s face is hard as stone, unflinching. He tucks the remote back into his pocket. In a flurry of movement, he picks Spider up from under his arms and tosses him across Cupcake’s back. 

“You fucker! Let go of me!” He is on his stomach with his legs dangling over Cupcake’s neck, but he can’t do much when Quaritch takes off with one hand on the saddle reins and the other pressing down on his back. 

They don’t fly towards the ship, but in the opposite direction, deeper into the island. They’re only in the air for a few minutes before they touch down in a clearing. As soon as Quaritch removes his hand, Spider jumps up and stumbles back. The forest they’re in isn’t very dense, more sand than trees. But it’s far enough away from the village and inland enough that the sound of lapping water and crying villagers can’t be heard. 

Quaritch unmounts Cupcake but does not close the distance separating him from Spider. Still, his stare pins Spider in place.

“Your ‘people?’” Quaritch asks levelly. “You think you’re even as important as a bug to that clan? They don’t give a damn about you. As soon as you were gone your own father fled with his tail between his legs. Do you think he even tried looking for you?” 

Spider opens his mouth to argue, but no words come out. He wants to insist that of course his dad tried, but how can he prove that? If his parents really had wanted to rescue him, they would have. His mom, at least, would have stopped at nothing until he was found again. But even after months, no one came. 

“I saved you from that hellhole. I took care of you. And this is how you treat me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Spider says, relieved when his voice doesn’t shake. “You’ve hurt people. You continue to hurt people. It’s what you were created for!” 

Quaritch scoffs. “We starting up with that argument again? Say what you want, but we’re more alike than you think.” 

Spider’s ears twitch back and he bares his teeth. “I’m nothing like you!” 

“Then what are you? One of them? Look at yourself!” In three large strides Quaritch closes the gap between them and grabs Spider’s arm. He pulls the limb up between them, showing off his four fingers, the blue stripes standing out against his pink skin. Spider tries to yank himself free, but the grip is unrelenting.

Still, he hisses, “I’m still more Na’vi than you’ll ever be.” 

That strikes a chord within Quaritch. His tail cuts through the air agitatedly and his eyes narrow a fraction. Spider wonders for a moment if he should brace himself to be hit when in one swooping motion, Quaritch releases Spider and rips off his mask.

Spider falls back into the sand from the force. He gasps in a lungful of unfiltered air and tastes salt. The air is thick and burns a little when he exhales. Quaritch stands above him with the mask in hand, and it’s comically small within his palm. Spider is struck with the memory of how easily he’d crushed his own human skull in that hand.

“That so?” Quaritch asks darkly. He throws a hand out and says, “Then go ahead. Run away, monkey boy. Let’s see how far you get.”

It’s a trick. It has to be. Even if he can’t be tracked without his mask, there’s still the threat of the electrochip. Where will he go, anyway? The Ta’unui village is in ruins, and even if it weren’t they surely won’t help him after what he let happen. But Quaritch isn’t laughing like he’s joking, and he’s not reaching down to grab him again, and Spider doesn’t know when he’ll get an opportunity like this again. So he scrambles backwards on his hands, manages to get his feet under him, and runs.

It’s a half-baked escape attempt. He knows the forest like the back of his hand, but not this forest. The greenery is all different, there are no tree branches strong enough for climbing, and what few bushes there are provide no coverage to hide behind. Still, Spider picks one direction and sticks to it, hoping for a miracle. Maybe today, just this once, Eywa will be on his side. 

He’s never run without his mask before, and he hasn’t practiced breathing without his mask in months. In less than a minute he’s wheezing. His limbs feel like they’re being weighed down by rocks, and on his next inhale he chokes. His lungs seize mutinously. A wave of dizziness hits him so strongly and suddenly that he crashes to his knees. When he tries to stand up again, his legs do not cooperate. Spider gives up and lays face down on the ground.

Footsteps crunch through the sand towards him. Large hands roll him onto his back, and a blue face hovers over him. They’re frowning. His thoughts are like syrup, and it takes several seconds before he recognizes Quaritch’s features. The urge to run is fleeting and wispy in the way it feels when he has to do something but can’t remember what. Then something is being put on his face, a strap fastened around the back of his head, and he breathes in stark, clean air. The fog in his mind clears a little, but a bone deep exhaustion saps his ability to do so much as speak.

Quaritch looks down at him with an expression that is an indecipherable mix of emotions. Pity, anger, disdain, and if Spider didn’t know any better, he’d say concern. 

“Still think you’re one of them, kid?” Quaritch asks.

Spider can’t respond. He just closes his eyes, and doesn’t fight this time when Quaritch tosses him over one shoulder to carry him away.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”