Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mother, I don’t know how to say this,” Neytiri had begun, the day they’d left the safety of High Camp, and the comfort of the clan. 

“Say it simply, daughter,” Mo’at had replied, bent over her cookfire as she delicately blended herbs and plants together. Achieving a melodious balance only some Tsahik’s could dream of. “I will understand your meaning.” 

There was a pause, and Mo’at is sure that if she had been concentrating fully, she would have noticed its weight. It dragged, for seconds, then what humans called minutes, until Neytiri seemed to have gathered her courage with a large breath. 

“We have to leave this place,” Neytiri had said, and when nothing further came from her, Mo’at had finally looked up from her brewing. 

“I do know this,” she had said plainly, without any turn to her voice because she could clearly see Neytiri was upset. “We have discussed it as a family, and decided it was best for you and the children to go and ask the Metkayina clan for aid both to rid our planets of humans, and to rescue–” 

The name gets stuck in her throat like a stone, heavy and very obvious. She had to swallow past it, and nearly drag his name up to his mouth and out from behind her teeth. 

“To rescue Spider,” she had said, and beside her Neytiri had shuddered. “Meanwhile myself and the warriors shall do what we can to interrupt the human’s constructions, and continue to interrupt their supply lines. It has all been arranged, you do not need to remind me.”

“I am not reminding you,” Neytiri had snapped back with a surprising amount of venom to her tone. Mo’at had been taken by surprise, although not as much as she would be in this situation. “I am only…telling you this to–to…” 

Her proud shoulders had slumped downwards, as they had when her sister and father had been killed. The responsibility and courage became too much for her slim back and spine. Mo’at had lifted her concoction off the cookfire and inched closer, wary that Neytiri might not want any comfort at this moment. 

But when she had laid a hand on her shoulder, she had practically launched herself at Mo’at’s chest. She barely had a chance to wrap her arms around her daughter before the sobs were bursting from her lips in earnest. And the tears were soaking her skin. 

“Words need to be said aloud for them to resonate,” Mo’at had murmured, more to herself than anything. But Neytiri had nodded anyway, her sobs nearly turning into wails because for them, this is their worst scenario. 

Mo’at had always dreamt that her children and grandchildren and their children would live in Hometree, but that had been shattered by both the bombs created by and sent by the humans, and the threat they had posed and still do now. But at least in High Camp they had some sentiment of a home, if it was only temporary. And she’d come to the opinion that they didn’t need a physical place to create a home, only the people. 

She still believes that now, and always will. 

It was such a simple moment, one that was easy to attend to but difficult in a way. A goodbye which was necessary. Because if there was anyone who could ground her daughter in the present it was herself. And Neytiri had needed someone to tie her down before her thoughts could drift from her body. And Mo’at had seen that plainly. 

Eytukan had done the same for her once upon a time. He still does, but she feels that the distance she’s putting between herself and the forest is diminishing the connection. The physical and permanent weight of a hand on her shoulder fading to a light touch. And then to nothing at all as the sea becomes all she sees. 

She refuses to let herself turn back, even if it’s just to feel that sensation for a few moments more. Instead she urges her ikran forward and lays her hand against her own shoulder, more as a farewell than a goodbye. Mo’at finds some comfort and strength in her own sentiment and pushes onwards, following the arc of Polyphemus as it travels across the sky. 

She’d told Neytiri the day they left that it traditionally takes three turns of Alpha Centauri to reach the Metkayina village. At least, that had been the case when Mo’at was a girl, but it seems because of the changing weather systems that the journey takes longer. And it’s far more arduous. 

The winds are stronger than anything she’s encountered in the forest, battering against herself and her companion without mercy. At one point, she thinks they’re going to upend and fall into the sea, but it is by her ikran’s stubbornness and her own determination that they remain upright. 

It’s not an easy task though, because the rain comes at them next. Droplets as big as the ones she’s seen during monsoon season, pelting at them from a sideways angle that soaks through her poncho and shawl. It affects her sight, and when she tries to lift her hand to mitigate it, it does nothing to help. 

Her ikran croaks and shrieks at the cold and rain, arching upwards from the sea when the waves grow so tall to nearly reach his claws. Mo’at gasps quietly, but says nothing else, placing all of her focus into her stance and grip. 

She refuses to be thrown into the sea. She will not be barred from seeing her family, not when they could finally be whole again. Eywa give her strength, and she will batter through the journey. 

“That’s it, my friend,” she calls to her ikran, tilting his snout up to the dark and heavy clouds above them. “Just a little further.” 

Her companion shrieks in answer, but Mo’at can feel it in her gut that she’s right. Because there’s something that feels familiar about this part of the ocean, and she leans ever so slightly to her left, guiding him to where the clouds break away to the bright blue above. To where the roiling and thrashing of the water below them tapers off. 

“You doubted me,” she says to Hawnu, although her tone is light and amused. The ikran croaks, and shakes his head a few times as if to deny her. But she’d felt the hesitation as clear as anything through their bond. “It is alright, I would have doubted myself too if it was the sea biting at my heels. So I thank you for trusting me.” 

Her eyes alight on the village ahead, and the amusement falls away, steps back for the Tsahik to take its place. “Shall we see what chaos my family have caused,” she asks, and Hawnu grumbles back, tilting his snout downwards so that they skim along the surface of the water. 

Metkayina clan members call at her from their rock pools, although there is less hostility in their signals than she expects. Perhaps Jake Sully has achieved more than she thought he would here, perhaps there is some merit to creating a better connection between the two clans. She puts the thought aside for now, and focuses instead on the gathering crowd at the beach. 

And the familiar coloured ikrans surrounding them, blue (Tisay, ever present at her companions side), Tson standing proudly and protectively next to her daughter. And the mixture of light green and blue skinned Na’vi, all turning abruptly at her approach. 

Hawnu roars in greeting as he lands on the sand, adjusting his feet so that he doesn’t slip. Mo’at takes a moment before clambering down from his harness to allow him - and herself - to gain their balance. It has been many years since she’s felt sand beneath her toes, and it would not do to embarrass herself by slipping. 

As she disconnects her tswin, she takes a moment to observe the proceedings. Grounding herself in the familiar sight of her family, and all five of her grandchildren.

Lo’ak and Kiri stand side by side next to their father, staring at her with adoration and some kind of awe she’s never seen before grace their expressions. Perhaps she’d been a bit too overenthusiastic with her arrival. Whatever the case, they grin at her widely, and her chest warms at the slight relieved slump of their shoulders. 

Spider lays in Jake’s arms, limbs limp and head supported by his father’s shoulder. By his shallow breathing it is obvious he is not as unconscious as they would think, and his eyelids flutter ever so slightly when she stares at him. But it is not his awakened state she notices, but the myriad of bruises and the swelling of his shoulder which sends a solid impact to Mo’at’s stomach. 

Her eyes turn away quicker than she’d like, but there is nothing worse to her than seeing her family in pain. It means her gaze connects with Neytiri’s next, and her lashing tail and tense shoulders. 

One flicker of her eyes between her daughter and the Metkayina Tsahik and the tension is made clear. And Mo’at barely holds herself back from tutting in reprimand. Only furrowing her brow ever so slightly. 

And then a murmur of her name draws her attention to Neteyam, and the human sitting behind him. Her grandson looks so relieved to see her, as if every problem in this moment has been solved with her arrival. She nods at him fondly, both in greeting and in comfort because she knows how intense this must be. 

And then her gaze catches on the human once again. And her intrigue and curiosity spikes. 

He’s dressed in RDA fatigues, complete with the piece of clothing wrapped around his torso - a vest. But the patches, the insignia designating the person as a member of the company have been damaged, nearly ripped off. And the trousers he wears look a little bit too big for him, trailing over the top of his boots as if they were made for someone that little bit taller. 

His hair, which is turning a lighter shade of brown from the exposure, is tied up neatly at the back of his head. Although some strands have come free from the tie and have draped over his forehead. But it’s his gaze that piques her interest the most. Because it’s hooded with exhaustion and weighed down by something she can’t see. But his eyes still flicker with some sort of determination, and something else she’s very familiar with. 

Protectiveness. 

It happens every time his eyes flick over Spider’s form, the grey hardening into something as bright as the sea in a storm, as fierce as an older sibling. 

And Mo’at is surprised to find that she doesn’t mind this human, and when he bows his head in respect she discovers that she would tolerate him being close to her. Maybe she might even like him in conversation.  

There’s a silence as everyone attempts to gather their thoughts, and fingers are hastily graced against foreheads as the Metkayina clan members, and her own family, welcome her to the village. The crunch of sand causes her ears to twitch, and she turns to her son with a small fond smile as he asks what she’s doing here. 

Which is a silly question, and one she doesn’t deign an answer to. Jake doesn’t seem to mind as he ploughs right onto the next one. 

“How did you know to come?” he asks. 

“I have my ways,” she says, turning to smile at Kiri who giggles. Her shoulders grow a bit warmer, enough for her to roll them in acknowledgement. The tension is still there between her family and the Metkayina, and although she’s arrived and diluted it a little, the stares traded between Neytiri and the Tsahik are as stern and angry as anything. 

Mo’at sighs quietly, enough so that no one else but her hears it, and says, “I see you’ve handled negotiations as well as you usually do.” 

“Yeah,” Jake replies, his head falling in embarrassment. As it should, seeing as she wanted him to not affect the relationship between the Omatikaya and the Metkayina clans whilst he was here. But perhaps that’s not fair, seeing as it’s her own daughter doing the glaring and not him. “We were just explaining to Ronal and Tonowari that the human–” 

“Why are we discussing a human when my grandson is in need of urgent medical care?” she says, cutting across him in that way that has become natural. He doesn’t even flinch. “Surely he should have been taken to the Tsahik’s hut by now, no? Or are we going to stand around gormlessly and expose him to the elements?” 

“You are suggesting something,” the Tsahik suddenly says, and the expression on her face is as set as stone. Mo’at was wondering when she would break her silence and speak up, seeing as her jaw had been drawn tight enough to crack her own teeth. “I don’t like the connotations that you are insinuating. We were merely telling your family that we agreed to allow one human to remain within our village, not two. And it was only because of the interesting circumstances.” 

“Mind your words Ronal,” Mo’at says lowly, and the other woman’s shoulders draw back minutely. Because one of them is older, and more experienced than the other. And although she hasn’t used this tone in a while, it still has some effect. “If my daughter and her mate are insisting a human stay with them, then it is for good reason. And the longer we stand around here, the longer my grandson is exposed to the cold.” 

A pause falls over them then, and the two converse as only Tsahiks can, both with each other and the Great Mother. One asking for reasoning and understanding, and the other stubbornly standing firm for her duty as a parent and grandmother. A child was in danger, so this should be bigger than either of them. 

Mo’at twitches her ears, and brushes the end of her tail against her ankle. Lines up every vertebrae in her back and puts an expression on her face that demands compliance. 

And the only thing that breaks the tension and quiet is Ronal turning away, putting her back to Mo’at in a sign of deference and facing the walkways of her village. She moves through her people easily, and the Olo’eyktan only goes with her when he is sure the atmosphere has fully diminished. 

There is movement then once more, and both of them are swallowed up by the surging of the crowd. Although they do stop and wait at the first woven walkway, standing and watching their people go past. On to do their daily chores and clean up from the battle. 

It has Mo’at striding towards Jake and Neytiri, taking Spider easily from their arms and turning her stern gaze to Neteyam, who still sits on Tisay’s back. And the human, who watches from behind his shoulder, his eyes wide in amazement and the corners pulled back just a little bit by fear.

She considers him, and then nods to herself.  

“You, boy,” she snaps, but it isn’t cruel, she makes sure to soften her consonants so it’s more a demand than an order. The human nods hesitantly after a moment’s hesitation. As if he believed she was talking to her grandson. She continues, “You are the one who will help heal him, yes? You know what has happened?” 

“Y-Yes, I want to help,” he manages, and it is only because of the angle of her ears that she’s able to hear him. He seems just as exhausted as the boy cradled in her grip - the one burying closer to her with a tired sigh. She nods once and swivels on her heal to follow the Olo’eyktan and Ronal.  

“Come, you will help,” she says simply over her shoulder, and the distinct sound of cloth on leather reaches her ears. But there’s a second crunch of sand, and when she turns to look she spies Neteyam trying to come with them too. She cuts him a sharp look, even though she doesn’t want to and tries to soften it with fondness, and says, “Give us some time. Then you can come and see him.” 

She stops, not even a whole step into her stride, and reaches behind her back, to where a woven sack lays against her waist. She pulls out the datapad. The confounded, irritable piece of technology which Jake had somehow manage to leave behind. She hands it to Jake easily, although her expression does not convey the annoyance it has been. The missing weight is Eywa sent, and she rolls her shoulder once more.  

“That infernal thing has been making noise nonstop since you left,” she tells him sternly. “Please, turn it off or destroy it. Either is a good option, or answer whoever is trying to reach you.” 

He takes it, eyes slightly dazed as if he’s still trying to comprehend her presence, which he should be, but then they focus when the datapad makes a chirping noise. One that is now probably ingrained in her mind never to be removed.  

Mo’at’s gaze then slides just a little bit to the left, and catches onto the human. 

Right. She has a job to do, her fingers tighten where they hold Spider’s torso and his legs. “Come,” she says again, and finally strikes out over the woven walkways of the village. Putting on an air of confidence to hide her own worry. 

This is the first time she’s seen her oldest grandchild in months, and he comes back so bruised and injured and sickly. It’s enough to make her feel sick, and it’s only because she has him to focus on that she doesn’t curl into a ball and cradle him to her chest. 

She keeps walking, somehow. Placing one foot in front of the other and following behind Ronal as she leads them deeper into the village. The human keeps pace, but barely, stumbling behind as if he’s never walked on pathways made of leather and strengthened by branches. 

Perhaps he really never has, and it’s similar to her and sand. 

She tries to exaggerate her foot placement, trying to be as helpful as she can. But it’s not obvious enough as he trips over his feet again, stumbling badly and nearly ending up in the water. She’s quick to grab him by the back of his shirt, tugging him upright and setting his feet on the walkway again. 

She’s tempted to chasten his speed, or even his choice of footwear but the human ducks his head to hide the red in his cheeks. And she’s pleased to see him ripping the boots off as soon as he gets to a stable bit of walkway. 

They keep going, and although her attention is settling on everything interesting she sees, it’s mainly centred on her grandson. The steady thump of his pulse against her fingers, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes and the way he leans into her touch whenever it adjusts. 

It’s that moment that affects her most because whilst Spider has often been a more tactile person, he’s not one to blatantly cuddle up against any of them. Especially not when it ultimately hurts him, which it is because he winces with every adjustment of his shoulder. 

She lifts her gaze from him and aims it at Ronal’s shoulders, willing her silently to go a little bit faster, to widen the stride of her legs and cover more ground. It doesn’t work but it has Mo’at funnelling her anger into something tangible. 

They finally reach the Tsahik pod, the familiar smell of medicines and hers itching her nose as she steps through the cover. It’s dark and sheltered so as to aid unhindered sleep, and Mo’at settles Spider on the woven pallet close to the cookfire. He sighs once he’s down, wiggling a little to get himself comfortable. 

But then his breaths are lengthening and deepening with sleep, and his brow completely relaxes into an expression she could draw from memory. 

She doesn’t dare settle a blanket around his shoulders yet, because they still need to heal what they can; the physical hurts, the bruises and the dislocated shoulder.

The human places himself against the wall of the pod, as far out of the way as he can get, and Mo’at keeps a wary eye on him for a few moments. She doesn’t like the severe slump of his shoulders, and wonders if he’s had something to eat. 

Ronal kneels on Spider’s other side, and hands over a simple paste for bruises. They must use a different root to set it, because when Mo’at scoops it from the pot it’s slimier and greasier than she’d expected. But she gets to work with it anyway, slathering it into skin which seems to have already started the healing process. 

The bruises are obviously days old, but one or two at his back are turning the bright shade of purple she’s only seen on humans. She watches his expression, but his nose doesn’t even so much as twitch. 

“Speak,” she says once the bruises are taken care of, and Ronal is handing over a bandage to set his shoulder. The human startles in surprise, but takes no time at all to sit before her, his fingers a bit closer to Spider than she’d like. That thought is shoved away however when the boy begins to explain the ordeal her grandson had to survive. 

Alone. Without any of his family there to comfort him. She doubts there’s even anyone in that base with simple compassion, apart from the human before her. But he hardly counts as he’s abandoned the company. 

Every new malady, every possible sickness Spider could get, every condition the human lays on his shoulder takes her worry and stress by the hand and dashes off with it merrily. And her hands shake from how tightly she’s balled them up, which makes it hard to release them. 

Because as soon as the boy has finished explaining, and once her anger is back under control, she and Ronal set to work. Fluttering over Spider’s body in such a way that he would find it annoying, if he were awake. She bandages his cuts, gently lifts his head to have him drink something for his concussion and ties off the splint until such a time it can be dealt with properly. 

By that point she’s exhausted, mentally and physically. 

“This machine you say he was subjected to,” she asks and the human’s attention snaps up from where it had fallen to his toes. “What did it do to him, exactly?” 

She doesn’t want to know, her stomach curls and writhes at the thought of it, but she can’t hope to heal him completely if she doesn’t know the full extent of the damage. 

“The Tree of Souls,” he begins, and already her tail is lashing behind her, “your tswin connects you to the ancestors within, correct? So that you can provide memories of someone who has just passed into the arms of Eywa?” 

“That is right,” she says, not liking where this is going, and the human nods. 

“The machine is something similar, although consent is not needed,” he explains. “It takes a person's memories and examines them, using the brain waves to analyse emotion and attachment to the subject of the memories. It’s used for interrogations, sometimes prisoners of war. But your grandson managed to fight against its grip, somehow.” 

“Of course he did,” Mo’at grumbles, wondering if the human even knows her grandson if he’s questioning his strength. “But that doesn’t explain what it did to him, what after effects we can expect.” 

The human pauses, and she dislikes the length of it. He considers his words, then considers the woven floor underneath him, then finally glances back up again. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and Mo’at feels it like a physical blow to her stomach. Although she doesn’t let it affect her expression, and only nods sharply. Because it is something for them to deal with when they come to it. 

She’s always seen the healing process as a path, a winding journey through the tree branches. And if that is a larger jump than they expect, then they will face it. And as ever she will be the root that supports the growing tree, the guiding hand as the scars inflicted on her family are mended. 

When Spider first awoke, he’d been incredibly groggy, his eyes still so weighted down by exhaustion that he’d slipped back into the embrace of sleep as soon as he’d come out of it. He’d been aware enough to notice the bright spots of heat laying against him, but that had been it. 

Now, with his eyes becoming unstuck and exposed to the bright light, he finds he feels way better than he’d expected. 

There are twinges here and there, pain that’s been dulled by medicine and creams, and of course the exhaustion that still holds some control over him. But he’s aware, finally, and able to move his head to take in his surroundings. 

His family surrounds him, literally. Da sits at his side, and Ma stands guard over a pot by the cookfire. They were watching him for wakefulness, because when his gaze meets theirs their smiles are bright and fond and relieved all at once. And he sends one back as best as he can. 

There’s a sort of…tension, which isn’t quite the word but maybe atmosphere is better, that floats over his head, and he turns it again to catch sight of Malachy leant against the wall of the pod. But when he glances back again, his parents aren’t any emotion close to anger, more worried. And whilst it is aimed in his direction, it's only partial. 

As the other is bit is being sent in Malachy’s direction, which is all kinds of weird.

“Hey bud,” Da says quietly, the tone reminiscent of mornings in their pod. Spider tries to stretch his legs and toes, but a small grumble stops him. And he suddenly realises the spots of heat are his siblings. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired,” Spider replies immediately, lifting his free arm - because the other has been claimed by Neteyam’s hands - to wipe his eyes. He feels him tummy burble quietly, and says, “hungry too.” 

Da smiles and next to the cookfire Ma huffs a fond laugh, the spoon in her hand circling the rim of the pot and wafting delicious aromas towards his nose. 

“We have food,” she says, and Spider feels the exhaustion finally release its claws with those words. Because nothing sounds better than some of his Ma’s cooking. 

“I could eat,” he says as his stomach gives a much louder grumble. It has Lo’ak and Tuk shuffling from where they sleep, their faces scrunching into wide yawns as they begin the ascent towards consciousness. 

“Let’s get some food in you then,” Da says, and Spider can’t help but laugh when his hands falter over Tuk’s shoulders. Fluttering undecidedly over all of them as if he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet atmosphere. 

Spider wiggles his arm, lifts his hips as if he wants to get him, and scooches his leg a little to move Kiri’s head where it lies on his shin. Neteyam grumbles loudly and only tightens his grip (Spider is not happy about the frown that appears in the middle of his brother's forehead, but he doesn’t comment on it). Lo’ak groans at the disturbance, but rises like a person from the dead, limbs limp and eyes still shut. Kiri turns onto her side without getting up, even when Spider jiggles his leg so hard her head bounces. 

Tuk yawns and stretches so widely that she nearly punches Neteyam in the shoulder, but surprisingly she’s the easiest to awaken. And obviously the first to notice Spider’s open eyes. 

She gasps and shrieks loudly, unaware of the quiet established over the sibling pile up, and practically throws herself at Spider. He barely manages to get his arm up in time, but he catches her. Although her head clacks painfully against his chin, causing bright sparkles of pain to dance along his jaw. He doesn’t care though. 

Because Tuk is giggling so loudly and happily it’s the only thing he can focus on, that and the heat of her arms wrapping around his neck so tightly he feels them like a brand against his skin. But maybe that’s just because of the length of time he went without hugs. 

“You’re back!” she shouts, right next to his ear. Spider flinches, but laughs just as loudly - although it irritates his dry throat. “And you’re okay! I missed you so much big brother.” 

“I missed you too Tuktuk,” Spider says, holding on tighter and once again trying to wiggle his other hand free of Neteyam’s head. Da laughs from above him, and it snaps the rest of his siblings out of their sleepiness. 

(It says something about his absence that it’s laughter that gets them up, and not Tuk’s shouting. 

But at the moment he’s too tired to try and make sense of it.) 

But no sooner do their eyes snap open are they piling onto Spider again. But this time it’s for a hug rather than using him as a pillow. Heads and limbs, hands and feet and everything in between fall ontop of him, and Spider feels his chest wheeze under their weight. His arms work themselves free of the blanket and their grips until he’s placing one over Neteyam’s shoulder, and wrapping the other around Kiri’s back. 

And all the time they shout at him, sniffle loudly and nearly talk his ear off. 

“We’re so glad you’re awake.” 

“You know you still snore in your sleep right?” 

“Like you can talk, Lo’ak.” 

“Your hair! I need to fix it, today it looks horrible.” 

“We’re not hurting you are we?” 

“Eywa I missed your laughing.” 

“I missed his everything.” 

“Well I missed him more than you, so there.” 

“How has it suddenly become a competition?” 

“Since you guys got to rescue him and I had to stay here. You didn’t wake up in time to eat what I made.” 

“Maybe he can eat it once he’s well enough.” 

“Maybe we can give your brother some room to breathe guys,” Da says, tugging a little against Tuk’s shoulders. They whine and whinge, but sit back a little so that Da can help him upwards. As soon as he’s upright, his hands are grabbed and his sides are occupied by his siblings. And he can’t wipe the smile from his cheeks. 

(Not even the lonely sight of Malachy sitting against the wall of the pod can affect it. 

He knows it’s something that needs to be discussed though, because he was expecting to not see him again. Not after they were separated on the SeaDragon in a whirl of water.) 

Spider shakes his head lightly to rid himself of the thought, concentrating instead on the approaching bowl of food, and taking a large whiff of it once it’s in his hands. It’s a light broth, made with some kind of sea root which floats along appealingly with vegetables and small bits of meat - or fish, he can’t really tell. 

The others get the same thing, though Tuk pulls a face at the sight of the veggies. Spider’s smile widens again and he can’t help but tease her, saying, “C’mon Tuk, veggies make you so much stronger. You could beat Lo’ak if you ate all of them.” 

She gasps, surprisingly loudly, and then proceeds to gulp down the broth without the aid of the spoon, splashing soup all down her chin and front. Ma tuts fondly, and reaches over to wipe it away once it’s finished, and his other siblings chuckle at her antics. 

“You should be careful,” Malachy says, so quietly that Spider doubts a normal human would have heard him. “You’ve not eaten any rich foods for weeks, take it easy whilst you get used to normal food again.” 

“Why do you think I made a light meal, human?” Ma suddenly snaps at him, and Spider notices the suddenly heightened tension in the pod. And the multitude of distrustful eyes upon Malachy’s person. “I am not as ignorant as you think I am, or would you like to tell me how to take care of my own children?” 

“No ma’am,” Malachy replies, and his head falls so that he’s staring at his feet again. Spider blinks at him in disbelief, staring at his submissive stance and glancing between him and his family. 

Malachy stood up to General Ardmore, Spider vaguely remembers it because he’d peered through his raging headache to see the broad plain of Malachy’s back turned to him. His front right in the General’s line of sight. He knows how much guts and courage it must have taken him to do that, because General Ardmore scares him. 

And he did it to keep Spider from that infernal machine. If he’s not wrong, he was practically risking his life along with his position in the base. 

And yet, as soon as Ma snaps at him he curls up like a frightened animal. Shuts himself down until he’s practically melting into the wall of the pod. Spider sort of understands why, because he’d been tempted to do the same thing days before. It’s completely protective, and fueled by instinct. But there’s also something he’s missing which has his flinch become so violent. 

He just doesn’t know what. 

Spider nods at him when he finally catches Malachy’s eye, to let him know he understands. Which only gets him a sharp look in reply. He confuses Spider, he’s known that for a while, but it’s like being in the presence of a family has made him extra illegible. 

He finally reaches for his spoon, aiming to set aside the thought for later and ignoring how it sits like an irritating thing on his shoulder. Focusing instead on his movements, and getting the food into him because his stomach is becoming insistent. 

Spider’s fingers tremble and shake when he grasps it, carefully wrapping his fingers around the wood one by one until it’s secure. He dips it, lets the liquid fill until it trickles over the edge and then lifts it towards his lips. 

He can feel eyes on him, heavy, anticipatory stares that watch as he takes a sip of the food and lets the spoon drop again. He feels the food pass over his tongue and go down his throat, and his shoulders slump at the warmth it gives him. His lips turning up with a smile at the delicately delicious taste. Which has everyone else relaxing. 

Spider goes in for another bite, humming in pleasure when his teeth hit the veggies and slumping further as he gets comfortable. The atmosphere around his loosens as well, and the others begin to fill the silence with endless chatter. Which Spider doesn’t mind, because he doubts he’d have the energy to do so himself. 

Halfway through the bowl, he finds that his stomach complains and grumbles. That he can’t have any more because he feels full. He lowers it, only to meet Tuk’s wide, worried eyes. 

“You don’t want any more?” she asks, and her small voice has him nearly cooing at her. “You’ve barely eaten half of it.” 

“Yeah that’s enough for me,” Spider says, running a hand over his stomach as he sets the bowl aside. And Tuk’s eyes get a bit wider. 

“But, that means you won’t be able to eat the food I made you,” she says with a quiet sniffle, and Spider draws her to his side in comfort. “I-I wanted to give it to you before food, but Mom said you needed something healthy before you could eat my pudding. Is something wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong, my little one,” a voice suddenly says, and Spider’s mouth splits into a grin at the familiarity. Momo ducks into the pod, and he stretches out his free hand to grab hers. 

He sees the spark in her eyes and feels her hand envelope his briefly before she lets go. Settling beside him instead and using the same hand to check the temperature of his forehead. 

“Your brother has likely been living off the human’s equivalent of rations, bland food which only provides nutrients and no taste, am I correct?” she asks, and Spider is shocked to watch her incline her torso to direct the question at Malachy. Who’s just as surprised as he is to be spoken to, but hastily nods in agreement. 

“It is likely his stomach is not used to foods that have taste, let alone ones as rich as ours,” Momo says, and Tuk buries herself further against Malachy’s side. “Give him time, and he will be eating as much as he had been before.” 

“Which means we can eat everything we want Tuk,” Lo’ak suddenly says, coming over to sit on her other side and wrapping his arm over her shoulder in comfort. “Now that Spider and his bottomless stomach can’t get to the food.” 

“Ha ha,” Spider snaps back, but his voice wobbles with laughter.  And a tiny bit of fear. He’s never not been able to eat food, so to have his stomach reject something that should be gone into it in seconds has his fingers trembling again. 

A hand covers his own easily, drawing his eyes upwards until they catch onto Momo’s easily. She leans into his space, and lays a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “You will get better,” she says with such conviction. “It is only going to take some time. We will be here to help and guide you.” 

Spider smiles although it’s a wobbly thing. So overcome with emotion that he can’t keep it straight, can’t stop the tears from silently rolling down his cheeks. Someone makes a hurt noise, and suddenly there are hands on his shoulders, his wrists, his arms. 

Someone is taking the soup bowl away, and a sturdy pair of arms are drawing him in for a hug. He goes willingly and easily, falling against Da’s chest and scrabbling his fingers along the ground for his siblings. His shoulders shake with the force of his sobs, but they don’t make it past his lips. He doesn’t want them to, because it’ll ruin the quiet atmosphere. 

A hand pets his hair gently, rhythmically, and as time goes on he feels his body fall lax in the way only exhaustion can. 

Whispers float over his head, and he feels his body being led slowly and carefully down to the ground. His muscles loosen and his bones melt against the woven pallet. His body warmed by the blanket placed back over his body and the spots of heat from his siblings. 

Spider opens his bleary eyes one last time before sleep claims him, his lashes sticky with tears and his cheeks itching. And he squints at the shadow that slips out from the pod, sticking to the edge of the firelight and hurrying towards the end of the walkway outside. 

And as his eyes flutter closed, he sees Da clamber to his feet quietly, and follow Malachy outside. 

Chapter Text

The first thought that Jake has when he first lays eyes on Malachy O’Donnell, researcher and betrayer of the RDA? That he is so scrawny , and wiry. That he looks like a tough wind will blow him over. He’s nearly willowy, but perhaps that’s just because the clothes he wears nearly swallows him whole. 

A t-shirt that dips below his waistline and a pair of combat trousers which have to be rolled up at the cuffs. 

And then he sees the guy almost take down a formidable, if slightly desperate, foe like Scoresby without a scratch, and all of his assumptions are rewritten. He’s no longer scrawny, but lean and with muscles bunched and ready to engage at a moment's notice. And he doubts that Spider would have an easy time knocking him to the ground. 

The kid convinces them, with no aplomb or hesitation, that he needs to return to Awa’atlu with the rest of the family. Not out of some sort of self preservation, not because he thinks he needs to live, but because he wants to help Spider get back to his healthy self. 

The one they all know and love, not the kid who weighs almost half of what he usually does and jumps at sudden noises. 

His thought process about the guy is further rewritten again when he sees the mature respect he places upon each of them. And the traditional bow of respect he sketches when Mo’at arrives. It all becomes a bit too much, because the anger he had held against the guy has now all but disappeared. 

Add to the fact that the guy is a kid, barely four years younger than Jake when he first came to Pandora (mentally, at least), and Jake has a familiar feeling of protectiveness rising in his chest. 

He’s eighteen, old enough to be considered something like an adult but not yet meant to hold onto responsibilities he clearly already does. The mean expression he thought he’d seen on his face is suddenly repainted as one of abject terror. And the curled position Jake had seen as tolerance is now obvious as a child trying to put themselves as far out of trouble as possible. 

And there’s something more to that than Jake thinks. Some glint in the kid’s eye that has something in Jake’s stomach curling, his insides wrapping around themselves around and around. Some kind of trauma, perhaps, or latent hurt that’s affecting his actions. 

Interestingly, it wasn’t there when Malachy was with Mo’at and Ronal. Because when Spider had first taken to be healed, there was no falter in the kid’s footsteps. But as soon as they were moved into the family pod, he closed himself off, barely looked at anyone and didn’t say a word.  

Strange. 

How he was allowed on a ship in the first place, let alone leave Earth at all, is beyond Jake. But it is a thought to consider at a later time. He knows that if he was his observant self, if his mind wasn’t occupied by other things, he would have thought about it further. Because there was something there, just beneath the surface. He would just need to dig a little bit to find out. 

But he didn’t, because his thoughts, his mind, his focus, every brain cell and bone in his body was concentrating on Spider. His sole job right then was to not take his eyes off his kid. 

He watched as he struggled to eat a bowl of simple broth, and treated it as some sort of penance for his own actions. His own decisions. Because it is because Jake couldn’t save Spider that fateful rainy night in the forest that they ended up where they were. 

He knows they will heal from this, he does, but for now he feels he must sit and suffer through his own consequences. And help wherever he can. 

The kids settle on the pallet once food has been eaten, piling on top of Spider and practically hiding him from view. He doesn’t complain about the weight on top of his limbs, stomach and sides, but now that he thinks about it Jake has never heard Spider actively complaining at their cuddle piles. It had only been Lo’ak whining about a foot in his back, or Kiri complaining at the suppressing heat.  

He supposes it’s interesting how many details can become obvious when a missing person or object is returned. He shakes the thought away because it’s liable to drag him down into a dark mire of thoughts he won’t be able to come out of. 

And he twitches the blanket covering Spider’s shoulders, moving up a little bit higher so that everything is protected from the cool night air. The quiet clack of wood accompanies the crackling of the cookfire, and Neytiri places the empty bowls next to the fire pit to dry out. 

Movement out of the corner of his vision brings his attention to the edge of the pod again, and he watches the kid leave the pod with a wary (and worried) eye. He doesn’t like the set of his shoulders, or the slant of his lips, and he finds himself clambering to his feet. 

Neytiri glances at him from where she’s settling the kids under (and around) Spider’s blanket. But one quick flick of her eyes, and she turns back again. Calming Tuk’s whine with a placating hand a few quiet words. Jake feels his heart warm for the hundredth time at the familiar sight of their sibling pile, but he doesn’t hesitate for long. 

Out he goes into the chill of the night, watching with wonder as the freckles all along his arms and shoulders begin to glow with bioluminescence. It’s an amazing thing to him that this happens naturally to every living being native to Pandora. Even the people. 

He lifts his arms and twists them, as if following the trail as each freckle alights. 

The shadow of Polyphemus hangs above them like a friendly giant, the swirls and whorls and shadows eerie, ominous and beautiful all at once. Because it’s so big, he sometimes fears it could fall on top of them, yet he can’t stop his mouth from falling open in amazement. 

He can’t believe this is his home, even after so many years. He has to admit that sometimes he thinks he’s still dreaming aboard the transport ship, or that he’ll wake up feeling twenty years older and open his eyes to his atrophied legs. 

A harsh splash of water snaps him back down from the sky, and he lets the cover of the pod fall from his fingertips silently. There’s enough light for him to see the entire walkway, and the slant of firelight peeking through the walls of the pod serve to light the footpath beneath his toes. 

And the slumped figure at the end of the walkway. 

He’s so small again, his back curling over one knee to make himself almost invisible. One combat boot sits next to him, the other he toys between his hands. And Jake suddenly notices the absence of a company issued holster which used to be around his waist. The one that often held the standard gun given to science guys and researchers when they first went out into the field. 

The one that usually occupied the area of the wearer's hip which is their dominant side. Which was now void of anything but the kid’s clothing. Jake’s eyes finally catch the circle of bubbles just on the surface of the water.

(The one that, when Jake thinks back on it, had actually never been there in the first place. That Malachy’s holster has always stood empty.)

“You know,” Jake says, startling the kid badly enough that his head snaps around in his direction, “it’s still littering if you’re not on your own planet.” 

Malachy glances between his hand, the water, and back again. His expression crumples into one of shock and shame and a little bit of fear. “I am so sorry,” he says, pressing his hands against the walkway as if he’s about to get into the water. “I can go and get it–” 

“No,” Jake says, waving him away with one hand as the other reaches for the hunting spear leaning against the pod. “I need practice anyway.” 

The water isn’t too deep next to the walkway, it comes up to his chest when he stands in it, so Jake finds it easy to reach deep enough into the water from the walkway to attempt to grab the holster from its watery grave. He doesn’t really want to sit and chat with a cold lower half. 

Too bad he hasn’t exactly gotten to the part of his lessons with Tonowari that cover handling a fishing spear. So his attempt at trying to look cool and suave just turns into a lot of hand flailing and grunting on his part. And a lot of staring from Malachy’s part which doesn’t help Jake at all. 

“Just have to…angle it right,” he says to himself, stretching out further. Enough so that he’s on his tippy toes and peering into the water. He jabs again, and misses, the fish darting away at the disturbance and the holster drifting just a little bit further away. 

“It’s closer to you than you think,” Malachy says, pointing closer to his own toes than the open ocean where Jake was helplessly aiming for. “Try there, and go out more than down.” 

Jake chuckles, but tries it. And finds the end of his spear jolting against something solid. He glances at the kid in surprise, and tries again much to his amusement. It’s even closer that time, although Jake can tell that the force of his attempts are going against him. 

“You worked in Max’s department, right?” Jake asks, picking the spear up again and adjusting his grip. A small noise of confirmation is all he gets in return, but he’s too concentrated on his target. “Research?”

“Yeah.” 

Another, larger splash of water, and Jake is fishing the holster out of the water with a triumphant grin. Plopping it down onto the walkway with a wet sound that tells of its waterlogged nature. It sits between them, and Jake watches as the kid pushes it away slowly and carefully, wiping his hand against his pant leg afterwards. 

“You don’t want it?” Jake asks, and Malachy shakes his head. 

“Purging myself of all connections to the company, aren’t I?” he says, although it sounds like a rhetorical question. He gives the holster a derivative poke, and a bit more water seeps from its material. “I think the Metkayina people might take offence if I’m seen wandering around with a belt made of animal skin. No matter how synthetic it is.” 

“Good point,” Jake replies, tucking away the spear and lowering himself to the edge of the walkway with a tired noise. He feels the kid shift, just a little bit, but he doesn’t call attention to it. In fact, he keeps his eyes on the horizon as he clears his throat obviously. “Malachy, that’s an Irish name, right?” 

“Yeah,” comes the tired response, and Jake opens his mouth to add on to his question when the kid cuts him off. “Let me guess, you’re gonna say you have some Irish roots because your second name is Gaelic. And that if you or your family looked hard enough, you’d probably find a distant relative who came to America. Am I right?” 

His tongue suddenly becomes stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his ears droop a little bit at their ends. There’s no malice in Malachy’s tone, but Jake realises he probably has put his foot in it a little bit. So, he changes topics as quickly as he can, and he doesn’t have to think very long to find one. 

“So…researching with Max? How did that come about?” 

It takes a few moments for Malachy to answer, and in that time Jake reconsiders this attempt at a conversation. Wondering if he should maybe let Neytiri or Mo’at do the talking. After all, his negotiation skills aren’t the best. 

“Do you want to know when I joined the company?” he asks blankly, and Jake flinches at the edge to his tone. “Or is it that you want to know how old I was when I was indoctrinated and made to think like them? To try and figure out if there’s a way to fix me?” 

“No,” Jake says, finally snapping his eyes away from the horizon to calm the anger he hears clearly in the kid’s voice. His hands come up in some sort of surrendering movement, and he shakes them a little. “Not at all, I was just– I suppose, I’m curious. You’re going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future and–” 

“I get it,” Malachy cuts across him harshly. “You want to know my history so that you can judge if you can really trust me. Or if you can put me in a box labelled as dangerous and shove me off the end of a walkway when no one’s looking.” 

“No,” Jake says again, with his own edge which has the kid’s jaw snapping shut. “That’s not it at all. It’s only that I am curious. The RDA doesn't usually let kids as young as you sign up, and even then it’s only for a very special reason.” 

“Well then, consider me special,” Malachy says, the tense line of his profile telling Jake he obviously wants the conversation to be over. 

But he’s stubborn, and his curiosity is insatiable, so Jake clears his throat again and asks, “What area of research did you specialise in?” 

Malachy sighs, but it sounds more tired than annoyed. And his shoulders slump in reluctant defeat which only has Jake’s lips twitching just a little. Because if there’s anything he knows about science guys, it's that all of them love to talk about their research. He’s had Norm talk the night away enough times to have personal experience of it. 

“Neurological science,” Malachy says, as if it’s the easiest area of science to get into and that it’s the equivalent of a pop quiz. 

Jake actively gapes at him, because he remembers how Tommy had wanted to attempt the entrance exam for the classes and had failed in a blaze of stress and bad scores. Granted, that was before his brother had found his passion in Pandora, and when he’d been willing to try anything just to get into college.

And yet here’s a kid who took the test earlier than Tommy and passed. He wonders if he should keep him on Pandora just for his smarts. 

“I had to do it as a specialist subject due to…things at home which precluded me from choosing anything else,” he says, his words holding more weight than they should. “It also helped that one of my professors was a family friend.” 

“Huh?” Jake asks inelegantly, and Malachy makes an aborted hand movement back towards the pod. As if gesturing to something that’s already happened. 

“Max?” he says, although it sounds questioning. “He’s a friend of the family, my family, I mean. He might actually be registered as my godfather and possibly my legal guardian but I’d have to check.” 

Jake feels his entire body freeze in shock. His bones stop moving, his muscles seize, his senses stop computing to his brain, and all he can think is what is probably a question mark floating above his head. Like those old time-y video game characters when they face a problem they can’t solve. 

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, his words barely registering in his own head, “you mean…Max is your godfather? And yet he wasn’t able to tie you down to a table when you were signed up to leave for Pandora?” 

Malachy’s gaze drops, as if he knows clearly that he’s in the wrong. Completely ignorant of how his words have altered Jake’s very outlook on the world around him. A new layer of…something falling over the kid’s shoulders in his eyes. 

“He knew both of my parents, back when he was a student in the RDA’s training facilities,” Malachy explains with the same kind of blankness from before. As if he’s distancing himself. “My Mam, she was the combat instructor back when the company wanted to train their scientists just in case. My Dad, he was a bit more higher up, but I never really knew what his job was.” 

“So, wait,” Jake says, raising his hands again but this time to ask Malachy to slow down. “Your parents were one of the, like, top dogs? Important and shit?” 

“You could say that,” Malachy says with a shrug. “It didn’t really become important to my sister and I until we came of age.” 

Jake makes an interested sound but says nothing else, entirely fascinated by Malachy. And he wasn’t even needing to push for the information, because it seemed to just flow off the kid’s tongue. As if he’s needed to get it off his chest for a lifetime, and he finally has someone who will just sit and listen. 

“We were moulded from a young age to enter the ranks of the RDA by the time we were able. Rosin showed prowess with combat and strategy, and I was such a brainiac it was supposed that I would go for the research branch,” Malachy explains. “Although, I don’t even think it mattered to my mother which area we went into, just as long as we were there.”

“And, Max?” Jake asks, trying to guide and direct the conversation into something structured so that he’s not lost in the flow of consciousness. “How did he tie in to everything?” 

“He was Dad’s best student, gave him his recommendations and everything,” Malachy replies, and then chuffs a small self-deprecating laugh. “He apparently was the best choice for godfather when I was born, seeing as they didn’t have many other friends they really trusted.” 

Malachy shuffles a little, letting his knee back down from where it had been drawn up to his chest. His toes dangling in the water next to Jake’s. The contrast of their skin is missing because of the reflections bouncing off the sea. 

“It was a bad idea on their part,” Malachy continues, and the edge to his tone turns into something triumphant. “Because Max only had my best intentions at heart, and before he left for Pandora, made sure I was well away from that house and out of their clutches.” 

“But?” Jake asks, and Malachy’s expression crumples, just a little bit, until his triumphant smile downturns a little bit. 

“But, with him gone, it was only a matter of time before they found something to use against me,” Malachy says. 

“What was it?” Jake asks, and Malachy reaches behind his belt, and draws his knife from the sheath. Its blade winks in the light of Polyphemus, wicked sharp and thin as anything, its pommel a dark type of wood that Jake has never seen before. 

It’s important, because the kid holds it with some sort of reverence that only comes with objects of history. But it's personal too, because his fingers caress the wood, the pad of his thumb drawing over an engraving that has long since faded with time. And Jake waits, watching as the kid’s hand trails over the curve of it, pressing his skin against it in a way that threatens to draw blood. 

Jake opens his mouth to protest, but then thinks better of it. And Malachy draws his finger away again. 

“My sister,” he finally says, with the same weight of sadness that Jake still utters Tommy’s name. He turns it over one more time, and then slides the knife back into the sheath at his belt. “She was inducted into the pilot corps on account of her combat skills. Sent to Pandora for her first term when I was a kid. She was really important to the whole family, and the pride that came from her assignment powered through our family for weeks.” 

He shakes his head and laughs, but it’s not a very nice sound. Jake sits quietly, waiting, watching. Listening and almost aching for the kid, because he has an inkling of where his story is going.

“She died, on her first tour on Pandora,” he says, staring at the water below them for something else to concentrate on. “Shot down because her craft strayed too far into clan territory. Her remains were sent back, but the RDA kept something else, a condition that our parents had signed for both of us when we applied for the company. 

“Our memories were logged, weekly, in their databases. Updated for their own research and analysis they said, and so that our parents can see our development first hand. We thought it would be through journal entries, video logs, the normal things,” Malachy explains, and Jake’s ear flicks in realisation. “They brought us in for weekly scans, strapping us into a machine similar to an MRI or CAT scanner. We didn’t know that they were–” 

Malachy stops abruptly, and his throat bobs as he swallows. Jake has an inkling of what was happening, and a part of him questions how it was allowed in the first place. But he doesn’t tell the kid that, because his eyes flicker darkly, his jaw clenches and he opens his mouth once again. 

“They were logging and storing our memories,” he says, his tone heavy with anger, “keeping them so that they could be shoved into the new Avatar bodies they were creating for this very specific purpose.” 

He cuts himself off again, reaching behind them to drag the holster forwards once more. Knuckles turning white with the pressure placed on the synthetic leather. It creaks as he twists it over his hands, divots being created by his fingernails. It’s a good outlet for the anger he’s probably feeling, but Jake finds it’s not conducive to the conversation between them. 

It still feels as if Malachy is holding himself back from saying it out loud, this happening that’s causing so much rage, and Jake wonders if he should nudge him in the right direction. Just a small bit. 

“What did they use to force you to come here?” he asks bluntly, because he can’t phrase it any other way. But it gains the kid’s attention, and his back straightens. 

Behind them, the quiet slide of the pod cover against the woven cover announces their audience, but Jake is only able to hear it because of his sensitive ears. But he doesn’t turn to acknowledge Neytiri and Mo’at, and keeps his gaze on the kid’s shoulders. Patiently waiting for him to answer. 

He sees it, Malachy’s resolve forming and his decision being made and the words forming on his lips and behind his teeth. 

But then something happens. Jake isn’t sure if it has something to do with trust, or perhaps a sudden realisation, but the kid clams up. Badly, his jaw clenching his eyes shuttering, his fists curling even harder around the synthetic leather as his words grate out through the tiny bit of space availed to them. 

“They threatened to send my sister’s av– recom out here,” he says. “That was my condition, either I go, or her memory is tarnished and she is assigned to Quaritch’s squad. It wasn’t a hard decision to make.” 

He abruptly and harshly throws the holster to the woven floor again, and pushes himself to his feet before Jake can protest. Malachy’s swivel on his heel is too quick for Jake to stop, and he freezes when Neytiri and Mo’at come into his sight. For a moment, it feels as if there’s to be a confrontation, a fight between all three of them and the tension draws as tight as Neytiri’s bowstring. 

Jake feels his breath freeze in his chest.  

But Malachy’s shoulders only slump in some sort of defeat, and he drags himself back into the fire light of the pod. Slumping back against the woven structure and pulling his knees up to his chest. 

Leaving the three of them to stare at each other. He watches him go with his heart, surprisingly, sinking low in his chest. Neytiri must see something in Jake’s gaze as he watches the kid go, because she sternly raises her finger and points it at him. 

“Don’t,” she says, and he raises his hands in askance. Her tone is so strict it has him taking a step back. “Don’t go adopting another stray human. We have enough family members to deal with. And too many children to keep track of.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” he says, which is truthful because he hadn’t even thought about it. Didn’t even consider the notion, not at all. 

But now that she’s put the idea in his head, he has to admit it does hold some merit. 

For all his whining and grumbling, moaning and whinging about his daily exercises - or what Da (and Malachy) call physical therapy - Spider finds he doesn’t really mind it. At least, not as much as he thought he would. 

They’re simple things, meant to improve the strength and flexibility in his shoulder as it heals. But they take up most of the afternoon, and during the first few weeks of his recovery, they were needed daily, or else he’d wake in the night to a cramping pain in his shoulder. It would sometimes get so bad that he’d have to curl up on his side and try to put pressure on it. Although that did very little to help. 

But, the fact that they take so long is also a good thing. As it means he gets to spend an extended time alone with Da. And a good hour or so away from his (suffocating) siblings. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves his brothers and sisters, but there’s only so much hugging and cuddles and hovering he can stand in one day before he cracks. And he’s so achingly grateful that Ma was so observant, because as soon as his eyebrow had begun to twitch, she had his siblings distracted and out of the pod quicker than the irritation could develop in his stomach. And Momo had hurried Malachy out as well, claiming that she needed to ask him some questions. 

Now, it’s only him and Da left, sitting next to the gently warming coals of the cookfire. The stink of Momo’s pastes and ointments wafting between them and making his nose itch. Outside, the sea laps against the supporting posts, and he faintly hears Tuk’s delighted shrieks as the others play. 

He doesn’t mind missing out on the fun, because he knows he’ll get there soon. For now, he lets himself bask in the quiet, and doesn’t stress or worry about anything else other than his exercises. 

“How’s it today bud?” Da asks, running his gentle fingers over the red skin of his shoulder. It’s still swollen, still tender and he can’t really rotate it as much as he’d like. 

But for show he rolls it slowly, holding back a wince and giving Da a small smile. “I think it’s better than it was,” he says, which is true. When he’d first awoken he could barely move it without wanting to cry. Now it’s only sometimes that it twinges that badly. “I can move it more, and I think rotation is nearly there.” 

Da hums quietly, and lifts his arm until it’s parallel to the ground, his fingers stretching out and his muscles engaging just a little bit. “No stiffness?” he asks, and Spider shakes his head. “That’s good. Means the exercises are working.” 

He hums again, and rotates his arm slightly to the left. Spider hisses as his shoulder twitches, and Da stops immediately. His ears flickering and his pupils getting a little bit smaller.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, letting the arm drop. 

“A little,” Spider admits, and Da reaches behind him for the piece of thin driftwood Lo’ak had found on the beach. 

“Then let's get going,” he says, holding it out for Spider to take. “We’ll stretch first, then go into strengthening alright? Hold this, yep both hands.” 

Spider grabs the wood, and rolls his neck just a little when his shoulder complains a little bit more. 

“Now,” Da says, settling into a similar position although without the wood in front of him. “I want you to imagine you have an arrow, or something slim and small right in between your shoulder blades. You’re going to lift and press them together, as if you’re trying to keep that thing in place.” 

Spider does so, grunting a little bit from the effort. He doesn’t hold it for long, but that’s not the point of this exercise. 

“Good,” Da says, and the two of them relax. “Once again, a tiny bit longer this time. You’re trying to engage your muscles, wake them up a little bit because your shoulder hasn’t been in use that much. That’s it, squeeze a little bit more, and let go. One more…” 

Spider can feel a trail of sweat making its way down his spine, but he doesn’t call attention to it. Instead he subtly wipes it away when Da lets him put the piece of wood down. “What next?” 

“Shoulder rolls,” Da replies, Spider’s groan causing him to laugh quietly. “I know, I know you hate them. But they’re good for you.” 

The grunting gets a bit more constant, a bit more frequent, and Spider feels the exertion forming in sweat droplets at his brow. But he keeps at it, rolling his shoulders forwards, and then backwards. Until he knows he can’t do any more, and he signals for a pause. His chest heaving a bit too heavily for his liking. Da passes him his water bottle, and laughs when Spider eagerly gulps it down, splashing half of it onto his chest. 

“Slow down there kiddo,” he says, taking the water back once Spider’s had his fill. “Here, turn around. I’ll work out any kinks in your shoulders.” 

“Didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Spider says a little breathlessly. He swings his legs around placing his back towards Da, and his front to the dying embers of the cookfire. 

“Well, when your old dad was younger, he had to learn how to take care of his legs all by himself,” Da says, and Spider winces at the thought. “I had to massage them, do my exercises so that they wouldn’t become so weak that they’d be a detriment to the rest of my health. And I had to learn to eat well to keep the rest of my strength up. Which is exactly what you’re doing, kiddo. And I’m so proud of you.” 

His arms suddenly wrap around Spider’s shoulders, rocking him forwards in a big hug. Spider, startled by the sudden contact, laughs in surprise, but leans into it happily. 

His nose wrinkles when the scent of Momo’s paste gets a bit stronger, but he practically feels himself melting into the calming fingers at his shoulders. They attack the knots at the base of his neck first, and then make their way out towards his shoulders and collar bones. 

His breathing gets deeper, and his back rounds until his head is tiling towards the floor. His lips quirk when his gaze catches on the neat end of his plait, the tamed curls of his bright hair which Tuk had attacked as soon as Spider had been able to sit upright for a prolonged period of time. 

He finds that not only does Da’s fingers loosen up the tightness of his injured shoulder, but also the tight control he’s had over his tongue for the past week or so. 

“He tried to assert himself as my dad,” he says quietly, his words slurring together because of the blood rushing to his head. He notices when Da’s fingers stutter in their movements, and hates that he’s disturbed the peace that’s been hovering over their shoulders like a comforting blanket. 

But this has been following him like a writhing corrupt shadow, and he can’t help but speak his mind. Otherwise he feels as if it’s going to drown him. 

“He tried– tried to convince…tried to get me to submit to the idea of being his son,” he continues, swallowing hard around the words when they stick to the sides of his throat. “He tried to force me into it, showed me a piece of paper that claimed I was of his blood. He made it sound like I’d have to accept him as my father, and completely forget about you and Ma. Why would he do that?” 

He doesn’t cry, but he does feel his nose begin to burn with tears. Does hear his own voice grow a bit wobbly, and feels Da’s hands still on his shoulders. Fingers loose and palms heavy against his skin. 

But then, he’s suddenly drawn back against his chest, and his arms encircle his chest and arms again. Da’s chin is placed against the crown of Spider’s head, and he suddenly feels seven season’s old again. 

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Spider,” he says quietly, and Spider feels himself settle into the warmth fully, letting his eyes fall to the woven floor underneath his legs. “When Quaritch first came to Pandora, I don’t think he was…all there mentally. I mean he might’ve been a bit too shaky in his foundations to be properly deemed suitable for leading his cohort of humans. But he did anyway, and it ended badly for him.” 

“Ma shot him, right?” Spider mumbles, and he feels Da’s chest rumble at his hum of acknowledgement. 

“From what Malachy has told me,” Da continues, and Spider’s gaze flicks towards the pod’s opening, watching for the guy to come strolling through at the mention of his name (he doesn’t), “the humans back on Earth supplanted recorded memories that Quaritch made for them into the body of a much younger Avatar, hoping that the two would make a good mix. 

“Obviously, they didn’t,” Da continues, “and the product that came as a result is a man that was a bit more cracked than he was the first go around. His thoughts became irrational, his decisions desperate, and what he tried to do to you might have been the result of that amalgamation. Because in all honesty, his Avatar mind might’ve been a bit too underdeveloped to deal with the amount of trauma the older Quaritch had to go through.” 

“So what does that mean for me?” Spider asks, subtly wiping his nose with the back of his wrist. 

“For what you do?” Da asks, and Spider hums quietly. “Well, you don’t do anything. He’s gone somewhere he can never hurt you again, and I think the best thing is to ignore what he told you. Your Ma and I are more your parents than he’d ever hope to be. And you are our kid, just like Kiri is our daughter, and Neteyam and Lo’ak are our sons. And Tuk is your annoying little sister.” 

Spider hums again, and feels Da move. It’s slow, because Spider’s bad shoulder is leant against his stomach, but he tilts his head so that it hovers upside down over Spider’s own. His expression is very serious and stern. 

“You understand that, yes?” he says, and Spider has to bite his lip to keep from grinning. “You are our son, not his. And nothing will change that, not even the molecular makeup of your blood compared to ours. Alright?” 

“Yeah Da,” Spider says, now desperately trying to keep himself from giggling as Da nods decisively. 

“Now, sit up,” he says, pushing Spider upright with a grunt. “There’s a stubborn knot that I need to get before I’m done with you.” 

“And then can Spider come and play?” a voice says from the entrance to the pod, and Tuk comes practically tumbling inside, her grin wide and her hair wet. “Please? I wanna show him the ilus! And Lo’ak and Kiri are starting to fight again, which isn’t making anything fun.” 

“Can I?” Spider asks, and when Jake glances down he’s met with an earnest look. Big brown eyes, a grin as wide as his cheeks and a certain restlessness which was making his body practically vibrate. “Please? I promise to take it easy, I won’t wrestle with the others, and I promise to stick with Kiri or one of the older kids until I’m strong enough to swim properly on my own.” 

“And without choking on water,” Neteyam suddenly calls from the pod’s entrance, but it’s with a certain kind of amusement which follows with, “Lo’ak did that the first day we started learning. You should have seen the look on his face.” 

“What?” Lo’ak calls faintly from the water, and Jake finds he has to loosen his hold on his son because he darts for the entrance as fast as he can. 

“Tell me,” he says once he’s reached Neteyam, grabbing hold of his shoulders and staring at him intently. Behind them, Lo’ak squawks, and Neteyam’s grin gets wider. And then he’s grabbing Spider’s arm and dragging him out of the pod and into the light of Alpha Centauri. Leaving Jake behind, smiling fondly and shaking his head. 

He comes to stand at the pod’s entrance to watch, leaning against the wooden structure and listening to his kids laughing. 

Movement catches his eye, and he sees Tonowari’s children watching from their own pod as Tuk drags Spider into the water - where he proceeds to yelp and swear at the cold, much to their amusement. The boy’s expression he can’t read, because it’s half shadowed by the branches and roots hanging overhead. But the girl, Tsireya looks on with a sort of fond curiosity. One that doesn’t give Jake any cause to worry (thank Eywa). 

His eyes stray to Malachy, who sits once again at the walkway’s edge, but without the invisible weight pressing down on his shoulders. 

Maybe it is there, but Jake doesn’t see it. But he’s surprised at himself when a small bit of him relaxes at the lack of slump to Malachy’s shoulders. And wonders of Neytiri was right; that he does have a tendency to adopt strays. 

The beeping of the datapad draws his attention away from their playing, and when he plucks it up from where it lies (discarded) on the ground, it’s to a message from Norm. 

Norm: Reports coming in about frequent attacks on the supply line going to BH. 

Norm: This you?

Datapad#1611: Contingency plan. What route? 

Norm: West side. Contingency? 

Datapad#1611: In case we didn’t come back. Beginning of a crackdown on the base. 

Norm: Oh shit. 

Norm: Will the shipment be on time?

Datapad#1611: Yes. Need to formulate a battle plan with Olo’eyktan. Might take time. 

Norm: Do you have that time? 

Datapad#1611: If need, we will make it. 

Datapad#1611: Trust me. 

Norm: I always have dude. 

Norm: And always will. Just keep us up to date. 

Datapad#1611: Will do. Expect a shipload of downtrodden RDA soldiers in a few years. 

Norm: I look forward to it. 

The first meal they spend outside of their pod, is one that Spider is able to eat. His stomach is now able to handle more intense flavours and richer foods, asking for seconds as soon as his bowl is empty. And it’s this fact that has Jake finally folding under his son’s endless curiosity about their temporary home. 

And there’s no better place to experience the community and culture than the main cookfire. 

So he relents, and with quiet noises of triumph Spider ties back the stray hairs at his forehead, and tucks himself in between Kiri and Neteyam easily. Holding onto Tuk’s hand when she begins to bounce in excitement. 

“Is this a good idea?” Neytiri asks as they make their way to the cookfire. Jake feels the denial shoot up his throat and take its place against his tongue. But he holds it back, sends another look forwards. 

To where Spider and the kids happily bounce along the walkways. Silhouettes framed by the crackling flames growing larger the closer they get to the cookfire. 

“I don’t know,” Jake admits, and her tail twitches, head turning to glance at him in some sort of way. “But to be honest, they need this as much as he does. And the people need to get used to him if we’re staying here until he’s better.” 

She glances away again, but Jake notices the clench of her jaw, the rolling of her lips and knows she doesn’t like it. 

“And it’ll be good for him,” Jake says, drawing her attention back once more. “After all, it’s not in every kid’s lifetime that they get to experience a whole new culture, right? Might stop him from constantly asking questions.” 

And that gets a small smile, because nearly every moment of every day their boy wants to know every single detail about the sea clans. He wants to know their traditions, the native animals, what they eat. Anything that will satiate the deep well of curiosity that has taken root in his stomach. 

She shakes her head gently, but then the amused expression is sliding off her face, Jake’s toes meeting the fire warmed sand and noticing the sudden quiet around them. 

Multiple pairs of eyes stare at them, some wide with fascination, others narrowed in some sort of distrust. Although, that might’ve been because of the extra human tagging along behind them. 

It’s nerve wracking, being under so many gazes, and Jake finds himself having to control his feet. Stop them from shuffling to and fro. But there’s also a quick flash of some burning emotion that makes its way through his body so fast, it nearly has Jake stepping back a little. 

Because he wants to fold his ears back, wants to bare his teeth in a fierce snarl and draw Spider and the kids behind him until they can’t be seen by anyone. He knows what this is, it’s obvious, but the intensity and sudden arrival has him nearly acting before he can think. 

Because they’re staring at his son as if he doesn’t belong, as if he shouldn’t be there. And Jake can’t help but be protective, not after the weeks of not being able to take care of his kid at all. 

But then, he finds that he doesn’t need to be protective at all. That he doesn’t need to shelter his kids. 

Spider turns to Tonowari where he sits with Ronal, his son - Aonung, that’s right - and Tsireya. Jake thinks he’s going to do something stupid and wave, or even be a complete father’s boy and step on someone’s tail. But he catches Jake completely off guard. 

He lifts his hand towards his forehead, touches his fingers to it and inclines his upper body. The formal way of greeting a great leader. 

And two seconds behind him, his brothers and sisters follow behind. Although Tuk has to rely on Kiri’s hand on her shoulder to keep from falling over. 

Jake could cry, he could burst with pride. He could go and hunt out Toruk right now and fly a lap right around Pandora he’s so. damn. happy. 

Beside him, Neytiri laughs quietly, wetly, her hand coming up to cover her lips in the way it does when her joy becomes too much for her to contain. And Jake tucks an arm around her waist, drawing her in close. 

“Thank you for hosting us, Tonowari,” Spider says when he pulls himself upright. “And thank you for the meal.”

“Thank you!” Tuk chirps, and Jake feels his whole body relax at Tonowari’s kind smile. And the slight twitch to Ronal’s lips. 

“You are most welcome,” he says, and returns the gesture. “Please, join us and eat, I’m sure you’re all hungry from your time in the water.” 

The kids are quick to do just that, hurrying to the edge of the cookfire with eager expressions, Jake and Neytiri following close behind. Jake still feels the heavy weight of many eyes on his back, and he rolls his shoulders to see if it’s only his own imagination. 

When he turns he finds they’re not on him necessarily, but Malachy. Who weaves his way through the crowd right behind the family group. Keeping his eyes down on his feet and his body curled. To make himself seem as small as possible. 

And a part of his stomach clenches at the same kind of sadness and tension in Malachy’s expression. The one he’d noticed when they talked. Jake bites his lip worriedly, and thinks all the way through the meal…

Would another stray really be so bad?

Chapter Text

It hurt so much that he could practically scream. 

The pain manifests as a black point on the top of his head, and makes its way down his throat until it sits on his tongue and rots. His brain begs him to open his mouth and let it out in a shout that will blow them away, send them flying backwards so that they collide with the glass behind them. So that they would just leave him alone. 

But he refuses to let the pain have its way, refuses to allow it to take control of his body, and instead grabs hold of it between his teeth. Clenching them so tightly that a muscle in his jaw twitches, and a muted groan is all that escapes him. Even as the rest of him spasms with another wave of hurt. 

He glares at her, sends knives in her direction and wishes the most horrible of things upon her. And yet she still opens her mouth and directs a question at the person in front of her (the one covered in shadow, who’s features he can’t make out). 

He refuses the questions too, bats them away with a growl, or a snarl so fierce it tears at his throat. He finds he delights in the tiny furrow of her eyebrows, but that is the only bit of triumph he gets to indulge in. The pain decides to become more intense, and it takes all that he can muster to shove them away from what they want. 

It burns through his skull, this mutilated connection, and he feels as if he could practically picture them rummaging through his thoughts. They’d be a hunched over creature, with spindly fingers and gnarled knuckles. Their mouth turned up in a smile that would display their rotting fangs. Their blue skin turned grey from lack of light exposure. 

He tries to shove them away again, manifests his hands and pushes against spindly shoulders. And it works for a few moments, because he feels the pain lessen a little bit and the rest of his body relax. But it doesn’t last long; another question is sent his way, and he doesn’t have time to prepare himself before the pain encompasses him. 

Wraps his mind in shadow and the hunched creature rummages a bit faster. Grinning gleefully when they find something. Holding up a memory as if it’s a hidden treasure. 

“No,” he groans, “don’t look at that. It’s mine, you can’t have it.” 

“We don’t want it,” the shadow replies, and their voice grates against his ears so hard that he whimpers. “We want what you’ll tell us. This, this is useless. But not unless you tell us where it is.” 

“No,” he growls, baring his fangs and clenching the black spot of hurt so tightly between them that he’ll crack it in two if he’s not careful. “I’ll tell you nothing. You can’t make me tell you anything because you don’t know how.” 

“We don’t?” the shadow snaps back, and he flinches at the acid in their tone. “Then perhaps you won’t mind if we take another?” 

He wriggles and squirms and snarls, but it’s no use. This is not a physical enemy, not something he can fight with his fists and feet. He can’t beat it away from him because it is in him. And he feels the connection rush through his thoughts and memories with the intensity of a fast moving forest fire. 

And desperately, he shoves everything important to him away, out of the line of fire and deep in the vestiges of memory. Every image of home, of family, every thought about their customs and cultures, everything he holds dear until there is only his determination and anger left. 

Which only has him fighting back harder, because the connection buries deeper. 

His back arches with pain, and finally the black spot escapes his grasp and he shouts. It’s cut off by his teeth, but they notice it, and there’s suddenly pressure all over his body. 

The fingers searching through his mind turn into claws, shredding every barrier and cover he places over his thoughts. Ripping them into shreds and crowing at the treasures and memories underneath. 

His hands curl with anger, his mouth opens wide with the force of his shouts and his cheeks turn wet with tears. And all he can think about is that those are his. His family, his home, his memories, and that they can’t have them he refuses. 

Because they’re Spider’s family, not the General’s and she can’t have any part of them, the humans can’t get their corrupt dark stained grubby hands on them. Not if Spider is still breathing not if he can fight back–

“Spider.” 

His eyes snap open, his body lurches forward, and the anger burning in his chest folds his face into something fierce. Adrenaline pumps through his veins and he searches for the thing that’s hurting him. It clouds his gaze, makes his breathing faster and a growl to escape past his teeth. 

Or maybe that’s the black spot of pain again, escaping for a second time. He cuts off the sound and grits his teeth, searching for the acidic sour taste of it and finding–

The strong flavour of banana fruit instead. 

He freezes, his whole body locking up in surprise and the anger and rage disappearing as soon as he notices it. Leaving him tired, but aware. 

Aware of the rough texture of the sleep pallet beneath his fingers, and the warmth enveloping his legs from the blanket. Aware of the smell of the dying fire, and the sweet scent of mud which always followed his siblings wherever they went. 

Aware of the quiet mumbling coming from his left hand side, and the rustle of fabric as someone rolls over, saying, “you were talking in your sleep.” Aware of the slight tang of copper in his mouth, and the sharp smarting of his tongue. 

He glances around and only sees the woven walls of their pod, the lumps of darkness which form his sleeping family, and the slant of light inching its way through the cover. 

He’s safe. There’s no machine trying to tear his memories to shreds, no evil General wanting every piece of information stored within him. No danger, no stress, just the cosy comforting presence of his parents and siblings. 

So then why do his muscles still quiver as if they’re tensing to run? Why does his heart still thud in his chest with the weight of a herd of ‘angstik trampling through the trees? Why are his palms still sweaty and his mind running faster than he can keep up? 

He won’t be able to sleep like this, he knows that without any slight bit of doubt. But he also knows that he can’t stay here, he’ll be too disruptive. That, and he doesn’t think the quiet is conducive to getting himself back to sleep. There’s too much opportunity for his mind to start creating images and memories that are sure to send him into a tailspin. 

Spider presses down against the pallet beneath him gently, carefully, lifting his hips and legs so that he can slip his feet out from the blanket. Without disturbing Tuk who’s pressed against the source of warmth. In doing so, he manages to extract his hand from Kiri’s grip, although her nose scrunches at the lack of heat. 

It then gets a bit trickier, because Lo’ak and Neteyam have taken it upon themselves to have a contest; who can spread their arms and legs out the most aka who can be the biggest menace of the family? 

Spider finds himself tip toeing over Lo’ak’s hand, which twitches erratically in his sleep. His snores cover his footsteps, but there’s also the fear that they’ll get too intense and he’ll wake himself up. It’s happened before, one too many times on the back of his ikran, but Spider never fails to find it funny. And if he laughs now his plan will be ruined. 

He slaps his palm against his mouth and inches his way up and around his brother’s head, avoiding his loose braids and nearly tripping over Neteyam’s tail. It takes a certain joy in wrapping itself around Spider’s ankle, and he has to pause for a moment to extricate it carefully. It can be incredibly strong when it wants to be, but his brother must be fast asleep because it only takes a moment. 

And then Spider is hopping over Neteyam’s back and making a break for the freedom of the outdoors. 

And not a moment too soon, as the wash of sea air loosens his muscles and has all of his breath escaping his lips in a gasp. It then catches in his chest at the beauty of the reef around him. He thought the forest was pretty in the darkness of the eclipse, but he thinks the sea could give it a run for its money, given the chance. 

Polyphemus casts a sort of reflection in the ocean that would never be achieved even in the forests largest lakes and rivers. Because there’s a sort of flatness to this water that gives the impression that a second world exists just out of reach. A certain kind of peace that only exists in reflections, one that’s disturbed by the smallest brush of his fingers. 

But beneath that surface a whole other world exists beyond the barrier. One that glows with bioluminescence - and has Spider thinking about the stories Da told them as kids about the warrior showing the Olo’eyktan’s daughter a different side to her home. 

Because the glow makes everything otherworldly and eerie, turning the water a different shade of blue, making the coral seem bright luminescent pink. And the fish that dart through the water trails the bioluminesence behind them, probably because the tiny particles and creatures glow with it too. 

Every flick of their tail leaves behind a shadow, and Spider finds he has to crouch at the walkway's edge for a moment and lean over. Just to watch and take it in for a moment, to let the calm bring his heart rate back down to normal. 

He reaches out a hand, trailing it along the water’s surface and smiling when a fish becomes brave enough to weave through his fingers. 

Only when his legs begin to cramp does he pick himself back up and turn for a secluded part of the village. The beach stretches out at his right side, and he finds himself bouncing along the woven path, glancing around to see if anyone is patrolling the perimeter. In case anyone sees him acting as a child. 

He’s surprised when he finds hardly any guards on lookout. But then he realises that this isn’t a village which has grown used to danger. That the only encounter they’ve had with the humans was far out to sea, on a ship which has gone to the bottom of the ocean. They have no need for a patrol, or guards, because the humans don’t know where their village is. 

It’s a nice change, but a strange one nonetheless as Spider’s shoulders lift towards his ears in expectation. Waiting for someone to command him back to the pod. 

But he reaches the beach without interruption, and easily makes his way to the edge of the surf. Shivering when his toes hit the cold wet sand, but holding still when that same shiver arcs its way up his spine. 

He shrugs when it disappears again, and walks down a little bit further, until the sand becomes a thin strip and it feels like he’s the only person in the entire world. Here he sits, drawing his legs up to his chest and tilting his head to watch the slow rotation of his homeworld. Letting everything soothe him, unwind his stress and his fear until he’s practically a puddle of calm and quiet. 

The sea breeze gently rustles his hair, lifting the end of his plait from his back. And behind him comes the telltale shushing sound of moving sand, which has him tilting his head back to direct his words over his shoulder. 

“I knew you were there,” he says nonchalantly and the sound stops. “You didn’t need to follow me, I was going to come back to the pod in a little bit.” 

“I very much doubt that,” Ma replies, gracefully lowering herself to the ground and crossing her legs beneath her. “When you sleep, you do it deeply. I don’t think even a human attack could get you up. But when you do awaken, that is then it for the thought of sleep. Even as a child you couldn’t fall back into it. You were awake once you awoke.” 

“Good to know some things haven’t changed,” he says, and Ma’s quiet noise is comforting as she leans into his side, using her arm to drag him in closer when he doesn’t immediately. 

“Nothing has changed,” she says, and Spider is still smarting a little bit from his nightmare. Which is probably why he snorts in a self deprecating way. He doesn’t dare move her arm, but all at once he feels as if he shouldn’t be allowed this sort of comfort. He doesn’t know why, but a kind of cruel voice shouts at him to get away. 

Her hand grips his arm a little bit tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough to have him realise she means it. And a small smile has to twitch at Spider’s lips, because he knows in some way she’s right. 

“Why do you say that?” he finds he has to ask, and Ma makes a considering sound. He glances up to see her considering the sky before she looks down at him lifting her free hand until it’s right in front of her nose. 

“Well,” she says, and Spider’s smile grows a little bit bigger, “let me see. You have the same small nose, the same beautiful brown eyes,” and he wiggles and complains, even though he doesn’t mean it. 

“The same ears,” she continues, trailing her hand up into the mess of his hair, “same wild hair, which I can never get into control. And the same amazing happy smile.” 

She slides her fingers to the back of his head and brings it closer to her. Pressing a comforting yet loud kiss to the top of his hair before letting him go. Although she keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders. He’s effortlessly grateful for it, because the seabreeze is starting to nip along his skin, causing it to rise. And he shuffles a little bit closer, and it dies down again. 

Strange. 

“What’s wrong my love,” Ma suddenly asks, her thumb gently rubbing the skin at his shoulder. He focuses on the tiny movement as he glances down at his toes. 

“I can’t take a night stroll along the beach?” he asks, and when he glances up at her silence he’s met with an unimpressed look. Spider ducks his head to break it, and digs his fingers into the sand below his legs. “Nothing’s wrong. I just couldn’t sleep.” 

She hums, and it’s a sound that tells him she doesn’t believe him at all. “Couldn’t sleep,” she says. “Not even with Kiri and Tuk holding you down, I am surprised.” 

She’s trying to keep her tone light, but he knows she can feel his tension. And her arm squeezes him a little bit closer, and his other hand catches hers, toying with her fingers to distract himself. Although it doesn’t do much good. 

“It’s something else,” she says, and this time Spider hums, much quieter than she had. “Tell me, little one. I won’t be able to help fix it if you don’t.” 

He does know this, because the pain has started to inch its way up his throat again, acidic and horrible. But it’s a different kind of hurt, the emotional one, which won’t go away until he actually talks about it. He doesn’t know if he can though, because he still has yet to talk to his parents properly about the machine he was subjected to. 

The pain caused at the hands of that woman, that awful corrupt General. And he certainly can’t talk about Malachy’s involvement. Not when everything is so delicately balanced. 

But he also knows that this pain will overtake his tongue, then his teeth, then his throat until it’s worked its way through his entire body and turned it black. Made it so that he can’t move or speak, or even get up from his pallet. 

And Ma is still staring at him with such love and adoration. Which he can’t simply ignore, because her eyes are so wide and desperately adoring. Her warm fingers so achingly comforting against his shoulder. He sighs in defeat, the sound heavy yet weightless all at once, shoving down his shoulders so that he seems smaller. 

He wraps his arms around his knees, and pulls them a little bit closer, but keeps the comforting warmth radiating from Ma’s skin on every part of his body that he can. 

Because he’s going to need it. 

“When I was with…the humans,” he starts, swallowing hard when his words catch on the lump in his throat, “they wanted to use me to get to High Camp. They wanted me to tell them how to find our home, so that they could attack our people, destroy everything and finally take the forest as theirs. They tried to interrogate me first, get me to talk by leaving me in isolation, but obviously it didn’t work.” 

Ma snorts quietly beside him, and his returning smile is small, but just as amused. 

“Whoever thought a bit of silence would have you talking is very sorely mistaken,” she comments, and Spider hums again. Turning back to the view of the horizon and breathing deeply, evenly. 

“Their next idea was to examine me, see why I was able to breathe normally whilst they have to wear glass protectors,” he tells her, and a light shiver dashes across his shoulders at the memory of the poking and prodding he’d been put through. The leering smile of that scientist who wanted to see how he ticked. “I think they wanted to try and see if they could replicate it in their own warriors, but without the proper equipment, they couldn’t do much else other than examine me.” 

“That’s good,” Ma says. “They do not deserve to be able to breathe our air freely. Let alone try and utilise Eywa’s gifts, they would surely stain them. But does this mean they were able to take samples that they can use?”

Spider shakes his head, because in all honesty he doesn’t exactly know the answer to that question. He’s not sure they’d be able to make sense of his genetic makeup, not if the strange looks the humans gave him were any indication. And he tells her as such, and she relaxes just a little bit more. 

“And then?” she asks after a few moments, hesitant and gentle. Like he’s a skittish ikran and she has to tread carefully to make sure he doesn’t fly away. But he’s not going to do that, because this pain and hurt has become a bit too much to bear alone. 

“They put me in this machine,” he says, and his head throbs a little bit in memory, “it had flashing lights, and spinning things that gave me a headache. But it was a different tactic to get me to talk by not speaking.” 

Ma tilts her head in confusion, trailing her beads across the top of his head. 

“It formed a connection, like the one you form with the Tree of Souls,” he says, and reaches out a hand to trail along the end of her plait, giggling quietly when the pink tendrils trail along his skin. “But it wasn’t natural, it was forced. And done through machinery that didn’t need a tswin to do it. They scanned my brain, and tried to draw out memories and images.” 

Beside him, Ma tenses, and Spider knows the rage that must be coursing through her body. Because for them, a connection is sacred, a bond that must be kept only for family, your promised mate, and Eywa. So to hear about something so similar causing pain, it has every other Na’vi recoiling in disgust and terror, and anger, on his Ma’s part. 

“Any thought I had would be displayed for the humans to see and analyse, to pinpoint exactly where it happened in the forest,” he tells her, and the grip she held on his shoulder grows a little bit tighter. “Even a passing idea would be on display for them to pick apart. And they were asking about High Camp, and our family.” 

“They?” Ma says, because even Spider has to admit his own words were a bit pointed. And he winces, debating whether to lie, to omit this tiny detail. But then it would come to light at some point anyway, and it would be worse because he would have lied to her. 

“The General,” he says, pausing before finally whispering, “and Malachy. He was one of two people on the base who could speak Na’vi, so she used him as a mouthpiece.” 

He can’t read her expression, because it’s too closed off, but for a moment her fingers turn into claws, digging into the meat of his shoulder. And he makes a small noise of discomfort at the flash of hurt it causes. She lets go, but still keeps her hand there. 

“It’s not his fault,” Spider says, trying to rationalise this piece of information both to himself, and to her as well, “he had no choice but to follow orders, or else…” 

“What?” Ma asks when his silence stretches, and Spider finds himself frowning down at his own fingers. 

“Something bad was going to happen,” he tells her, and a cold drop of dread works its way down his spine as well. “They were going to do something with his sister, something as bad as trying to get to my memories to find you guys. So please, Ma, don’t be angry at him.” 

She considers him, and his words, and the silence is filled with the gentle lapping of the sea as the tide inches its way up the beach. He doesn’t know what to expect, because Ma hasn’t given any indication to what she thinks of Malachy anyway. Her ear flicks, and she says nothing in reply, turning back to the horizon once again. 

“You said that you couldn’t let them have your memories,” she asks the water, and Spider’s shoulders slump a little, “does this mean that you fought back against this…connection?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, wincing a little at the memory of how he had to shove away all thought of his family. Just as he did whenever they went on a raid. “I found the best way was to lock the memories away, keep them out of their reach and away from sight.” 

“As we taught you,” she says with a proud lilt to her voice. “Did it work?” 

A sudden snap of self hatred takes control of his tongue as he snaps back, “High Camp hasn’t been attacked yet, right? So it worked.” 

He regrets his anger immediately, but with the memories nipping at his ankles and the nightmare making his tiredness ten times heavier he finds his patience running a bit thin. And beside him, Ma tenses further, and he feels her gaze rest on the crown of his head even as he sighs. 

“Sorry,” he says, quietly, and Ma’s hand gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze. 

“I’m sorry,” she replies, “I shouldn’t have pushed. Not when I know how brave and determined you can be. Of course you kept the whole village safe, I would be a skxawng to doubt that you ever could.” 

He can tell as the next silence stretches that she wants to ask something further, and he braces himself in case it’s what he thinks it is. The cold drop of dread now turns into a puddle at the base of his spine, and he fiddles with his fingers nervously. Waiting for her to gather the courage to ask. 

“Did it hurt?” she finally says, and Spider finds himself considering the question seriously. Thinking back to the many times he was placed under the flashing lights and whirling machinery. To the demanding questions and the pulsing pain that had made its way through his skull. 

The scrabbling creature from his nightmare, voraciously searching for anything it can use to the company’s advantage. 

“The first few times no,” he says, and Ma’s inhale is sharp and quick, her nails against his shoulder turning sharp again. 

“How many?” she asks without hesitation, and again he finds himself struggling to remember exactly. Because that period is honestly a bit fuzzy, not as clear as the rest. Which honestly isn’t surprising to him. 

“At least three,” he replies, scrunching his nose as if it’ll help at all. Her expression becomes as hard as stone and just as difficult to read. She lets go of his shoulder and lays her clenching fist in her lap. And Spider misses her warmth immediately. 

“I will kill that woman personally,” she growls quietly, and Spider keeps his mouth closed. He’s always found it best to let Ma ride out her anger, and comfort her when the worst has passed. When everything has calmed. 

“It’s fin–” he goes to say, but she holds up a hand to stop him, and his jaw snaps closed. 

“It is not fine,” she says lowly, dangerously. “You were tortured, my love, there is nothing fine about that.” 

“But it’s already happened,” he replies, the irritation rising again, the one that has constantly been chasing after him like a palulukan pup. “It’s fine, I’ve dealt with it and now we can move on. Please?” 

Because he hates being made to feel like this; delicate and breakable at the first touch. Like he’s made of the most brittle wood, even though he’s gotten so much stronger compared to when he first returned to them. He can hold down all his meals, ask for seconds and everything. 

“That does not make it go away,” she returns, and Spider pouts childishly, crossing his arms over the top of his knees and everything. “You know what Mo’at says, ‘if you don’t suck the venom out it will spread, infecting your whole entire body without your knowledge’. You need to talk about what happened, my love.” 

“I know,” he replies, although it’s a bit harsher than he liked, and has her drawing back a little. “I know I need to talk about it, but that’s all that people seem to want to do. What if I just want to be normal for a day? Do something we used to always do before this began? I want to explore our new home without having my brothers follow behind like I’ll break into a thousand pieces if I so much as trip. I want to be able to eat food without having to worry about throwing it up again. I want things to go back to normal. Is that so much to ask?” 

And he finds that he’s started to cry, tears trailing down his cheeks hot and fast. He fights against the urge to bury his head in his arms, and instead wipes his nose and face with the back of his wrist. Pulling a face when he draws it back to see a line of snot trailing behind. Thankfully it doesn’t last long, and he takes comfort in Ma’s warmth as she draws him close again. 

And the two of them spend a moment considering the horizon together, listening to the sea move to and fro. And for a moment, before she speaks again, Spider thinks Ma is considering the workings of the entire world in a singular moment. 

“Alright,” she says finally, catching Spider by surprise and breaking the silence around them, “why don’t we do something that will make you feel normal?” 

He looks at her with a doubting expression, and says, “like?” 

Her eyes take on a glint that can only be mischievous, and she turns to face him fully. “Well, I know someone who is very desperate to see you, and who has been waiting very patiently for you to feel better so that he can greet you properly. So, why don’t we, tomorrow after your siblings have gone out for the day, go for a little flight?”

His expression grows hopeful, his eyes practically sparkling and his heart thuds in his chest as he says, “really? But, won’t Momo disprove? She’ll say that it’s bad for my healing and keep me practically tied to the pallet.”  

He’d be very surprised if she didn’t do as such, because Momo is very serious about his healing journey, as she calls it. But Ma’s gaze and expression becomes more mischievous, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile and one eye squinting into a wink. 

“What Momo doesn’t know won't harm her, will it,” she says, “that is, if you feel comfortable. I don’t want to push you if you feel it’ll be too much.” 

“No!” he exclaims immediately, and loudly too. Enough that Ma shushes him quietly and they glance back to the village, waiting for the torch lights to flicker and a warrior to demand them back to their pod. “I’d like that.” 

“Good,” Ma says with a decisive nod, and her hand takes on a different grip at his shoulder. “Now, do you think you’ll manage a few more hours of sleep? Or will you be too excited?” 

Spider genuinely considers her question, and no sooner does he think about the warm and comforting pallet waiting for him back at that pod does his mouth then open wide in a yawn. 

“I think I could try for a bit longer,” he murmurs, and she smiles fondly at him.

“Let’s head back then,” she says simply, and draws herself upright, offering her hand for support when Spider wobbles slightly. And they silently say their goodbyes to the horizon before turning towards the village. 

“Why can’t we come too?” Tuk demands the next morning, her expression pulled into a severe pout that would have any normal person folding immediately. But Spider has been under that look before, and he stays upright even though he crouches to get to her eye level. 

“Because you don’t have an ikran yet Tuktuk,” he says bluntly, “and you and Kiri are helping Ronal gather roots. You can’t let her attempt to survive on her own, can you? And we won’t have any medicine to heal this if you don’t help.” 

He points to the still yellowing bruise on his shin, one of the only ones remaining. But it does the trick, her pout sliding off her cheeks easily. But he can tell by the furrow to her brow that she’s not completely placated yet. 

“I could have an ikran,” she says, and it sounds like a grumble that has been repeated many times. “And Lo’ak could help Kiri instead.” 

“No I can’t,” comes the reply from across the pod, and Tuk turns her disgruntled expression on him. “I have to help Dad and ‘Teyam practise their spear fishing.” 

“Oh what, like you’re the expert of the family?” Kiri pipes up next. “You can’t even get three in a row and you’re trying to teach absolute novices.” 

Lo’ak squawks loudly, and in his corner of the pod Malachy snorts in amusement. Which draws everyone’s gazes and has him abruptly pulling back, his eyes dropping to the floor just as quickly as they had lifted. Tension draws back like a bowstring, and Spider finds himself holding his breath. 

“At least I can get one,” Lo’ak snaps back, and the tension snaps, giving way to the space that amusement and laughter brings. Although, Tuk isn’t laughing as much as she usually does. 

And when Spider looks at her, he notices the slight crinkle in her brow, the more exaggerated downturn in her mouth. He lifts an eyebrow in question, but she turns away, effectively cutting him off. It’s not dread that crawls down his spine this time, but some sort of anticipation, something that tells him there’s more to her comment about an ikran. 

But he doesn’t get more time to think about it, because Da is suddenly throwing back the cover, letting in the light of Alpha Centauri and accenting it with his own grin. 

“Are we ready to face the day?” he asks, sounding so chipper that it’s kind of difficult not to answer. Although they’re lacluster about it just to tease him, because it works. And it’s funny to watch him rock backwards as if he’s been wounded, clutching his chest even as Tuk begins to giggle. “I am wounded.” 

“Boohoo,” Lo’ak says back, and Spider snorts, unable to keep his amusement behind his teeth anymore. “That wake up call hasn’t worked in years Dad, why would you think it’d work today?” 

“Because your old man is sentimental,” Da replies, ruffling Lo’ak’s hair fondly. Much to his annoyance. “And it gets you up quickly, just like it did when you were a kid, which is what we need.” 

He claps his hands loudly, and Ma hisses quietly at him whilst his siblings dash around the pod, grabbing the things they need whilst attempting to avoid tripping over each other. Although they’re not that successful; Neteyam and Kiri end up hissing in pain before all four of them stand before the pod’s entrance. Eagerly waiting for Da to finish saying goodbye so they can go. 

“Come on Dad,” Lo’ak says as he tugs his wrist and Tuk makes a show of shoving against the small of his back. All the while Da dramatically, and tearfully, waves Ma and Spider goodbye. Sniffing loudly as the cover is draped over the entrance. 

Where it is only Spider, and his Ma.

And Malachy, who stands to leave the pod with a nod of his head that Spider can’t really understand.  Because it’s heavy with something he doesn’t recognise. But he does notice the gaze Ma places on the guy’s shoulders, flickering between himself and the other human as if Spider is about to give up the chance for a normal (ish) day to hang out with a person who may or may not have aided in his torture. Malachy stoops to pick up the datapad abandoned on the ground, and steps outside to the walkway. Casting a lonely silhouette where he sits with his feet dangling towards the water. 

A development is that Ma’s shoulders don’t raise to her ears when he passes by, and her tail remains calm and still, wrapped around her legs. Spider wonders, briefly, if it’s a step towards acceptance. He hopes it is, because seeing Malachy uncertainly traverse their family dynamic has become uncomfortable. Tiptoeing around them as if he’s walking on shaky ground. But Spider isn’t sure how to fix it. 

“I’m ready,” he says once the cover has settled again, and the tension seeps out of Ma’s back immediately. “Where are we going?” 

“We had to find an appropriate roost for them when we first arrived,” she explains, wordlessly passing over a shawl, which he takes with a small quiet grumble. “The sea creatures were nervous with them around, so your father and I organised a safe place for them at the forest’s edge.” 

“There’s a forest here?” Spider asks in wonder, and Ma gives him a fond confused look, lifting a hand to point behind the pod once they step out into the fresh sea air. 

“What do you call that?” she asks, voice lilting in amusement. Spider’s eyes widen just a little bit at the scale of the trees protecting the rear of the village. Their height is so impressive that he needs to tilt his head back to see the canopy above. 

“It isn’t far,” Ma continues, and gently grabs hold of his arm to lead him towards the trees. “And no, you aren’t climbing the whole way up by yourself young man.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he tells her, lifting his hands when she shoots him an unimpressed look over her shoulder. “I really wasn’t.” 

“Uh huh,” she replies, continuing on without any further input. 

It is much cooler under the shade of the leaves above them, quieter too as they’ve drawn away from the sea’s edge. The sound of rushing water is replaced with the gentle sounds of animals and bugs, darting between branches and scuttling across the roots of the trees. 

There’s not much mud for them to traverse. The trees have lifted so much from the ground that it is impossible not to use them as they cross the forest floor. And Spider finds his curiosity finally satiated. He jumps from root to root, finding hidey holes to peer into, plucking sticks off the main structure of the tree to inspect. 

Ma keeps up easily, gently directing him when Spider strays too far from their path. He feels like a child as he brings her plants and bugs to look at, held in the palm of his hand. He puts them back, obviously, but it means a lot of going back and forth and at one point, he worries that she’s getting impatient. 

“I’m just glad you’re having a good time,” is all she says when he asks, although he endeavours to cut down on the amount of times he does it. 

She stops them when they reach a particularly strong looking tree, its roots thicker than Spider’s arm, and its trunk so wide he’s sure it would take about ten Na’vi to encircle the whole thing. He stares up at it in wonder, squinting to see how far it goes up. He doesn’t notice Ma crouching down until she taps his ankle. 

“Really?” he asks. 

“Yes, really,” she replies, tapping his ankle again to prompt him up onto her back. He debates grumbling a bit more, seeing whether he can actually attempt to climb the tree first. 

But then his shoulder twinges, and he winces quite obviously as Ma takes things into her own hands. She scoops him up onto her back bodily, ignoring his yelp of protest and moving his legs so that they’re wrapped around her waist. Shifting him higher so that his head is right next to hers, and his arms have nowhere to go but her shoulders. 

“Comfortable?” she asks, and Spider grumbles again. 

The journey up doesn’t take as long as he thinks. Probably because Ma is a much faster climber than he could ever be. And it’s effortless for her as she goes hand over hand without even a grunt of effort. And Spider is no tiny baby anymore, he must weigh quite a bit, and yet she doesn’t complain. 

And in the end, neither does he. Because the whole upwards trajectory is really nice. He feels as if he could fall asleep so easily, the sway of her body as she moves a gentle rocking so constant he can feel his eyes drooping. The rustle of the leaves around them provides a constant noise to distract him, and the warmth seeps from her skin to his. The perfect napping environment. 

But then they reach the top of the canopy, and the sudden change in volume level has him snapping out of the peaceful atmosphere very quickly. So much so, that he almost gets a crick in his neck. 

The screeches are the loudest thing he’s heard all day, and for a moment, he considers covering his ears against the racket. But then he recognises them, and he doesn’t even dare to raise them to his head. 

Ma’s head pokes through the canopy to a higher collection of branches where nests have been created by the ikrans. 

All seven of them. 

Tisay flutters her wings at him. Tson croaks from where he’s making a next of twigs and leaves and other…unidentifiable objects. Hwan nods in the only way an ikran can - respectfully, and ‘Alek gives him a blank eyed stare as he swallows down a mouthful of food. It’s the cream one that has Spider blinking in surprise, because he thought the creature would attempt to find its way back home. 

But it's the biggest reaction, and the loudest that has Spider’s cheeks hurting with the size of his grin. A familiar roar greets his ears, and the brightly coloured ikran jumps over his siblings and the tree branches in his desperation to reach them. And Spider scrambles down from Ma’s back and ignores his still aching bones and muscles as he too leaps over the trees. 

Meeting Guy halfway and laughing so loudly he’s surprised his throat doesn’t hurt. Their heads practically clack together, but Spider finds he doesn’t mind. And Guy doesn’t seem to either, because his snout does its best to scent every single piece of Spider it can. 

“I missed you,” Spider exclaims, wrapping his arms around his friend’s neck once they’ve calmed down. The heat of Guy’s body over his shoulder is a familiar sensation, and one that has Spider practically melting. Becoming loose limbs and liable to fall over. But he doesn’t care. 

“I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” he whispers, and Guy croaks as if in agreement, his hooked chin somehow dragging Spider in closer. He hears Ma chuckle quietly behind them, but he doesn’t even glance backwards. “I thought he’d stay in the forest.” 

“Oh no,” Ma says, and Guy pulls back a little to send Spider a look that he knows is calling him a skxawng. “We thought he’d tear up the entirety of High Camp if we even considered leaving him there.” 

A snort as if to say ‘damn right’ has Spider laughing again. And then Guy is crouching a little bit, sliding his wing out from his body and offering his back to Spider. 

Who pauses just before his foot touches his flank. Uncertainty causing his whole body to freeze. His heart beginning to thunder in his chest and his blood rushing through his ears. 

“What if I can’t stay up,” he whispers, jolting a little bit when Ma’s hand suddenly squeezes his shoulder in comfort. 

“Then I’ll be there to catch you,” she says, and Spider feels a little bit of his body come back under his control. 

“What if I’ve forgotten how to fly?” he asks, his stomach dropping to his feet in dread. Ma’s fingers tighten, but he realises it’s more out of comfort than sympathy. 

Every flyer has had some sort of setback, he knows because Ma has often told them how she wasn’t able to get back onto Seze for months after her sister’s passing. 

“Then we will work on it together, slowly and steadily, until you are better than you were before you left,” she replies, and Guy chirps in agreement, his head butting at Spider’s hand. 

“What if I just…can’t,” he whispers again, his voice dropping to a level that would be inaudible to anyone but a Na’vi and an ikran. Guy steps closer, until his wing and tail are able to wrap around Spider’s shoulder and leg, one of his damaged kurus lightly pressing against his wrist. And Ma wraps herself around his torso, pressing her chin against the top of his head. 

“You will,” she tells him with complete conviction. “And if you can’t, then we will wait until you are ready, and try again. But it is up to you. Only you can know when you’re ready, we won’t push you.”

Spider’s lips twitch in a tiny smile, and he slowly rolls his shoulders, letting out a long sigh as he tries to calm his heartbeat. Because he knows how to fly, he’s one of the very best at home, and a few months away from the harness, away from one of his best friends, isn’t going to stop him from doing something he loves. 

“Alright,” he says quietly, and he feels Ma step back when his shoulders set into something determined, and his foot is planted in the woven stirrup. He gently grabs hold of Guy’s kuru, and swings himself up and over, until he’s seated on his back. 

He wobbles a little when Guy lifts up from the ground again, but he only hangs onto his kuru tighter, adjusts his centre of gravity and engages all of the important muscles to stay upright. When it’s obvious he’s not going to fall off soon, Ma hurries to do the same, Tson ready and waiting for her to gracefully leap up as well. 

Spider leans forward a little, placing weight on the front of the harness and effectively leading Guy to the edge of the canopy. 

“Are you sure?” Ma asks when she comes level, glancing at the sheer drop below them. Spider takes one breath, then another before replying. 

“I need to get used to it again,” he says, keeping as much control as he can over his shaking voice. “Best way I can do that is to do the hard stuff immediately, right?” 

He can see the small flicker of doubt in her expression, but Spider’s mind is already made up. He lifts himself until his feet unhook from the stirrups and settle into the familiar grooves in Guy’s back. His leg muscles flexing and his toes wiggling at the familiar heat. 

Guy’s wings ruffle a little, but Spider knows that’s from excitement rather than worry, as the two of them peer down at the drop before them. 

“Ready buddy?” Spider calls, and Guy shrieks in answer, winching back his wings as Spider winds one kuru around his wrist, and tilts his body forward, whispering, “Nothing to it.” 

Then he’s falling forwards, heading straight towards the ground at full tilt with the wind roaring in his ears. The tree is taller than he expects, tall enough for Guy to keep his wings tucked close to his body at least for a little while. Tall enough for the wind to be harsh and fierce, and for Spider’s eyes to water from the cold. 

Behind them, he hears Ma’s loud vocalisation, and his heart suddenly disappears from his chest. The ground almost reaches Guy’s nose; they're so close. 

He sharply pulls up against Guy’s kuru, and like some sort of magic or healing, or an Eywa blessed sort of luck, they barely manage to avoid being flattened. Guy’s claws brush against the moss, and Spider has to duck to avoid a root. 

But he can’t help but practically roar in joy and adrenaline, not caring that this might not be good for him because shit, it’s sure good for his mood. 

He and Guy are as fast as an arrow, shooting over the forest floor, weaving their way through the roots, lifting a little to avoid ones that are too small to duck under. Looping up and over ones that are too tall to do simply. 

And their movements are so synchronised and easy, it’s like he never left. His feet know exactly where to press and how hard to have Guy doing what he wants, his body knows which way he needs to lean to aid the turns, and how close to his back he needs to get to avoid being clocked in the head. 

He’s sure it might look ridiculous, but his smile is so wide he might catch bugs. 

Spider whoops again, and it’s mirrored by someone else. Ma, keeping pace with Tson, a happy grin also stretching her cheeks. He spies the glint of adrenaline in her eyes, and presses down with the balls of his feet. 

Urging Guy on faster. 

He chirps in answer, agreeing to the challenge of speed and inching a little bit ahead of Tson. 

Ma’s expression falls into one of amused determination, folding her back just a little bit until she’s completely flat against Tson’s back. Spider blinks at the blatant show of prowess, and winces when his shoulder protests at his own attempt. But he knows another way to get faster, and when they break from the tree cover he urges Guy on a bit faster. 

And lower, until his claws are brushing against the sea’s surface. 

Spider hears the thin membrane of Guy’s wings flap at the sudden increase of the wind, and he folds himself as much as he can, until he’s nearly pressed flat. But not entirely. 

Their speed increases, until Tson has to flap his wings harder to keep up, and Spider can’t help but laugh gleefully. 

They’re flying parallel to the village’s edge, the people rushing to the walkways to watch the two Omatikaya warriors race each other, and a distant shout draws Spider’s attention. And he faintly sees Tuk’s little form bouncing in excitement, waving at him as his brothers cheer him on, the rest of the village watching on with what only can be shock. 

Or surprise, he’s not really sure. 

He can imagine Da’s fond exasperation, and Kiri’s embarrassed smile, although he’s not able to see them that clearly. But then Ma draws up beside him, and his attention is swiftly pulled away. She’s grinning at him cheekily, and for a moment it’s like they’re back in the forest, and the blue of the water melds into the green of the trees. 

His eyes catch on the edge of the reef, on the stone formations that make the rockpools and the deep blue of the ocean beyond. He can feel Guy flagging, his speed dipping a little and his own stamina waning. And he turns to send a look at Ma that says it all. 

First one to the edge of the reef wins. 

She nods, and the determination settles further nto something different, very similar to worry. He can feel himself growing tired too, and knows he won’t be able to do much more. But he pushes Guy a little bit further, leaning forward in a way that would make it difficult to slow down, and having him match Tson’s speed, although it is harder for him to do so. 

Because he wants to hold onto this kind of normality for longer, until he’s pratically clutching onto it with his nails. He doesn’t want to go back to being considered fragile, doesn’t want to go back to doing nothing all day, but sitting in the pod. 

So they push and push, going faster and faster and faster until–

With a burst of speed Ma passes him, although in the end it’s only by a nose. Literally, because she pulls up ahead of him, and draws Guy to a complete and abrupt stop.

They pull back sharply, and Spider knows that if he hadn’t grabbed hold of the harness he might have been thrown off completely. Guy shrieks at Tson, but comes level, flapping his wings hard to keep above the water and creating a practical windstorm that cuts right through Spider’s bones and makes him shiver. 

He adjusts his stance, and is about to open his mouth to ask why Ma did such a stupid move, when he suddenly notices the colour of the sea below them. The dark blue that tells him the sea floor is far below them. And his mouth closes with a sheepish click. And after a few moments, Guy finally gets his balance and puts himself nose to nose with a very disgruntled, and tired, Tson. 

“Sorry,” Spider calls to her, and Ma rolls her eyes fondly. He goes to tell her that he didn’t mean to get carried away, and he really didn’t, but she only waves him off gently. 

“Come, we should head back,” is all she tells him, leading their way back to the village, slowly. 

The people have since disperced, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be careful as they arc over the pods. Spider finds it funny that some of the younger kids duck in fright, and some of the older warriors too. But he doesn’t get to think on it long, as they’re landing on the walkway almost as quickly as they got out of range of the reef. 

He must really be tired. 

He slides off Guy’s back with less grace than he’d climbed on, stumbling a little before Ma catches him easily. Guy croaks in worry, but Spider reaches behind him to pat his head, turning it palm up to scratch at his bright red chin and causing his eyes to flutter. 

“Alright?” Ma asks once Guy is satiated and as the ikrans take flight again, Spider shivers a little at the cold wind that brushes over them. 

“Yeah,” he replies anyway, leaning against her a little as they both make their way into the warmth and shelter of the pod. “Just tired. I think you were right to turn back.” 

“When am I not right?” she asks with a cheeky grin, and Spider tries to match it as best as he can. “Come, I think some food is in order before the rest descend on us.” 

Food has never sounded so good, and the thought of something warm in his stomach gives him a burst of energy, which lasts him until he’s flopping on the woven ground inside. Basking in the light pouring in through the entrance, and watching as Ma gathers the food from the baskets dotted around the edge. 

It’s a different set up to their pod back home, their supplies stored in baskets which sit right next to the cookfire to keep them from getting damp rather than in hanging storage compartments like the ones here. He finds himself watching Ma with a certain kind of wonder. Because although she’s removed from her natural place, she moves through the pod with the same kind of ease, as if she’s lived there all her life. 

He contemplates telling her this, but then thinks against it as she settles next to him at the firepit. He doesn’t even need to ask if he can help, as she hands over a couple of vegetables and roots, along with their smallest knife to begin slicing them. He beams brightly and wiggles in his place, setting to work as soon as the root hits the wooden chopping block. 

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Spider finds himself enjoying it. Letting himself bask in the quiet as he and Ma work side by side. It’s probably why he doesn’t realise that she wants to talk about something. That is, until she turns to him with her brow furrowed, and he immediately sets down his tools. 

“I heard that you and your father discussed what happened on the ship,” she begins, and Spider’s heart drops just a little bit, both in dread and resignation. Because he kind of knew the normality wouldn’t last. “About what he tried to convince you into.” 

Spider hums and pick at the tip of his knife idly, not exactly entirely pleased with the subject matter. He wishes for the hundredth time that that had never happened, that he just came along with his family when they arrived here, and that he was never involved with the humans. 

Her hand suddenly covers his, drawing his attention upwards as she drags it away from the blade and close to her chest. 

“You remember that airship you and your brother found when you were children?” she asks, and Spider doesn’t need any further prompting. Because the adrenaline rush that had come from that adventure will forever be scoured into his memory. Because it was the first time he’d seen Neteyam be actually scared. 

But he doesn’t tell Ma that. 

“I think that photo you found within, it might’ve been of the woman that demon claims to be your mother,” she says, and Spider’s mind takes a few minutes to realise what that means. 

That he’d inadvertently found his birth mother but hadn’t realised. And that the last of her remains were now ash on the wind. And that he hadn’t really cared then, and neither does he now. 

Which might be considered heartless, but he thinks of it as necessary. Because if he doesn’t think about Quaritch as a blood relative, then the same could be said for his birth mother. Not that he doesn’t hold respect for her, he does, a little. But as Da told him, neither of them are his parents. They might’ve made him, but they didn’t raise him. 

And he goes to say that, before he stops at the reverent look on her face. 

“I know your father has already given you the big speech about them not having any importance to you as a person,” she says, and Spider’s shoulders straighten at the seriousness of her tone, “but I want to know whether you completely understand what we mean. That it is alright if you don’t want to know about her, but then it is also alright if you do want to learn what you can. We won’t try and keep you from your origins.” 

“I don’t want to know,” he says with the same kind of definitive decision making as he did when Da talked to him about it. “You guys are my family, not a demon in blue skin and a woman I only know from a photo. You and Da, and Momo, and Neteyam and Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Ma doesn’t tear up, although her lips do wobble a bit as she draws him in for the best hug of the day, wrapping her arms solidly around his shoulders and pulling him solidly into her chest. 

“What did we do to deserve such amazing kids,” she says quietly, and he does realise its a rhetorical question. 

But he can’t help but pull back anyway, grinning cheekily as he says, “you kicked some serious ass!” 

And laughter fills the pod, big enough and loud enough that it seems to flap the cover in invisible wind, and make their entire home feel lighter, both in atmosphere and in colour. And it only gets lighter when the rest of their family succinctly troops inside, soaking wet from the sea but grinning from ear to ear. 

She knows she told Jake not to get attached to the human. She knows she said not to try and let in more strays when they already have five mouths to feed. Neytiri knows this, because her beloved didn’t let her forget it for days afterwards. 

But how can her heart not squeeze in her chest from the sight of the human showing her little Tuk how to fish? That is just too cute. 

Chapter Text

You would think, being a person whose whole life has been ruled by some sort of anxiety and trauma that being right in the middle of multiple triggers and pitfalls for panic attacks would be unhealthy for that person’s mental health and wellbeing. 

Even just a little, enough to be noticeable. Enough to call attention to it, at least.

But Malachy hasn’t noticed any obvious downgrade in his health, mental or otherwise. In fact, this period of time he’s spent in the company of the Sully family has made him feel the best he ever has on Pandora. Even with the judging gazes and untrusting expressions. 

Even with the level of hostility towards him. 

Perhaps his comfort level has got something to do with that hostility. Maybe he’s become so used to it that it’s now his new normal, and he feels comfortable in it. 

It would make sense, considering he’s spent many of his formative years in the rigorous RDA training and a few more under the command of General Ardmore. He’d be surprised if no one grew some sense of comfort with that sort of situation. 

He smiles down at his reflection, rippling with every swell of the sea’s tide as it works its way back up the beach of Awa’atlu. He knew, from the moment he woke up this morning, that the hostility would be a higher level today. And that his presence wouldn’t be appreciated in the pod. 

This method that he has, his own sixth sense like the horror film suggests is something that has saved his skin multiple times. And he knows to heed its advice when it tells him to leave something be. So, once he’d cleaned his, somewhat meagre, bowl of breakfast food he’d left quickly. 

Ducking away from the kid’s brown eyes with a flash of heat up the back of his neck. Because he hasn’t spoken to him yet, hasn’t found a chance to actually properly apologise. But he’s not even sure if he knows how to yet, even if he did get a chance. 

Other gazes follow him too, the heavy weight of Neytiri’s on his shoulders, the curious glance of Kiri as she watches him snatch the datapad from its place next to the opening. The wrinkle that forms in the middle of the two boys, Neteyam and Lo’ak’s, brows. The analytical stare from Mo’at as he passes her on the walkway. 

And the almost hesitant expression on Jake Sully’s face when he returns from the morning hunt to see Malachy leaving. 

They’re all heavy and present on his body, far too obvious for him to stand. Especially not today. 

He knows he needs to remove himself from the family dynamic today, not just to give the Sullys their privacy, but also to give himself the needed space so that he won’t practically explode come eclipse that evening. 

Because his whole body feels on a thin rope as it is, and if he’s pushed in any direction, he knows he won’t be able to get back up. 

He can imagine Roisin laughing at him, not cruelly, but in that way that he loved when she found him funny. The kind of sound that came from deep in her stomach, and yet was accompanied by the fond shaking of her head. The kind of sound that would have him wanting to join in, even though his own laugh didn’t sound as good as hers. 

She’d be laughing because he’s being shy. He knows that too, because the heat at the back of his neck is still very much there. As much as he doesn’t want it to be. 

He resolutely tries to ignore the drop in his stomach as he walks, the one that tells him that the grief and pain has come back around for the thousandth round that it's sure to win against him. And for all that he tries to ignore it, it still has him pausing for a moment, lifting the datapad and letting its lock screen to display Earth’s day and time. 

Yet another punch to the gut. But one he resolutely ignores, for now, as a group of Metkayina warriors approach him on the walkway, and he has to concentrate on keeping his balance as they pass. 

One sort of people this village is not designed for is humans who don’t operate with an extra limb. And why would they? It wouldn’t make sense to cater for a group of people who would never visit their village. 

Still, doesn’t stop him from hissing quietly as he tries to keep his balance, holding his hands out to see if that will help. (And ignoring the sudden, visceral memory of Roisin doing the same on the balance beam, a bright grin spread over her cheeks, contrasting the dark grey of the training room walls.) 

His fingers graze against something warm, and he snatches them back as the warrior turns on his heel to snarl at the human who dared touch him. Ears pulling back, tail lashing and pupils turning into slits as Malachy ducks his head to the side, nearly bearing his neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” Malachy immediately apologises, although it does nothing to satiate the guy. Who stalks the two steps it takes for him to reach Malachy, towering over the human easily. Stupid, long Na’vi legs. 

“You dare touch me?” he whispers dangerously, and his buddys mutter behind him, obviously encouraging this act of hatred towards the human. “You dare try and touch without permission, demon?” 

Malachy doesn’t flinch, because he knows an intimidation tactic when he sees one, but his eyebrow does twitch. Just a little bit. Because that term is only associated with Quaritch, because it’s what he is known as. And the last thing Malachy wants is to be associated with him. 

“No,” he replies. “I didn’t mean to cause harm, or offence. I was only trying to keep my balance.” 

The warrior smirks, the corner of his lips turning upwards enough to show the edge of a fang. The mutters behind him become snorts of amusement, and he steps away as if he’s won something, some argument between them. But Malachy stays completely still, listening as the warrior clicks his tongue derivatively but not engaging.

“You will find it difficult to stay here,” the warrior calls over his shoulder. “Perhaps it will make you realise you aren’t welcome. Nor will you ever be.” 

“Preaching to the choir balcony there lads,” Malachy mutters once they’re out of earshot, taking a glance at their retreating backs before continuing on himself. 

He realises full well the dislike held against him by the Metkayina clan, he’d be stupid not to. Or would be sticking his head in the sand otherwise, because everywhere he goes he’s followed by distrusting gazes, and the odd bit of spit landing either on him or on the ground in front of him. And not because it’s aimed at him, but because it’s a result of the violent hissing. 

A tiny bit of him wants to hiss right back whenever it occurs, but the logical part of him knows that that wouldn’t be wise. Not unless he wants to spend the next few months in complete isolation (which is the worst case scenario) or dealing with hateful glares the whole time (which is the best case scenario). 

He turns away from the warriors when they finally disappear into the blue of the sea, tucking the datapad closer to his side and keeping his eyes firmly glued to the walkway.

That is, until he reaches the edge of the village’s perimeter, where hardly anyone passes him by, and the sea’s level reaches his knees if he wants to take a dip. It is here that he settles himself, closing his eyes for a moment to appreciate the warmth surrounding his back and shoulders from Alpha Centauri and letting his toes dangle into the water as he sits on the edge of the walkway. 

The view before him would be considered plain; the horizon meeting the sky, creating a bland, blank blue canvas. That is, if the sky didn’t choose today to create a light show with the white clouds turning purple on their undersides, and the ocean didn’t decide to split itself into multiple shades of blue. It calms him, and yet makes him melancholy. 

But then again, that could just be the day that is in it. 

And it is a day for heavy melancholy, one that not even the gorgeous view can break. It presses down on his shoulders until they slump, and he curls over the datapad as if to protect himself, pressing against the screen to activate it. Wincing at its brightness and adjusting it as quickly as he can. 

He suddenly feels restless, because he doesn’t know what to do. It translates into his fingers fidgeting with his trousers, rolling a loose thread with one hand, picking at the rolled up hems with the other. 

They really are too long for him, but he always finds that he doesn’t care. Because of their sentimental value, and importance, he has never been tempted to swap them for a pair of fatigues that actually fit. He’d feel weird with crisp new trousers. 

And besides, he’d feel as if he was giving up another piece of her. One of the very last remaining. 

He feels his nose begin to tingle with the onset of tears, but then he isn’t really able to concentrate on them. Because the datapad begins to chirp incessantly, and Malachy quickly wipes at the corners of his eyes before answering. 

“Max,” he says once the image has loaded. His godfather sits alone in the laboratory, surrounded by countless machines, experiments, and the odd scientist wandering behind him. The harsh light above makes him look more tired than he actually is, setting his eyes in shadow and his wrinkles in more pronounced depth. 

But it’s his gaze that has Malachy ducking his head ever so slightly. A blush rushing along his neck, up behind his ears and onto his cheeks. Hot enough to have his hand rub the back of his hair, dislodging his tie a little and giving an excuse to avert his eyes. 

Because Max is angry, and Malachy hates when he is so. Because it means he feels completely guilty because it’s his fault. 

“H-How’ve you been?” he tries, lifting his head to smile a little. But it doesn’t break the tension, and Max’s expression still stays the complete cloud of thunder it’s become. “Well, I hope?” 

“Don’t try any of your Irish small talk with me,” Max says, and Malachy laughs sheepishly. “I’m not kidding. Do you know how mad I am at you?” 

“A little,” he replies, and the scowl on Max’s face gets deeper, his eyebrows practically shooting down his face and crinkling at the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not you who needs to apologise though, is it?” Max says, and Malachy inwardly swears at how perceptive his godfather is. It was always the thing that thwarted his pranks as a kid, keen eyes catching on the trick immediately and drawing Roisin back to his side so that he could deactivate the trip wire, or knock over the basin of cold water precariously balanced on the doorframe. 

“Did she demand you to go? Or guilt you? Because you couldn’t have gotten on that ship on your own, not without her signature,” Max continues, and Malachy winces at the unnamed thing making its home in his stomach. Practically burning him from the inside out. 

“Both,” he says quietly, and Max cups a hand around his ear, which has Malachy repeating a little louder,  “both. Her mind was a bit…off at that stage.” 

“How?” he asks, and Malachy is suddenly very tempted to feign exhaustion and cut the call off. But he knows how stubborn Max is, how he’ll continue to contact the datapad until he answers. 

“She asked for me to visit her at home,” he tells him, and Max hums. “She was pretty laid up by then, the medicines keeping her in bed for most of the day. But she’d managed to get up to sit at her desk. Especially for me, is what she said when I came in.” 

Max’s jaw clenches, a muscle twitches, and Malachy swallows past the thing which has travelled up his stomach to his chest. He brings a hand up to rub against his collarbone, keeping his fingers out of sight from the camera as they brush against the tubing of his exopack, adjusting its curve to increase the flow of oxygen. 

“At first, she tried to demand me to go, because I needed to uphold the family name, or what’s left of it. And because she didn’t want Roisin’s death to have been in vain,” he says. “Although at this point the company was already threatening to use her files to create the construct if I didn’t reply to their summons.” 

“The one that asked you to report to HQ for a health check?” Max asks, and Malachy’s head jolts upwards. 

“Yeah,” he says. “How do you know about that?” 

Max holds up a different datapad for him to see, displaying the horrific profile photo he’d had to take the day before he left Earth. His hair cropped close to his head, his eyes looking almost bored at the camera (dead, some might say). 

“It’s in your files,” Max tells him. “We excavated all of the data we could from the mainframe, and turned up a lot of interesting stuff. Why didn’t you tell me your asthma was making a return journey?” 

“Because you were busy,” Malachy replies, and Max turns a look on him which says in no uncertain terms that that’s a pathetic excuse. And Malachy has to agree, but it is the truth. 

“How is it now?” Max asks, and Malachy has to pause a moment to listen to his breathing in the mask. The steady inhale and exhale now that he’s paying attention, and the quiet hissing of the mechanisms being used. 

And the lack of tightness around his chest. He shrugs, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Max hums. Although it’s a doubting thing, which has Malachy nearly tempted to stick his tongue out. 

“What did she try then?” Max asks, and the tiny piece of amusement which had been trying to battle against the thing in his chest disappears. 

And Malachy can’t keep the bitterness out of his tone as he says, “she used her own illness to try and get me to go. Told me that I could figure out a cure with all of the technology and resources available on Pandora. At that point I wanted to agree just to get her to shut up.” 

“And then?” 

There’s a silence between them, a heavy one contained within something that shakes and shivers. And when Malachy exhales, he hears the hiss of his breath with more clarity. 

“She used Roisin’s memories as a bartering chip, telling me if I didn’t go, she’d personally make sure the General would use them,” he says, and Max hisses quietly. “Although a fat lot of good that would have done, seeing as she couldn’t even get outside without complaining about headaches.” 

Max’s hiss somehow turns into a laugh, and Malachy allows the bitterness to turn the corners of his mouth upwards a little. 

“So, you went then?” 

“I’m here aren’t I?” Malachy says, gesturing to the bright blue sky above him. Grateful for the swift change in subject, although it does nothing to banish the thing from his chest. 

“And I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Max says, to which Malachy raises his eyebrows in question. Max leans forward in his seat as if it’ll help him see around Malachy’s body. 

“No,” he replies neutrally, shuffling so that he’s leaning over the water, blocking out any sight of the village behind him. It also serves to make him seem smaller, protecting his stomach because it’s still reeling from the absolute word vomit that just shot from his lips. “I’m just sitting.” 

“With you it’s never just sitting,” Max replies with a fond smile, and Malachy huffs out an amused sound. “Come on, you must have some sort of equation you’re testing yourself on. Or some sort of plant structure you’re willing to break apart with your very mind, no?” 

Malachy’s sound turns into a full blown chuckle, and he shakes his head in denial. Suddenly realising he hasn’t fixed his hair when it trails over his shoulder. It does something, maybe creates a similarity or a memory, because Max’s eyes catch on the trail of dark brown and something in his gaze flickers. 

“Nothing with me,” Malachy continues, attempting to keep the conversation away from difficult things. “Just my own thoughts.” 

“Well, those could be considered dangerous in of themselves,” Max replies, leaning forward on the desk both to see Malachy a bit better and to shuffle his chair in. Someone passes by behind him, pausing for a moment to stare at Malachy. Or, more likely, the ghost of Polyphemus hanging in the sky behind him. He waves, but the scientist keeps going with a shrug of their shoulders.

“How’re you doing?” Max asks next, and it brings Malachy’s attention right back down from where it’d been floating, catching him by surprise. And for a moment, he considers answering plainly, as he always has when this question is put to him. 

But then he thinks again, because this isn’t just some colleague from the company, or a soldier checking in after a training exercise. This is Max, possibly one of the only people to know him well enough to recognise when he’s lying. And probably the only member of his family left who actually cares about him. 

So he can’t really do anything but tell the truth, and considering his words only has the grief making space for round he’s forgotten. And even though he braces and prepares himself, it pounds into his stomach like a rock. And his breath escapes his lips before he’s ready, causing his words to come out in an unmitigated rush. 

“Not great,” he says first, the words too big and quick for him to bite his tongue, “I feel very isolated here. No one talks to me, and when they do it’s with some sort of malicious intent. Which, I’m not saying I didn’t expect. But the strength of it is kind of difficult to deal with.” 

“And…how about today?” he asks, and this time his breath gets sucked into his lungs so quickly he thinks he’s about to launch into a coughing fit. 

“Not great,” he says again, but it's heavier than it was the first time. And Malachy finds himself considering what he means. Fiddling with his trousers again, picking at the threads as if it’ll pull one loose. “It’s ten years, technically. But I suppose it would be sixteen on Earth. Which is funny to think about.” 

Max hums in agreement, but says nothing more. Meaning he’s going to let Malachy talk as much as he feels he needs to. Which is a problem because he doesn’t know how much he needs to get off his chest. But he does know it’s substantial. 

“I thought it would be better by now, genuinely,” he begins once his strength is gathered. “That’s what everyone says, right? That it dies with age, that by the time you get to a big anniversary you’ll think about them fondly, and without any pain. At least, that’s what the RDA’s therapist said, but a fat lot of help she was.” 

Malachy turns his head slightly, feeling his ponytail brush against his shoulder again. So much like hers, so much that it hurts, and he suddenly feels his nose burn with tears. 

“I don’t know what it is like,” Max replies, and although it doesn’t sound like it should help, Malachy finds himself nodding as he sniffles. “But to me it sounds like you need to talk about it, get it away from you before it does any damage.” 

“Don’t you mean more damage?” Malachy asks in a self-deprecating way, chuckling at his own ribbing. “Kinda not displaying a good image of being mentally sound, am I.” 

“No,” Max says, “but that’s because you’ve not had a good time of it, lately. So, here’s my offer to talk it out.” 

“Now?” Malachy asks, glancing over his shoulder at the empty walkway behind him. 

“No better time, right?” Max says, and Malachy finds he has to sigh to expel a little bit of the thing which has now gotten up to his throat. He can almost picture it escaping his lips in a noxious black cloud, drifting on the light sea breeze until it disappears completely.

“I don’t know how,” he says quietly, “the words, they’re too much. And it’s all just…too big.”

“All emotions can feel like that sometimes,” Max says. “Like they’re too big to physically fit into our bodies. But then, the opposite is also true, that they can still be too big but they’ve moulded themselves into our shapes, sticking to our outlines subtly in a way that makes it hard for us to catch them.” 

“So you’re saying my feelings are slippery bastards?” Malachy asks bluntly, and Max snorts in amusement. 

“Basically yeah,” he replies. “But if you take your time, and draw them out slowly I’m sure you’ll be able to coax it out of hiding. Even if it takes a while.” 

“What if I don’t have a while?” Malachy asks, dread opening in his stomach like a black pit. The ever approaching deadline looming dark and menacing before him, his return journey more anxiety-inducing than his journey here. “And what if I need to talk it out with someone and you’re not available?” 

“Can you talk to the others?” Max asks, and Malachy can’t catch the harsh bark of laughter before it escapes his lips. 

“They hate me with every fibre of their being,” he says, and Max’s expression folds into something questioning. “And yes, every single one of them. Not just the Metkayina.” 

“I find that very hard to believe,” Max replies, and MAlachy gives him a look of stunned amazement. “No, wait hear me out–” 

“I get spat on and hissed regularly, I feel I need to sequester myself into the corner of the pod in case I trip anyone up,” he says, keeping his voice as level as he can. “And yet, every time any of the Sullys look at me, it’s with some form of contempt.” 

“They could just be exhausted,” Max reasons, and Malachy scoffs hard. “Really, I know that Neytiri can definitely come off as pissed when she’s tired. Have you tried talking to any of them?”

“Yes, I’ve tried sitting on Neytiri’s lap and asking for a bedtime story, even though I had a hand in kidnapping one of her children and almost killing him,” Malachy snaps back sarcastically, “and she pats me on the head and thanks me for torturing her kid.” 

His breaths are coming hard and fast now, but he can’t help it. And Max is watching him with eyes that just has his heart squeezing in his chest. They’re very hard to ignore, and Malachy finds himself wiping his eyes free of tears. 

Even though he thinks he shouldn’t deserve to cry about this. 

“Alright,” Max says after a few moments, and Malachy sniffles again. “How about you try and be calm today, don’t do anything too strenuous, and then we can try and chat again tomorrow? Because I don’t think this is a conducive conversation to be having today.” 

Malachy laughs, and says with a voice thick with tears, “Only you would be able to work the word conducive into a conversation like this.”  

“Well, I wasn’t the collegiate champion of the international spelling bee for nothing,” Max replies, and Malachy laughs again. 

“There’s no such thing,” he says through his chuckles, wiping his streaming nose with the back of his hand. 

“How would you know?” Max asks cheekily, but it fades when he notices Malachy’s genuine amusement. He waits for the laughter to die down, but not for the red to fade from his cheeks to say, “just give it a try. Who knows, they may surprise you.” 

“I doubt it,” he says, but he shrugs his shoulders and says, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

And with that, Max signs off, leaving Malachy in the relative quiet with his toes trailing along the surface of the water. It doesn’t feel as if anything has been lifted, or fixed, but he can say that the thing in his throat has slid back down to its unknown origins, and the grief has backed off a little. 

He doesn’t realise that his guard has slid right down as well, until someone plops down next to him, seemingly uninvited. And Malachy nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“I swear,” Lo’ak mutters ominously, his feet landing in the water with a heavy plop , ignorant of the astounded look being aimed at his head, “I’m going to beat those guys up and they won’t have anyone to blame but themselves.” 

Malachy blinks a few times, expecting the kid to disappear before his very eyes, until he notices the silence. And bright yellow eyes connect with brown, and he realises that this is actually happening. For some reason, one of Jake Sully’s kids is talking to him. 

“They don’t know when to stop,” Lo’ak continues, even though there’s no formal answer. “It’s like they don’t realise they’re pressing a thing that shouldn’t be, and that they don’t know what bothers me which is very obviously not true.” 

“Um…” Malachy says uncertainly but the kid just barrels through. 

“And the only one who doesn’t do that can’t join in because he’s still healing,” he says, and Malachy flinches at the insinuation. “Do you have advice?” 

“What, to deal with shitheads?” Malachy asks, and very swiftly claps his hand over his mouth. His eyes widen, and he watches the smile stretch over the boy’s cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Malachy tells him, his voice muffled by his hand as the other scrambles for Lo’ak’s arm. “Don’t repeat it, for the love of God don’t say that in front of your parents.” 

“Eh, I’ve said worse,” he replies with a shrug. “And who’s God? Are they like your Eywa?” 

“That question is way too complicated to get into right now,” Malachy replies immediately, and the smile returns, brighter than before. 

Because Malachy sounds a bit more relaxed than he was. The tension he’d felt when Lo’ak had first sat down was now dissipating, and he found his shoulders slumping. Just a little bit. 

“What are you doing out here?” Lo’ak asks, and Malachy shrugs his own shoulders, turning his eyes out to the horizon. 

“Thought I’d catch a bit of peace and quiet,” he replies. “Take myself away from my own head.” 

“You picked a good spot,” Lo’ak says, and when Malachy turns to send a suspicious look his way, he shoots a genuine smile right back. “I’m serious, I learned how to hold my breath here with Tsireya. Hearing the waves helped a lot with the rhythm.” 

“Huh,” comes the returning sound, and Malachy finds his eyes slipping closed, and his attention falling on the sound of the water beneath his toes. His breathing goes in time with the waves as they come in towards them, and back out to the sea. Inhaling as it rose to touch his toes, and exhaling when it retreats. 

“I get it,” he says, and Lo’ak nods so enthusiastically that Malachy thinks his head might bob off. “You seem really enthusiastic about this sort of stuff.” 

“I just find it interesting, it’s a whole different culture y’know?” Lo’ak replies, and Malachy’s gaze catches onto his twitching tail, the way he ducks his head. “None of the others really…get it.” 

“It might be because they’re not open to seeing this as home,” Malachy replies, setting the datapad aside, and leaning forward over his knees. Turning his head so that he’s looking straight at the kid as he says, “they think they’re going to be leaving to head home in a few months once everything is said and done. But you don’t.” 

Lo’ak flinches as Malachy continues with, “which is interesting. Is there a reason?” 

Silence falls again, and Malachy can practically see the cogs try to turn and whirl in Lo’ak’s head, trying to figure out a way to answer that would seem true, but wouldn’t be giving too much away. 

“I suppose…” he trails off, turning his gaze once more to the expansive sea before them. “I feel more at home here, than I do in the forest, even though we’ve only been here a few months. And they’re thinking of leaving as soon as everything is finished, but I know I can’t do that. I can’t leave him behind–” 

Lo’ak cuts himself off, clamping his jaw shut and not even glancing at Malachy. Whose head is now tilted to the side in curiosity. Waiting patiently in case Lo’ak wishes to keep going. 

But the silence stretches for so long, that he actually does open his mouth to ask another question, to try and prod the kid into talking - even though he knows he’s being hypocritical, that he didn’t open up as much as Max obviously wanted to and yet here he is, trying to drag something out of someone else. 

But he opens his mouth any way to try, and the first word is almost slipping out from behind his teeth, prepped and ready on his mouth– 

“Lo’ak,” comes a sudden call from their right side, snapping the kid’s head upright. His tail lashing to and fro, his ears folding back just a little. Enough to have Malachy tensing as well. 

“It’s my brother,” Lo’ak says, and suddenly he’s standing, making for the edge of the walkway. But not before stopping abruptly and turning on his heel to face Malachy. 

“You’re pretty cool,” he says, in one of the strangest encounters Malachy has ever had, and then he dives into the water. Leaving the human to watch as Neteyam rounds one of the pods off to his right, glance over him and then storms away in a huff. 

Malachy is tempted to just shrug and leave it be, and he does so, but not before turning a concerned look in the direction of the rippling water. Pushing himself fully upright to see if he can spot the flick of Lo’ak’s tail. But there’s nothing, and he does shrug his shoulders and turn away. 

Heading back the way he came through the village, avoiding the busy areas and heading for a new place to just sit.

But his second choice, the small strip of sand just west of the Sully’s pod, is occupied already. He debates going to find another place, when his eyes catch on the small figure standing at the edge of the water, tossing a tiny fishing spear into the sea before dashing out to grab it again. 

And Malachy, finding that he recognises the brightly coloured beads in their hair, makes his way towards them, crouching down just a little to meet her eyes, and finally letting words that have wanted to escape for a while tumble from his tongue. 

“Do you need a hand?” 

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Tuk really hates being the youngest. The baby of the family, the one who’s doted on the most, unless someone else is sick. 

The one that doesn’t get to hang out with the bigger kids because they’re doing something too dangerous for her to even possibly think of trying. The one who often stays behind with Mom to help in the pod, or who’s carried around by Dad because she’s still too small to keep up. The one who isn’t told everything because she’s not mature enough to understand everything. 

Even though she’s more observant than Lo’ak and can tell something’s up by merely the set of Dad’s shoulders. 

But, sometimes, she really loves being the youngest, because for one thing, she gets hugs without even asking for them. She gets away with things that her older brothers wouldn’t even dream of trying. She can watch the others attempt the dangerous things and know where they went wrong. 

So that next time they use the excuse that it’s too difficult or dangerous for her to try, she can do it without even a slip. 

She gets to spend loads of time with Mom, learning all she can about prepping hunting weapons, cooking their food and how to make the most basic of ointments. Just don’t tell Neteyam that the burn cream he used the other day was made by her, he’d probably try and scour it off again even though it’s been made properly. 

She also gets to watch everything from so high a place in the world (Dad’s shoulders) that she notices things way before the others do. Pointing out animals with a squeal of delight, drawing their attention to a bed of plants which could be foraged for meal time. Although, a downside is that she’s often late to collecting the plants, or getting a better look at the animals because she has to clamber down Dad like a tree. 

And sometimes even that takes an age, especially if he wants to tease her by holding Tuk upside down. Which is often. 

Not being told everything like the others is the worst thing, and the best thing about being the youngest. Because sometimes it turns into a game that she plays with herself, where she tries to get the information without being seen. Although sometimes, it doesn’t always end well (one particular time has been so scrubbed from her memory she can’t even think about it). 

But, one thing that trumps all the bad reasons for being the youngest, is that she gets to learn straight from Mom how to fly an ikran properly. With grace and precision, and without the flashy techniques Dad often teaches the others.

Tuk sits in pride of place when they go on long flights, sitting on Tson’s harness, with Mom’s heat at her back keeping her cosy as they go. From there she can see everything, feel the movement of a trained flyer's body, watch Mom twitch the ikrans kurus when they come too low in altitude, feel her legs squeeze to urge Tson faster. Lean with her when a tight turn needs to be made. 

Learn by observation, and apply it to her own developing technique. 

Which means she can show her siblings up when she finally gets to fly on her own, with her own companion. By herself. 

So yes, being the youngest has its ups and downs, and Tuk is usually able to deal with the bad bits with a small bit of whining. But being the youngest means that she also misses out on some family activities because she wouldn’t be able to do them. Which is worse than anything on her list because she gets left behind. 

Both Neteyam and Spider have told her many times that they too would be left behind when Mom and Dad went hunting, and Lo’ak has so many stories of wreaking havoc in Home Tree and High Camp when his older siblings left without him. But they had the other clan kids to play with when that happened. 

The kids her age in Awa’atlu tolerate Tuk at best, so her options are keeping to herself or going to Momo. And this was one of those days where Momo was far too busy helping Ronal to mind Tuk. Which just makes the situation worse. 

“Why can’t I come with you?” she whines loudly, embarrassed to feel hot tears prickling the corners of her eyes. “I’d be really good, I promise. I won’t mess around, I’ll stick with Mom and keep an eye out for dangers. Please?” 

Dad glances up from where he’s preparing the last of their hunting gear, shoving Kiri’s shawl into a carry pack which will be slung over his shoulder. His expression is completely apologetic - as it should be - and he lays the bag down on the floor so that he can comfort her. As he should. 

“Tuk, you know why you can’t come with us,” he tells her, resting his big hands along her shoulders. “It’s going to take us all day, and you’ll be bored, or want to go home early, and we won’t be able to bring you back because this trip needs all of us.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. “But I won’t get bored because I’ll be with all of you,” she reasons, thinking that it’s a really good one and will have Dad thinking again. 

“Alright, or you’ll get tired and ask one of us to carry you,” he says, keeping his tone gentle and even. 

“Or ask us to race you through the trees,” Neteyam adds from where he’s checking the tension of his bowstring. He nudges Spider for a second opinion on the knotting, and the two of them compare their weapons as if they’re already fully minted warriors. Tuk holds back on rolling her eyes, even though she really wants to. 

“Or whine about being hungry,” Lo’ak says, and Tuk feels her pout become more severe, her bottom lip drawing down towards her chin. “Or you’d get lost, and we’d have to spend the rest of the afternoon looking for you.” 

“Shut up, Lo’ak,” Tuk shoots back, and Dad’s expression turns a little bit stern. 

“Hey, don’t use that language against your brother,” he says, and Tuk ducks her head. Embarrassed again. “You’ll have so much more fun with the other kids in the village than doing a boring old hunt. And when we get back, you can take charge of story time and tell us all about it.” 

She’s still not convinced, and displays it with a more severe downturn of her head, until her eyes are catching on her toes and the woven floor below them. And her nose begins to burn along with her eyes, and she sniffs quietly. 

Another set of hands joins Dad’s and Tuk raises her head to see Mom’s comforting smile. She leans into the fingers that brush through her braids, wiping her snot with the back of her wrist - which has Lo’ak making disgusted noises in the corner. 

“I wanna go with you,” she says again, quietly, and Mom clucks her tongue at her in light admonishment. 

“You know you can’t Tuktuk,” she tells her. “It is too dangerous, and we’d all be worried about you. So we need you to stay here, alright? Like the big strong girl we know you are. And just think about all the hunts you’ll be able to force us into when you’re old enough, hey? We’ll be sick of them.” 

That has Tuk laughing wetly, just a little bit. But the tears still spill over her cheeks anyway, and she can’t help but say, “but I want to go now. I don’t wanna stay behind.” 

“It won’t be for long,” Spider says, coming over to kneel by her side in comfort. “And if you do something whilst we’re away, it’ll go as quick as a flash.” 

Tuk sniffles again loudly, but wipes the tears from her cheeks definitively. She doesn’t want to cry in front of her big brother, not when everything is good now, and they’re a whole family. He shouldn’t be remembering her with a snotty nose and red eyes. 

“I bet you,” Spider says, with a mischievous smile, “that you could make sure all the ikrans are healthy and happy and fed before we even get back. I bet you my banana fruit tonight you could do it.” 

Lo’ak makes an affronted sound, saying, “you promised me that fruit yesterday for that dive I did.” 

Which then turns into a squabble between the brothers, and although it’s loud, it’s normal and it has Tuk’s face splitting into a grin so wide it hurts her cheeks. And she has to shout over them to be heard, but it’s worth it. 

“I’ll do it,” she exclaims, and Lo’ak and Spider’s voices stop immediately, their mouths hanging open comically wide. Tuk’s ears flick at Kiri and Neteyam’s laughter, and Lo’ak’s expression turns into a triumphant smile when she says, “Lo’ak can have my banana fruit, I don’t mind.” 

“Have I told you you’re my favourite sister?” he tells her, and Tuk shakes her head emphatically. 

“Nope,” she chirps. “Never.” 

“Well, you’re my favourite sister,” he says definitively, and Tuk giggles again. And although the entire encounter covers over the harsh whispered conversation between Mom and Dad, Tuk notices the worried glint in Mom’s gaze, but the reassuring and trusting set of Dad’s shoulders. 

The comfort in his hands as he lays them against her back.

“You’re alright with staying here then?” Dad asks, and Tuk nods this time, even though he sends a doubting look her way. “Will you bring a transmitter with you just in case you get into trouble? One kid in danger is all I can take for a lifetime, and I don’t want you getting too close to the ikran if you can help it.” 

And Tuk is happy to agree, if only to get the worried crease away from Dad’s brow, and the concerned wrinkle of his mouth back into a happy smile. Or at least, as much of a smile as can be managed, as Dad’s expression settles back into a familiar one. A commanding one, although his voice isn’t as direct and stern as it had been. 

And Tuk is then left at the pod, watching from the entrance as they dive into the water with vocalisations of joy. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the small group of kids her age making their way to the beach in a line, following behind a young warrior who looks completely bored and disinterested with taking care of them. They hold tiny versions of the adults hunting spears, play fighting with them as they go. From here, Tuk isn’t subjected to their stares and weird looks, and she gets the delight of turning her back to them. 

Ducking into the shade of the pod to quickly grab her own woven cloth bag. Shoving her tiny hunting blade, with its sheath, inside along with her colourful shell, a length of rope, and the transmitter. She considers it before putting it inside too, trying to see if it would work against her neck, but finding it uncomfortably restricting. 

In it goes, and she ties the opening shut carefully, making sure everything is secure before it goes over her neck and shoulder. Settling against her hip comfortably. 

She nods, although there’s no one there to see it, and then she’s stepping back out into the fresh air again. 

She’d heard some of the adults talk about a storm brewing on the horizon, a collection of dark clouds making their way to the shore. Tuk notices it in the sudden uptick in the wind, and turns her head to squint at the line between the sea and the sky, trying to see the storm herself. But there’s nothing but blue, and she shrugs her shoulders and hums in disinterest. 

The walkways had at first been tricky to go over for the others, but not for Tuk. She’d loved how bouncy they were when they’d first arrived, and she loves it just as much now. Even though she knows better than to bounce the whole way along, because it disturbs others, she does take a few small jumps before reaching the more stable mud of the forest. 

It doesn’t beat clambering over the exposed roots of the mountains at home, but she would say it’s a close second. 

The forest behind Awa’atlu would also be a close second to the forest back home. She finds it really cool how the lifted and exposed roots make a home for the creatures, but it means that the only levels are the ones near the ground. Because the lack of cover high above her head means the animals are exposed to predators and the elements. 

Compared to the forest back home, where every crevice and nook in the trees were used and occupied. 

Here, she scurries across the forest floor with a little bit of trouble, ducking under and clambering over the roots as she sees fit, peering into the tiny rock pools formed by the storms and rising tides. Giggling at smiling at the multicoloured fish and animals she finds. 

She wonders if it would be cool to bring Spider to the forest with her, without the others. Well, maybe Kiri, because she could tell them what the creatures are. But she imagines how calm and peaceful it could be, losing herself to her own wild imagination as she walks. 

It’s why she doesn’t realise she’s being followed, even though usually she would have noticed the shadow trailing behind her. And not just because it looks cool against the rippling water beside her toes. 

She continues on her way, oblivious to any sort of danger, and approaches the tree Mom has marked with a scratched out symbol on its trunk. A simple image of an arrow pointing upwards, which would have anyone else completely confused, because they don’t know the ways of humans. 

Tuk notices it a few yards away, and speeds up her pace just a little bit, until she can feel the bite of the wood underneath her fingers as she struggles over the last tree root. 

She levers herself up onto it, feeling the bark dig into her chest, and swings her legs in the same direction. Wobbling a little at the top before dangling them over the other side. Usually, this is where she would stop and wait for her parents or a sibling to grab her, help her down the rest of the way. 

But it takes her a second to realise that there’s no one there to do that. And rather than scramble and panic and possibly hurt herself, Tuk nods in the most decisive way she can, because her chin is leaning on the root, and lets herself drop to the ground. 

It’s not a big one, but she goes fast enough that it takes her by surprise, landing awkwardly and tipping over onto her side with a small noise. And there, lying on her side for a moment, is where she notices her shadow. 

It clutches onto a tree to her left, claws digging into the trunk and its skin perfectly blending into the white bark. The only reason she sees it is because of its bright red bill, and acid yellow eyes. The ones staring at her as a rumbling growl reaches her ears, causing her to freeze right in place. 

It inches down the tree, claw over claw, wings ruffling up to make it look bigger than it actually is. It slinks around branches, and avoids patches of green moss, but keeps its eyes firmly glued to Tuk’s face. 

She would be amazed, but her whole body is kind of locked up and stressed right now. 

As it reaches the base of the tree, her hand moves around her waist to her woven belt, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her hunting knife. But she hasn't drawn it yet. It grounds her, the familiar wood against her palm, but she can’t sense any danger at least not yet. But she might, and she feels her breathing stop as the ikran comes level with her. 

It’s a beautiful cream colour, with light blue spots dotted around its snout. Which is opening wide, and displaying its teeth. And Tuk feels herself tensing further, preparing for an injury or the threatening snap of jaws right in front of her nose– 

When the creature gives a long, loud shriek. One that sets her head ringing and nearly pushes her backwards with the sheer force of the sound. Her head rings with it, and she has to close her eyes against the hot rush of air which blows her braids back from her face. 

It lasts ages, or a few seconds she isn’t sure, but when she blinks open her eyes, the ikran is still there. It’s chest heaving slightly, but a very obvious proud glint in its eyes at its own handiwork. 

It snorts in a decisive way, but also as if it’s telling her to get lost. But she won’t have that, not when a very clear thought is dashing through her mind. 

Your ikran chooses you when it tries to kill you. That is a fact every Omatikaya child knows, because of the many iknimiyas that have been experienced within their clan. And Tuk blinks at the creature for a few moments before she does something it's obviously not expecting. 

She laughs. 

And a few moments later, the skies decide to open, and rain begins to soak the forest. 

“I wanna make Spider my special pudding,” Tuk whines loudly, although through her stuffed up nose, it sounds more like, “I wadda bake Spider m’special punning.” 

And she sniffles loudly, wiping away the snot on the corner of her blanket, much to her siblings’ disgust. Lo’ak, sitting next to Dad and sharpening his hunting blade with a whetstone, pulls a face so extreme Tuk nearly giggles at it. Neteyam, right next to him, only averts his eyes almost politely, and Kiri easily hands over a piece of cloth to wipe Tuk’s nose. 

“But what if you get him sick?” Mom says diplomatically, and although Spider tries to wiggle out of her grip, Tuk’s fingers clutch onto him even tighter. Then sneezes loudly two seconds later. “You can’t make food whilst you sneeze every five minutes, can you?” 

“No,” she mumbles in return, although it sounds more like “Doh,” with how thick and phlegmy her voice sounds. “But I still wanna make it for him.” 

Outside, the rain pounds down against the top of the pod harder, turning outside nearly as dark as the eclipse. The rain had started when she was in the forest, and it hasn’t stopped since. Not even as she ran through the trees to get home, not as she dodged around the few villagers still out on the walkways. It was still going as she dashed into the pod and tried her best to dry off, and kept going as she waited out the entire afternoon for the rest of her family. 

Who’d traipsed in completely dry, because they’d had the good sense to bring ponchos and blankets with them. 

So here she is, the only one sick, and wanting to make food for her favourite brother. Even though he’s trying to lean away from her sick germy hands which are pawing all over his arms. And they’ve only been stuck inside for the entire morning. 

So what if she wants to cook something whilst sick? She’s bored with a capital B. 

“I don’t want anyone else to make it, because they’ll mess it up,” she says, and her voice must be raising towards the point of shouting because Mom begins to pet her braids down. “But if Spider doesn’t eat it then that’s fine too.”

“I want to eat it,” he pipes up in protest, even though his voice sounds a bit strained with effort, “but just…not when it’s been sneezed on or coughed over.” 

“It won’t,” Tuk replies indignantly, even though her throat gives a threatening little tickle. He gives her a doubting look, and she swallows hard, driving back the need to cough with a large smile. 

“And you really want to make it Tuk?” Dad asks from across the cookfire, placing the deboned fish on a wooden plate to be cooked. “You don’t want someone else to do it under your instructions?” 

Tuk opens her mouth to complain, telling them that no it should be her making it, when she thinks again. Because if she tells someone what to do, they can make the dish easily and quickly, without any germs getting onto the food but it comes out as good as it would if she made it. 

Spider gives another experimental tug of his wrist, and that all but decides it for her. Because she’d much rather stay nice and cosy right where she is - tucked up with a blanket against her brother’s side - rather than hovering over the cookfire and stressing about making food perfectly. 

“Fine,” she grumbles, crossing her arms against her chest as if it's a big inconvenience, and one she really doesn’t want to deal with. And Mom smiles at her a little proudly as her hand comes to the top of her head to ruffle her braids. “But I want ‘Teyam to make it.” 

Her brother glances up with confusion written all over his face, fingers pausing where they’d been reaching for another fish to skin and debone. Hovering over the wooden plate. “Me?” he asks, turning the hand to point a finger at his chest. “Why?” 

“Probably because you’re less likely to drift from her instructions,” Spider comments, gently prying Tuk’s fingers away from his wrist but staying next to her anyway. 

“What does that say about us?” Kiri asks next. “I think I’d be good at following orders.” 

“Not Tuk’s,” Lo’ak replies. “She’d probably get you to do something really weird with the vegetables, and you’d be too polite to ask what it means.” 

“And you’d ignore her altogether, and end up with half the food on top of you in vengeance. Or with all of it shoved in your face,” Kiri snaps back with a small grin. Lo’ak flicks a fishbone at her, but it doesn’t quite reach, making Spider laugh loudly when it lands on Mom’s knee instead. 

“Let’s not try and argue the inner workings of Tuk’s thought process and let her get cooking, shall we?” Dad says, and the others settle down, if only a little bit. 

Neteyam sets aside his tools and the wooden plate, standing with a crack of his joints and an elderly sounding grunt which has everyone laughing. It’s just them in the pod today, just their family, because the human Malachy had decided to go and help Momo gather roots and plants in the forest. 

Something about a few rare ones only coming out from the ground when it was wet. It means that the uncertainty that’s been hovering in the pod for the past few weeks has dissipated, leaving only a cosy atmosphere behind. It doesn’t say much for Malachy’s personality, but Tuk knows it’s more than that. 

She can tell by Dad’s hesitant stares at his back that he wants to talk to the human. She knows by Mom’s reluctant provision of food that she’s beginning to inch towards tolerance, if she’s not in that area already. But her siblings are a different matter. 

Because Neteyam still looks at the human with some form of reluctant dislike, and he hasn’t said a word to him the entire time he’s been here. Lo’ak and Kiri seem curious about him, watching with keen eyes as he moves through the pod, and Spider is fine with him. But that might be expected. 

Tuk doesn’t really know what to think about him, because she hasn’t really gotten a chance to talk to him. Not properly. 

She has bumped into him a few times on the walkways, and she’d tried to apologise because really it was her who hadn’t been looking. But the human ducks his head every time and speeds away before she can even finish the first word. 

But because of the lack of tension and uncertainty has also emphasised his absence. The corner that he usually sits in unoccupied and dark, the datapad missing from its usual spot on top of the containers. Surprisingly, it’s weird for him not to be there, and Tuk finds her eyes flickering in the direction of his usual corner, and looking again when there’s nothing there to see. 

Neteyam sits with his legs underneath him to Tuk’s right side, the left occupied by Spider. It gives him easy access to the baskets hanging on the pod’s walls, and he’s an arm’s length away from the cooking things. He looks at her expectantly and Tuk straightens her whole spine with an expression of importance plastered on her cheeks. 

“Grab that first,” she says, pointing to the food she wants, and the cooking begins. 

She’d made this pudding first when her siblings had left the village to go and save her brother. Without her. She still has yet to forgive Kiri fully for playing the dirty trick to get Tuk distracted, even though her big sister has tried to drag it out of her for months. 

But, back to her point, she’d spent the hours it’d taken them to rescue Spider making this beautiful pudding, and she wants it to be made by following her instructions to the letter. Which is why there’s a lot of shouting on her end whenever Neteyam’s hand even strays in the direction of something wrong. 

“Tuk,” Mom says halfway through the cooking process, her voice weighed down and tired, “calm down with the shouting. You don’t need to shout at your brother, my love.” 

“But I do,” Tuk whines through her stuffed up nose, “because he’s dumb and is doing it wrong.” 

“You really don’t,” the rest of her siblings say in unison, and Tuk is very tempted to pout again. She doesn’t though, because she’s not a baby. She only sniffs loudly again and glowers as Neteyam finishes off the pudding. 

“There,” he says as he puts it onto a plate with a flourish, passing it to Tuk when she makes grabby hands at him. She’s too distracted to notice his amused look, but her ears flick at her family’s laughter as she shuffles further into Spider’s side. 

When he reaches for the food himself she leans away, giving him the most affronted look that she can manage when snot is streaming down her nose. “No,” she says sternly, “I’ll give it to you when I’m ready.” 

Spider’s hands come up in surrender, and Tuk settles a little bit more when it’s obvious he’s not going to move. But before she can even open her mouth, Mom approaches from her right side to wipe at her nose, and although she’d like to whine about it, Tuk knows it’s wise just to let her at it. Even though the cloth is uncomfortable and scratchy, and has her whole face wrinkling in discomfort. 

“Okay,” she says once her face is clean, “it’s something that I came up with when everyone else was away saving you. And I thought it would be a good idea to make something hot because you’d be cold from the sea, but then I wanted it to be sweet because your favourite food is banana fruit. And then I thought it would be a cool idea to add in fruit as it would then turn into a sort of hot pudding, and I found this really cool fruit that you only get here which tastes both sweet and sometimes savoury and– yeah.” 

She stops to breathe, chest heaving a little bit, and then she shoves the plate towards him. “Here you go!” she says, and Spider takes it without hesitation, which is good. 

Tuk finds that she can’t eat it herself, because it really is too sweet for her. It’s bright yellow too, but the inside seeps in purple, like banana fruit. It also slides around the plate if the person eating it isn’t careful. She giggles quietly when Spider tilts it the wrong way, and snaps his wrist back upwards to catch it. 

The first spoonful is hesitant, probably because his nose is getting hit with its musky smell, but when it hits his tongue he makes an appreciative noise, and the corners of his lips tick upwards in a smile. 

“Do you like it?” she asks, and Spider nods enthusiastically. 

“It’s really good,” he says through his mouthful, and then there’s movement from across the pod. 

“I wanna try this,” Lo’ak says, crawling across the pallet to reach Spider’s opposite side, even though Tuk shrieks at him not too, and Neteyam tries to give him the rest of what’s in the cooking pot. But even her flapping hands don’t deter her older brother, and Lo’ak opens his mouth to accept the spoonful Spider gives him. 

And when Lo’ak’s expression brightens, the others come forwards too. As if his reaction would dictate whether Tuk’s food would poison them or not. 

And inexplicably, Tuk feels something within her chest loosen at the sight of her entire family liking and enjoying something she’d made. A smile spreads across her cheeks, and she finds her own hand straying towards the spoon too. 

“Maybe we should leave the cooking to you Tuktuk,” Dad says, and suddenly the rest of her siblings are shaking their heads, cheeks bulging with food. And Dad startles backwards at their reaction. 

“This,” Neteyam says, pointing to the near empty plate, “is a very rare occasion. Tuk making something edible is amazing, but I wouldn’t let her near the cooking pot.” 

“Didn’t she melt one at some point?” Spider asks, and Tuk squawks loudly. 

“Oh yeah! A couple of months ago, I remember that,” Kiri says. “But I think her ovumshroom explosion was a bit worse than whatever she’d been trying to make then.” 

“That sat in my stomach for weeks,” Lo’ak comments, and Tuk begins to whine in annoyance. 

“I don’t mean to be so bad at it, honest,” she tells them, and her siblings laugh at her. “But I think Mom should keep doing the cooking.” 

“What about Dad?” Neteyam asks, sending a sly look towards him because he knows exactly what Tuk is going to say. 

“He should stick to hunting,” she comments, “his last attempt made all of us sick, and that was with Mom’s supervision.” 

“Glad to hear the vote of confidence,” Dad says over the loud laughter, going easily when Mom drags his head down towards her to press a kiss against his head. “But I have to agree, Mom’s cooking is the best cooking.” 

The rest of the evening gets a bit fuzzy from there, probably because her cold gets a bit worse, but she does become conscious enough to feel Dad pick her and Spider up from the ground, and deposit them on their pallet. 

And instinctively, when their other siblings join them, she finds herself spread eagled over any part of their body she can find. Keeping them pinned by her body weight and strength of will alone. Forcing them into a cuddle pile even if they didn’t want to. 

She awakens when the human does. Her eyes peeling open at the first quiet grunt, blinking in the slant of light peeking through the cover. She tracks him easily as he steps over many arms and legs and tails, bending at the waist to scoop the datapad from the floor before pushing the cover aside. And slipping out silently. 

It takes all of a couple of moments, but she’s fully away by the time he’s gone, and very aware that she won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. With her own muted groan, she stretches her legs and wiggles her toes, scrubbing at her eyes with a hand as the other works its way from the blanket. 

She goes to sit up, but suddenly finds she can’t. That a pair of arms have wrapped themselves so tightly around her chest that Tuk can’t even push herself up from the pallet. 

At first, her thoughts immediately turn to some form of danger, that someone is going to easily drag her away as soon as she tries to scream. But then she glances down and catches sight of dark blue skin, and she relaxes a little bit. And then she hears the loud guttural snore in her ear and she tries to hold back her giggles. 

Lo’ak, held up only by the strength of his grip around Tuk’s chest, tilts backwards until he’s nearly falling to the ground. His mouth stands open, and the thick snores making their way through his chest are the loudest she’s ever heard. And when she tries to pull his arms away, his grip only gets tighter, until he’s dragging her back down to the pallet again. 

Neteyam shuffles in his sleep, and Tuk freezes right where she is with a tiny gasp, practically keeping her entire body still as she watches her brother roll over onto his side with a sigh. Nuzzling against Spider’s stomach with his head. 

Tuk begins to work on Lo’ak’s fingers, prying them away one by one with gentle care, taking her time with it in case his hands decide to tighten again. It takes ages though, and the slant of light from behind the cover has made its way halfway across the floor before she’s free. 

And by that point, Mom and Dad are beginning to shuffle underneath the sleep pile. And Tuk has approximately a few moments to grab her small hunting spear and escape the pod before they wake up and stop her from leaving. 

She trods on some tails, and gets a few muted hisses in return, but she makes it outside without any major incidents, wincing at the brightness of the morning. 

She can’t see any sign of the human anymore, just a few early risers as they make their ways towards the cookfire for food. Her tummy rumbles a little, but she knows she can hold out for a little bit. Because she’s going to go fishing like a grownup, and show Mom and Dad and her siblings that she can come with them every now and again. 

She strikes out onto the walkway, restraining from bouncing on them even though she really, really wants to. Tuk keeps marching instead, steadily placing one foot in front of the other, and putting the cookfire at her back. Because if she’s fishing, she’s gonna do it where all the other older kids and adults do it. 

She heads towards the beach with confidence, ignoring the fond and amused looks she gets as much as she can. Although, her tail flicks in embarrassment when a few of them chuckle at her kindly, stepping to the side when they see she’s not going to change direction. 

“Tuk,” a voice suddenly calls to her, drawing her attention away from the steady rhythm of her feet. Tsireya waves at her from the entrance to her own pod with one hand, the other cradling a food basket against her hip. Tuk always forgets that she’s an early riser, and slows her stride. 

Because she won’t be able to outrun Tsireya, and she’s likely to follow her if Tuk doesn’t answer. 

“Where are you off to so early?” she asks, and Tuk points in the direction of the beach. 

“I’m going fishing,” she says simply, and Tsireya makes an interested noise. “Lo’ak’s not awake yet.” 

“I know that,” Tsireya replies, “but would you like someone to come with you? It can get really quiet down there. I don’t want you getting lonely.” 

Tuk shakes her head in reply. “No,” she says, “I’m okay thank you. But if you see my Mom and Dad, can you tell them I’ll be back before the midday meal?” 

“Of course,” Tsireya says, her ears flickering at another voice calling her name. “That’s my Dad, I’ve got to go.” 

Tuk waves at her before she turns away, and continues her quick march. Except now she notices that a lot more people are awakening, and she has to dodge a bit more often to avoid colliding with someone. But she manages to reach the beach just before they start cooking their morning meal, pausing to enjoy the feeling of the sand squelching between her toes. 

She and her siblings have taken a long time to actually get used to walking on sand, because of the way it messes with their…Neteyam called it their centre of gravity. Tuk just thinks that she’s going to trip over at any moment when she walks across the fine stuff. The smell of food and woodsmoke is overpowered by the sea, and she finds herself battling against small but powerful gusts of wind. 

Tuk knows she doesn’t have to go too far out to reach the fish, which is a good thing because the water is very cold against her toes. 

She wades in slowly, picking up her feet high to shake off bits of seaweed, giggling every time they go back into the water with a plop. She spies tiny fish escaping from her toes, their scales flashing in the light and giving them away. But that’s not the sort of catch she wants. 

Tuk wants something big and impressive, which she’ll find a little ways down the shore, where the adults usually toss their nets. Except where that water reaches the tops of their legs, it goes up to Tuk’s waist, and she has to bat away the bits of seaweed and debris with her hands. But then she spies the slow moving flick of a tail, and she pauses with one foot raised, wobbling on the other one to keep her balance. 

Because that is the kind of fish she wants. 

It’s big, but not too much that she wouldn’t be able to pick it up. It’s slow moving, and doesn’t seem bothered by her movements. And, if she catches two of them, she can proudly bring them back to the pod for someone else to deal with them. 

She gently places her foot down, and eases her spear into both hands with little disturbance to the water. She grasps the wood, and feels her tongue poke out between her lips as she concentrates on the fish’s movements. Watching as it drifts one way, and then the other. Its gills flapping gently. 

And suddenly, Tuk finds her hands still where they are, with the point of the spear aimed down at the water. Her brain comes to a sudden and abrupt stop. 

She can’t hurt the fish. It’s too pretty, and hasn’t done anything to her. Why would she do that, just for the sake of having some food? What if the fish has a family, brothers, sisters, a baby? She’d be taking it away from that with one fell swoop. 

Her fingers loosen, nearly letting go of the thing when the fish finally notices her toes and quickly swims away. And she relaxes, her shoulders slumping with shame and sadness. 

How can she go on hunts with the rest of her siblings if she’s freezing up at the idea of catching a small fish? The adults do it all the time, and not just to one but to hundreds of fish. How is she any different? Because she shouldn’t be, she’s been raised to expect to start training to become a taronyu in a few years. She can’t exactly do that if she can’t hunt anything. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, feeling hot tears fall down her cheeks in earnest, and she sniffles quietly. Sadness squeezes her chest, and she turns to start trudging back to the shore. Because there’s not much point standing in cold water if she isn’t able to do anything. The sand squelches beneath her toes again, and she turns around to watch the waves trail in and go back out again. 

And suddenly, she becomes so angry and upset with herself, that she throws her spear out in the water with a loud grunt. It lands quietly, because it’s not as heavy as a normal sized spear, and for a moment Tuk freezes. 

What has she done? She can’t just leave the thing there, it could be dangerous and she might not get another one because she’ll be told she’s too irresponsible to have one. 

So she charges back into the water, wading through the waves, disturbing the fish so much that they practically scramble away from her feet, and she snatches the spear from the water before it sinks. And then she stops, picks off a piece of seaweed from the stone blade, and slowly makes her way back to the shore. 

Because holding it just has those shivers come back to her in force, and she has to put it down on the ground and follow it to the sand. Gathering her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her nose begins to burn with tears, her ears drooping towards her head and her tail curling around her tummy in a protective way. 

“Do you need a hand?” someone suddenly says behind her, and Tuk’s head turns around so quickly she feels a bit dizzy. Malachy stands there, looking completely uncomfortable with the datapad tucked under his arm. 

Tuk glances back at her own arms and then looks up again in confusion, saying, “No, I’ve got two already thanks.” 

Malachy blinks a few times, and then his eyebrows lift and his mouth curls in a smile as he laughs. Tuk tilts her head a little, wondering what she’s said that’s so funny. He was the one who offered to give her one of his hands, which isn’t helpful in any situation. 

“It’s a phrase back on Earth,” he tells her when he’s calmed, and Tuk feels her expression light up in curiosity. She shuffles over on the sand in a silent offering to join her, and as he sits down he continues with, “It effectively means that I’m offering to help you. Not giving you one of my limbs which wouldn’t help.” 

“It wouldn’t help at all,” she agrees, and Malachy chuckles again quietly. Tuk lets her ears droop a little bit more, toying with the end of the spear. “But I don’t know how you can help me.” 

“Well, tell me what’s wrong first, and then we’ll see,” he replies, and she makes a small considering noise, before turning her whole body so she sits crossed legged, placing all of her attention onto Malachy. Which she knows can be intense, but he doesn’t flinch. 

“I can’t hunt,” she tells him, and again he blinks. Not as many times as the last, but he still looks confused. 

“As in, physically?” he asks, and Tuk nods. 

“I can get to the fish fine,” she says, pointing out to the sea, “but when I saw one and tried to get it, I stopped. I couldn’t do it, no matter how hard I tried.” 

“Well, what were you hunting for?” he asks, and she frowns at him. “Was it for practice? Or for food? Or curiosity?” 

“Food,” she tells him, like he’s a bit dumb. “Why else would you hunt?” 

“Well some people do hunt and fish for practice. I know several clans who let the animals they catch go free if they don’t need them,” he tells her.

“You can do that?” she asks, completely interested. 

“Of course,” he replies, “just don’t aim for anything important, and when you’ve caught it you let it go again.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” Tuk grumbles. “And I don’t want to spend all day trying to catch a fish.” 

“Have you not trained with that yet?” he asks, tapping the wooden bit of the spear as she shakes her head. He makes a small noise at that, and then turns to look back at the water. Tuk does that too, because maybe he’s seen something that she didn’t notice the first time. 

It takes a while for him to talk again, so much so that Tuk thinks about getting up and leaving. Until he makes a different noise, and gets to his feet again. He places the datapad down on a dry(ish) bit of seaweed, and heads into the water. When she doesn’t go with him, he turns and gestures for her to follow. 

“Come on,” he says when she doesn’t move still. And then Tuk is picking herself up, and reaching for the spear next to her. But he waves her away with a cheeky smile. “You won’t need that, we’re gonna hunt with our hands.” 

“With our hands?” she asks in the incredulous way only kids her age can. And he just nods, before bending his knees a little and getting the rolled up edges of his trousers wet. 

“You’re weird,” she tells him when she comes level, and Malachy snorts in amusement. 

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he says. “Right, so, ready to learn?” 

“No, I’m ready to turn around and go home,” she says sarcastically, but Malachy’s smile doesn’t fade. So she then asks, “what do we do?” 

“You see the fish hiding underneath the seaweed there?” he says, pointing towards a pile of slimy green stuff which Tuk has to lean down to peer through. She nods, and Malachy steps a little bit closer. “There’s a bunch of fish under there, and we’re gonna catch them.” 

“How?” she asks again.

“By tickling them,” he replies, and she looks at him like he’s crazy. But he raises his hands as if to ask her to wait, so she doesn’t leave. Yet. 

“They’re hiding underneath the seaweed right now because the light is too hot for them to swim around in,” he explains, and now that he’s mentioned it, Tuk can feel the heat of the day against the back of her neck. Close and cloying from the recent rain. “And because the light is too hot, it means they’re all nice and cosy in their beds, and not expecting a hand to come up underneath them.” 

His hand goes into the water without any sound, and Tuk finds herself holding her breath as his fingers inch towards the flash of silver. She doesn’t know what he does, but in a moment, he tugs the fish from underneath the seaweed, clutching onto it tightly as its tail flaps. 

“See?” he says through the small commotion, grinning for a moment before the fish gains the advantage. He brings it too close to his face, and its wiggling tail slaps him a few times, taking him off guard and slackening his grip. Which gives the fish enough time to wriggle out of his hand and back into the water. 

And Tuk can’t help but laugh loudly, trying to cover it with her hand even though her smile is too big to hide. Malachy wipes the seawater from his cheeks and shakes out his hand, telling her, “well, at least someone finds it funny.” 

Once she’s calmed, and her cheeks have stopped hurting, she gives the clothing at his arm a small tug to get his attention. 

“How did you do that?” she asks with no small amount of awe and just a small bit of curiosity. 

“You put your hand underneath them,” he explains, and she ducks her hand into the water with a small splash, aiming for the first fish she spies. But it darts away, and she pouts in disappointment. “Quietly, and slowly. This isn’t a fast way of hunting. You slide them all the way from their tails to their heads, which has them shivering and then, you snatch them up before they can wriggle away.”

She blinks at him this time. And then he’s pointing to another, bigger, piece of floating seaweed. 

“Why not try under there,” he tells her, and she squints until she sees a flicker of a tail. And she grins in excitement, before slowly and quietly making her way towards it. At least, as quietly as she can wading through water. 

The fish doesn’t move as she comes towards it, in fact it stays completely still and her grin gets a bit wider as she crouches and slides her hand in. Getting her fingers right under the fish, and gently dragging them from its tail to its head, slowly, feeling it shiver against her hand. 

And then, she wraps her hand around its head and pulls it from the water with a shriek of both delight and fear. Because she doesn’t want to get slapped by a stinky smelly fish tail. 

“That’s it!” Malachy exclaims, but then Tuk loses her grip too and the fish escapes. 

But she doesn’t care, because she’s jumping up and down in place at the success of actually catching a fish! 

“I did it!” she says, and Malachy laughs, agreeing with her loudly. 

“Well done kiddo,” he says, and she doesn’t miss the slight hint of pride in his voice. “Now you can catch all of the fish, without having to hurt them. And when you’re ready, you can ask someone to show you how to hunt properly.” 

Although, she’s not really listening at this point, because she spots a familiar figure on the beach, and lifts her hand to wave enthusiastically. 

“Mom,” she calls to her, her grin widening so that her cheeks hurt again. “Did you see? I did it! I caught a fish, and Malachy helped me.” 

Something weird happens then, because Malachy tenses just a little bit and turns on his heel so quickly Tuk thinks he’s going to fall down. And then he takes two steps away from Tuk, and nods at Mom with something tightening his body so much he looks like Spider’s bowstring when it’s not settled quite right. 

“Yeah, well done Tuk,” he tells her hurriedly, and then he splashes back up to the beach hurriedly. She watches in confusion as he scoops up the datapad as he goes, and then disappears into the village with only one wary glance back at Mom. 

But she doesn’t really have time to be worried about it, because a shadow passes over her, and it's a shape she recognises. One that has her grinning in determination, tilting her head back to watch an ikran drift towards the trees, and clenching her hand into a fist. 

Even if that has the smelly stinky fish water squelching into her palm. 

Spider knew something was off about Tuk. He just knew it, something about that mischievous glint in her eyes, and the way that she keeps sneaking off almost every morning now. She’s up to something, and it could be dangerous. 

And how could he not be a good big brother and follow her? It would be irresponsible not to, because knowing Tuk she could have made friends with a dangerous animal which could eat her up in one bite. And she’d just claim it's her friend who really loves her. 

So, one morning when she clambers out of the sibling pile way before they’re meant to be awake, Spider peels an eye open. And extricates himself from Neteyam’s legs and Lo’ak’s head and Kiri’s arms. Following Tuk out into the early morning light. 

A shiver makes its way down his spine when he realises where she’s going. His whole body goes cold when she disappears into the treeline. He picks up his speed just a little bit, his heart thundering in his ears as he’s engulfed by trees himself. His breath comes a little bit wheezy when he spies her small frame turning in the direction of the ikran tree. 

And all he can think as his feet thump against roots and moss and grass is that she’s so little. She’s so small, and she’s putting herself in this much danger. He has to stop her before she gets injured. 

He pushes himself a little bit faster, feeling his chest tighten a little bit more, but he pushes through, until he sees the arrow symbol pointing upwards, and he practically throws himself at the tree. Scrambling up the branches as fast as he can. 

Spider hears the shrieks and croaks of the ikrans, and they sound worried. He can tell by their pitch and frequency, and he’s pushing aside branches and leaves as quickly as he can. Slipping a little bit when he loses his grip due to wet moss. 

“Tuk!” he shouts, heaving himself up the last few branches and wishing he’d brought his knife as he breaks into the nest. 

A loud roar reaches his ears before he can get his bearings, sending his heart straight down to his toes. And he opens his mouth to hiss, or roar, or scream his baby sister’s name again. Every stimulus suddenly becomes a bit too much. 

But, his voices halts in his throat like a physical block, and his eyes adjust to the sudden bright ligh. What he sees when he acclimatises fully is certainly not what he’s expecting. Because Tuk’s laughter then reaches his ears, and the sight of a completely familiar ikran has him freezing up for a different reason. 

Because the ikran is shrieking at Tuk yes, but it’s almost like a game to them. Because Tuk laughs after every sound and tosses a fish up into the air once she’s wiped spittle from her cheeks. And the ikran, a very familiar cream coloured one (who Spider had last seen under Quaritch’s control), leaps into the air and catches the morsel easily. Coming back down to the nest’s floor with a completely smug look on its snout. 

“Tuk?” Spider asks a bit weakly, and his little sister gasps, turning quickly to face him and hide the fish she’s holding behind her back. 

“This isn’t my ikran,” she says hastily, and the creature squawks in offence. Blowing hot air against the back of Tuk’s head and causing her to wiggle in place, clamping her lips shut to keep herself from laughing. 

“I see,” Spider says, lifting his hand to accept Guy’s butting head when he pads over. “And this ikran definitely didn’t threaten to hurt you when you saw it first?” 

“No,” she chirps, but then stops to think, tapping her chin with one finger. “Well, he did roar at me in a really scary way, and then avoided me whenever I came to find him again, does that count?” 

Spider sighs heavily, tiredly, and just about manages not to pinch the bridge of his nose like Da does because Guy demands a head scratch from his free hand. “Yes, Tuk,” he says. “Usually when an ikran threatens you at all, it means that they have chosen you as their companion. And you just seemed to find the one free ikran in our entire flock to bond with.” 

“I guess I’m just special,” she chirps, flicking the fish in her hand into the air for the ikran to catch. “But I know I can’t fly him yet, I think he’s too nervous to let anyone on him.” 

“What makes you say that?” Spider asks with a little bit of wonderment. Because she always amazes him with how observant she is. 

“He didn’t want me to touch him at all when I found him,” she says, settling herself down on the nest floor, patting the ground next to her so Spider follows her. And once he’s sat, Guy thumps his head into Spider’s lap, causing him to grunt and Tuk to giggle. “But I knew he wanted a friend.” 

“Oh yeah?” Spider asks. “How so.” 

“He followed me,” she tells him. “But he wouldn’t get close, and whenever I tried to sneak up at him he’d roar at me and then fly off again.” 

Spider snorts in amusement, watching as the ikran inches closer to them, until it’s lying on its belly and staring at Tuk. As if she’s the most amazing, but most confusing person in the world. Which Spider can’t help but agree with. 

“So, how long have you kept this a secret?” he asks, and she shrugs. 

“I dunno,” she tells him. And then she’s turning around until her pointed finger nearly pokes his nose and says, “But you have to promise me you won’t tell any of the others. At least not until I’ve gotten his trust. And that I can give him head scratches, because I don’t want Lo’ak to get the first scritches.” 

“I promise,” he replies with a laugh, and she nods decisively. And after a few moments he says, “But you’re gonna have to tell Ma and Da, because I don’t think they’ll let you keep sneaking out like this without a reason.” 

Tuk groans loudly, tilting her head back until she nearly tips over. “Do I have to?” she asks, and Spider reaches over to ruffle her braids. Using his special big brother powers to reach her even when she ducks away. 

“I think you do, otherwise Da will ground you for a week,” he says. “But we’ll keep it secret from the others, and tell them when you can get onto his back. How about that?” 

“Yeah,” she says, and kicks her feet against the ground in excitement. 

“Have you thought of a name yet?” he asks, and Tuk hums in thought. Their voices catch the ikran’s attention, and he lifts his head from the ground, snapping his teeth in a way that sounds like he’s demanding a good name, and anything below standard will be refused. 

“I was thinking Ti’ong,” she replies, and the ikran takes a moment before huffing quietly, and placing his head back down again. 

Spider nods in agreement, saying, “I like it.” 

And leaning back against his hands to listen as she explains the whole story of finding the ikran, feeling his chest practically burst at the thought of getting to watch his little sister bloom, unfold and grow, just like her ikran’s name suggests.

Chapter Text

“Tonowari? Sir?” Lo’ak calls out nervously, wary of stepping further into the pod than the threshold. He has manners, they’ve been beaten into him by Mom and Momo, and he’s not going to forget them now. “May I talk to you?” 

There’s rustling from within the pod, the brightness of Alpha Centauri outside casting the inside in darkness. He’s sure anyone inside must have been thinking him a complete idiot, dithering on the walkway opposite, talking to himself. There’s the light tread of footsteps. And then Tonowari ducks out into the daylight. 

Lo’ak hasn’t had much direct contact with the Olo’eyktan of the Metkayina clan, but whenever he does see him around the village, he always thinks he looks kind. But also stern, because he has to run a clan of over a hundred people without losing control. 

Perhaps it’s something in the set of his shoulders when he walks, or maybe because he’s never used his hands for anything more violent than protecting his people. Or maybe, it’s because he’s been observing how he leads, and teaches the next generation of warriors, and finds that he would be completely comfortable learning how to ride a tsurak under his watchful eye. 

It’s why he doesn’t step backwards when Tonowari greets him, and why he doesn’t wince at the confused look furrowing the man’s brow. 

“What can I help you with?” he asks, and suddenly the nervousness and fear that had been missing throughout his walk up to the pod floods Lo’ak’s veins. Burning white hot and threatening to overwhelm his confidence and words before they even touch the back of his teeth. 

He must take a moment to get over the sudden influx of inward stimuli because Tonowari asks, “Is something wrong with your training?” 

“No,” he manages finally, “that’s fine.” 

He finds himself thinking whether it actually is, because just that morning he’d been flung off a tsurak’s back. Not for lack of trying, mind. 

“I was just wondering,” he begins, breathing through the nerves and terror as best as he can, “it’s about Payakan.” 

He sees Tonowari’s expression close off, his furrow becoming more exaggerated, his lips pulling into a tight line and his shoulders lifting into a defensive stance. It has Lo’ak’s heart plummeting to his stomach. 

“You should not be involving yourself with that animal still,” Tonowari tells him, and Lo’ak opens his mouth to argue - which, not a good move - when Tonowari continues, “He is dangerous, a killer, and liable to affect the migration of the fish.” 

“He’s not dangerous,” Lo’ak says, keeping his voice as level as he can. “He helped us save Spider, that should count for something. And he didn’t kill those boys or those other Tulkun, the RDA did.” 

“A technicality on both parts,” Tonowari replies. “He helped save your brother for his own advantage, because it meant destroying the biggest threat to his food supply. And any involvement with murder means the Tulkun is directly responsible. He is an outcast.” 

“He’s–” Lo’ak cuts himself off before he can say something damaging, placing his hand over his mouth for good measure and breathing deeply, slowly. Waiting for his thumping heart to calm again before letting go. “Him destroying the ship severely damaged the RDA’s company, in both its assets and its own representation. 

“They know they can be defeated now, and will be scrambling to fix their loss. Which is why you and my Dad are able to plan the first offence against them. He has said he’s sorry for leading those boys against the humans, he’s attoned for that, surely he shouldn’t be considered outcast anymore.” 

“What is it you wanted to ask,” Tonowari says, and Lo’ak stops in his tracks, his thoughts trickling away into nothing. The Olo’eyktan has his arms crossed over his chest, but he’s not angry, which is good. But something in his expression isn’t quite convincing him, and Lo’ak can feel himself gathering his courage in order to face anything. 

“I know he is not welcome when the other Tulkun return,” he begins, “and I’m not asking for him to be included in the day’s events, because I know how difficult that would be for the other Tulkun and your people. What I’m asking is that he’ll be able to at least come to the reef on the day, even just for a little while.” 

“And who will welcome him?” Tonowari suddenly cuts in. Lo’ak flinches at how heavy that question sounds and for a moment, he considers coming clean. Telling an adult something he’s barely told anyone. 

And the courage rushes up his throat to support his words. “I will,” he says, and a little bit of the frown on Tonowari’s face fades. “I will welcome him, and join him in the dances. We won’t go to the Spirit Tree, I can promise that, but let him have this one bit of normality.” 

Silence, not heavy but not comfortable either. Tonowari stares at Lo’ak, and Lo’ak feels himself wanting to shuffle away from his gaze. But he stays firm and centre, craning his neck back so his chin is lifted in some sort of stubborn pride. 

He wants this for Payakan. And if he needs to fight for it, so be it. 

But there’s no conflict, only Tonowari’s quiet sigh as his arms dip just a little and his head bows with them. If he was with his Dad, Lo’ak just knows this is where he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose. And where Mom would be threatening to put a knot in his tail for the cheek. 

“Alright,” Tonowari tells him, “you may bring him to the reef. But,” and here, Tonowari holds up a finger sternly, “if it comes that he has the other Tulkuns nervous, you must take him somewhere he won’t encounter the others. Our Spirit Brothers and Sisters only make this journey once a year, and we can’t have it interrupted.” 

Lo’ak nods so fast and hard his head feels like it’ll come off his neck. But his stomach burns with happiness so he doesn’t really care. 

“As you say, he will also not go to the Spirit Tree, but if he wishes to go before then, you are welcome to attend,” Tonowari continues, and Lo’ak has to blink at him a few times. 

Because huh? Invited? That sounds a lot more official than the vague acceptance the rest of his family got. It sounds important, but Lo’ak finds that he doesn’t actually have time to ask, and he really doesn’t have the focus to try and unpack its meaning either. 

His excitement has grasped hold of his blood and his heart, sending it into a thumping tailspin as he tries to keep himself still so he can at least be polite and thank Tonowari. 

“Thank you, so much,” he says earnestly, and if he’s not mistaking his lip quirks at the corner in a small smile. “I’ll go tell him right now, and don’t worry, we won’t be a nuisance.” 

“Be careful on your way out,” Tonowari calls to his retreating back, and Lo’ak spins on his heel for a moment to catch, “the winds are stronger than usual out on the water, be sure to stay upwind of the gusts.” 

“Thank you,” Lo’ak says again, raising his hand in farewell. He turns too soon, because he doesn’t see Tsireya’s amused expression as she steps out from the pod, nor the fond chuckle that emanates from Tonowari’s chest as they watch him go. 

Lo’ak makes it to their pod in double time, and vocalises for his ilu with a noise so loud it has Tuk yelping in fright from where she sits, mending Mom’s ikran harness. With her smaller fingers, the knots are easier for her, and Lo’ak remembers when that used to be his job, back when he was much smaller. 

“Lo’ak!” she shouts at him as he snatches for his own harness. “Penis face!” 

“Hey!” comes Dad’s voice from the pod, but Lo’ak is too distracted by his encouraging his ilu to lift up for the harness. He does notice when Dad crouches next to him on the walkway, glancing up from his work to meet a curious expression. “Where you off to, bud?” 

“Payakan,” Lo’ak says, and Dad nods, waiting. “Tonowari said that he could come and see the other Tulkun arriving. Just outside the reef. I think it’s a really good step into getting him into a herd again. But I can’t bring him to the Spirit Tree. I’m invited though! Isn’t that cool?” 

Something flickers in Dad’s face between the time Lo’ak finishes his sentence and Dad’s hand lands on the back of his neck. But Lo’ak can’t tell what it was, only that it was covered up by his large smile. 

“That’s really cool Lo’ak,” he says, and he shakes his hand a little so that Lo’ak’s head bobs on his neck. “But be careful out there alright? And be back before curfew, I don’t think Mom wants to have to go out and find you.” 

Below them, the ilu squeaks impatiently, and Lo’ak claps his hand against Dad’s shoulder, saying, “I won’t. And I know about the gusts out there, so don’t worry.” 

“That’s not what I was talking about,” Dad says, and Lo’ak smiles cheekily. 

“I won’t get into trouble either,” he tells him. “And besides, I have Payakan with me, he’ll keep me on the straight and narrow.” 

“I doubt that,” Dad comments, but then pushes himself back up to full height.

He turns just before Lo’ak jumps in, and when he comes up for air, Dad is groaning at the water now dripping down his back and Lo’ak can only laugh. He holds out a hand for the stirrup he knows is there, and wraps his fingers around it when it brushes against his skin. Connecting the tswin and ordering his companion forward through the water. 

It’s strange, but he finds he feels more himself when he’s caressed by the sea than when he’s pushed along by the wind. They’re both completely different mediums, which is obvious and he’s not stupid enough to think of them as similar, but one is far more chaotic than the other. 

Whenever he flies with ‘Alek, there’s a certain kind of control that’s needed both to stay on the back of his ikran, and to keep them both on their route through the clouds. A control and lightness of touch that Lo’ak constantly thinks he doesn’t have. Because when he watches Mom, or Neteyam, or Spider when they fly they make it look so easy. Natural. 

As if they were born to take to the skies. 

He supposes the way he feels when he swims with his ikran is how they feel when they’re weaving through air currents. Which is completely at home, and comfortable within their own skin. Lo’ak always finds he can think far more clearly in the water than he can on land, or in the sky. And there’s a certain peace that comes with the quietness of being underwater. 

He and his ilu are as one in the water, weaving together faster than he could possibly be on ‘Alek’s back. Aiming for Three Brother’s Rock with such speed that Lo’ak doesn’t even bother to bring them up to the surface for a leap. It wouldn’t be possible anyway, because the water is as calm as anything today. 

Which works in their favour, because they reach the reef surrounding the Rock before Alpha Centauri hits its peak, and Lo’ak gratefully pats his ilu’s neck, letting it go explore for a snack whilst he talks with his friend. 

Who doesn’t seem to be around. 

“Payakan!” Lo’ak calls as he treads water, cupping his hands around his mouth so that his voice carries a bit more. “You here? I need to talk to you!” 

He spins in place, trying to spot Payakan in case he sneaks up on him. But he doesn’t account for the glare on the water’s surface, and suddenly a column of water envelops him from underneath. The Tulkun reveals himself with the clicking of his laughter as Lo’ak splutters. 

“Dude, how many times?” he asks as he spits out what got into his mouth and wipes at the water on his face. He slides down Payakan’s flank so that he’s level with his friend’s eye when he tells him, “That’s nasty.” 

Is not, Payakan replies, and Lo’ak grins at the hint of a challenge. 

“Is too,” he replies childishly, his hands flicking through the signs quicker than they have been. “It’s got your snot and who knows what else mixed in, and you just shot it at me. That’s gross.” 

Doesn’t have snot, Payakan argues back. Tulkun don’t have snot. We don’t have noses. 

“Technicalities,” Lo’ak says, waving him away. A rumbling vibrates through his whole body, and Lo’ak can’t tell if it’s him laughing again or grumbling. “It’s coming out of what I think is your nose hole. And that’s the only argument that counts.” 

He yelps when Payakan lifts his fin a little, barely keeping his balance but laughing when he hears the indignant complaints being aimed at him. 

You wanted to talk? the Tulkun asks, and Lo’ak feels his cheeks lifting a bit more with his smile. He settles himself on Payakan’s fin once it’s stilled, dangling his feet in the cool water and angling himself so that his friend doesn’t miss anything. 

Because to Lo’ak, this is incredibly important. 

“I was speaking with the Olo’eyktan this morning,” he begins but before he can continue, Payakan practically hollers at him and twitches his fin threateningly. “What?!” 

He is not to know about me, Payakan says, and Lo’ak snorts in amusement. I could be chased away again. 

“Bro, you should have thought about that before helping us rescue my brother,” he tells him, and holds up his hand before Payakan can cut in again. “Let’s set aside the latent PTSD for now, and let me finish. Because what I’m going to tell you is actually really good.” 

I don’t believe you, Payakan replies, and Lo’ak squawks in betrayal before he continues, but I will listen to you. 

“They’re going to allow you to come to the reef when the other Tulkun return,” Lo’ak tells him, his excitement causing his fingers to shake just a little. “You won’t be able to go into the village, but you’ll be able to see them when they visit the Metkayina. It’s a first step towards something, and you can meet my siblings properly.” 

Why do this for me? Payakan asks, causing Lo’ak to freeze where he sits. They can easily turn me away without the Olo’eyktan kicking up a fuss. They can deny my presence, and send me on my way. Why risk that? 

“Because I want you to meet the person you saved,” Lo’ak replies, and Payakan clicks uncertainly. 

That’s not all though, is it? he asks, bright eye seeing right through Lo’ak completely. 

“No,” he replies a little sullenly. “You’re my Spirit Brother, and I should be able to see you just as easily as they see their Spirit Siblings. I don’t care that you’re an outcast, you shouldn’t be because you didn’t cause those deaths. 

“And I know,” Lo’ak continues before Payakan can interrupt again, “by your ways you did cause those deaths. But that should be placed in the past, and you should at least be trusted by now. And–” 

Lo’ak cuts himself off now, biting on his tongue with something harsh burning in his chest. Because he doesn’t know if he should be saying this, but something about it feels absolutely right. Like the words just fit in this situation where they haven’t anywhere else. 

“I think Awa’atlu is becoming my home,” Lo’ak says, and Payakan hums in interest. “I’m getting more confident as a person of the water than the air, and if I can stay here I want you to be welcome in my village. I don’t want to have to travel all the way out here every time I want to talk to you.” 

But that decision is sometimes not up to you, Payakan reasons, and Lo’ak recognises his placating tone for what it is. 

“And what if it is?” he asks. “I can’t take you with me back to the forest, and we need a connection with the Metkayina clan once all of this mess with the RDA is wrapped up. What if you’re my condition to stay?” 

There’s a weighted silence, and Payakan clicks and squeaks in thought, Lo’ak turning his head to watch the horizon so that the quiet doesn’t become awkward. Completely comfortable with himself, and the decision he’s made. Because when they’d arrived here, when he’d gotten a first taste of the sea water and the culture, the people, he knew there was no going back. 

We shouldn’t make hasty decisions, Payakan says after a few moments. And Lo’ak turns his head back to agree with him. So, I shall come to the reef when the pod returns, but I won’t go any further. I would be pleased to meet your siblings, but we won’t talk about the future any more. At least not until things have calmed. 

“Alright,” Lo’ak replies, barely containing his pleased grin, “I can deal with that. But you have to promise you’ll stay a while, and not disappear at the first chance.” 

I will stay for as long as I’m able, Payakan replies. 

“I’m glad,” Lo’ak replies, leaning against the crest of Payakan’s eye in the only way he can hug his best friend. “But you really did save my brother. And I don’t think he’ll let you say otherwise.” 

But I didn’t do much, Payakan replies, and Lo’ak can’t help but scoff. 

“Now you’re just being bashful,” he tells him, and Payakan makes an indignant noise before lifting his fin from the surface of the water. Dislodging Lo’ak from his place and tipping him into the sea. 

“What was that for?” he asks once he comes back up for air, splashing water at his friend even though he’s smiling widely. “I was telling the truth, and you’ll have to admit it when you meet Spider. He won’t let you leave without a big thank you.” 

Because you were being annoying, Payakan tells him before ducking under the water, flicking his fin at Lo’ak in an invitation to swim with him. 

But Lo’ak can’t let Payakan have the final word, so he grumbles to himself that, “You were being annoying,” before following the Tulkun to the depths of the sea. 

“So, what are our plans today?” Da asks one morning at breakfast. Spider grins at the influx of noise, covering one ear when it begins to ring at Tuk’s enthusiastic volume. Da holds up his hands when it gets too much, and immediately the sounds dim. “How about we go one at a time.” 

“Me first,” Tuk shouts immediately, her hand shooting into the air so fast she dislodges Lo’ak’s bowl. Which causes a whole new slew of sound as he groans in annoyance and Ma scrambles to clean the mess before it stains the weaving. 

“I wanna take Kiri fishing,” Tuk says with all seriousness once the mess is cleaned, catching everyone off guard if Spider’s going by the shocked looks aimed at her. “Malachy showed me how, and she’s less likely to laugh at me than you guys.” 

“Malachy taught you, huh?” Da says, and Ma glances at him with a look Spider can’t decipher. “Well then, maybe you two should be the ones to cook evening meal tonight, yeah?” 

“No,” both Kiri and Tuk reply simultaneously, their tones completely innocent which has Ma smiling behind her hand. 

“It’s your turn Dad,” Tuk says, shuffling over so that she’s leaning against him, with her hands around his shoulders and her nose pressed against his. “You’re not getting out of it.” 

“Oh really?” Da asks, and Tuk nods with all seriousness, causing the rest of her siblings to chuckle. “Then I suppose you’ll have to take me with you.” 

“Okay,” she chirps, crawling off his lap easily. 

“‘Teyam and I were thinking of taking Spider out hunting with the guys,” Lo’ak says, and Spider perks up in interest. 

“No further than the reef,” Da says before Lo’ak can even open his mouth again. His stern pointed finger meets his younger brother’s rolling eyes. “You know what happened last time.” 

“Yeah he did the stupidest thing in the world,” Neteyam chips in, and Lo’ak reaches over to shove him. 

“We’ll be careful,” Spider says, feeling a bit strange at being the responsible one. “But those two might need more supervision than I will.” 

“Uh, says who?” Neteyam snarks back, and Spider grins cheekily. 

“Tsireya was telling me you two took the longest out of the whole family to learn how to ride an ilu. And diving breath, she said took you about four weeks whereas Kiri took two,” Spider snarks back, and both boys splutter in utter betrayal. 

Tuk giggles in glee, and Spider nods as if he’s completed a noble act, sitting back with his hands crossed over his chest. 

“Well, that’s because…” Lo’ak starts, but he can’t seem to find an excuse so he trails off. 

“Really dude? You’re letting him believe your girlfriend over us?” Neteyam asks, winking at Spider subtly. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lo’ak grumbles and Neteyam makes a long noise as if he completely understands a very obviously complicated situation. 

“Then you won’t mind if I tell her about the time we managed to convince you that you were eating a banana fruit when really it was a–” 

“Dude!” Neteyam hisses, shoving a hand over Spider’s mouth even though Lo’ak tries to tug him away. “Seriously?!” 

“Boys,” Da cuts in in an attempt to control the situation, but it doesn’t work. Not when Lo’ak is desperately crawling over Kiri’s lap, trying to reach for Neteyam’s arm. Who’s laughing so hard his hand is slipping already, because of Spider’s fingers digging into his side. 

“Guys,” Kiri adds, dodging an errant foot and quickly snatching a bowl of food from the floor before it's knocked over. “Why are you doing this now?” 

“Because we’re boys,” Spider replies, jabbing his fingers into Neteyam’s other side and causing him to cackle louder. “We need to assert dominance wherever we can.” 

“Dominance?!” Lo’ak shouts, giving Spider’s plait a sharp tug. “There’s no dominance here, only vengeance!” 

More shouts and laughter follow his words, and at this point Jake Kiri and Tuk resort to sitting back and watching the boys go at it. But then Lo’ak yelps because his tail is tugged, Neteyam backs up at the slight twist of his ear, and Spider is left staring up at Ma with a sheepish expression. 

“Are we quite finished?” she asks, and Spider’s expression drops at her voice. A quiet falls over the pod, because she’s not amused, and when she’s not amused she can get pissed very easily. With the rustling of feet against the woven floor they settle again, and Ma pulls away the empty bowls to avoid incidents as she too sits herself down again. 

“Ronal needs my help preparing the Tsahik pod,” Ma says, and the quiet covers the family entirely. It’s heavy as water pressing against their skin, dampening the mood severely, and Spider feels nearly every pair of eyes flicking in his direction. Hears the awkward shuffling of limbs at the change in subject. 

“We will need to be prepared once we move back to the forest,” she continues, and Spider drops his gaze down to his breakfast bowl which he holds. Winding his spoon over the edge to capture any remaining bits of food. Beside him, Lo’ak makes a tiny noise, but when Spider glances at him he doesn’t look troubled. Just determined. 

He supposes none of them ever thought an attack on the human base could be so real. That they could actually have a plan, and be able to provide the numbers to back up that plan. To take on the sheer scale of Bridgehead, the amount of weapons at their disposal.

And yet, here they are. Preparing for a battle that will possibly be bigger than all of them. And the adults treating it as such, because Da has suddenly fallen into a role Spider hasn’t seen since he was taken from the forest, his shoulders pulling back in a set so familiar it has his own spine straightening. 

“I will need the human’s help,” Ma suddenly says, breaking the silence and taking everyone by surprise. 

Malachy, from where he sits in the corner, glances up in pure astonishment, but he doesn’t say anything to argue against her as Ma continues, “He will know the weapons they use better than anyone. And what salves and pastes will help heal our people faster.” 

There’s something interesting about her voice, and how she’s talking about Malachy but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Something softer than usual, the edge that’s usually kept for humans other than Spider suspiciously absent. And when Spider squints he can tell that her shoulders aren’t lifted in distrust. That her body is open and accepting. 

Although, he doesn’t think the human in question notices. Because Malachy just looks terrified, and Spider doesn’t think he’s ever seen that expression on his face before. Not even when they were in the bowels of the sinking ship. Faced with certain doom and death. 

“What about Ronal?” Da asks, and Spider watches Malachy’s shoulders lift a little bit more, his back rounding in protection and his gaze going straight to the ground. “Is she happy with you bringing him to her pod?” 

“No,” Ma replies simply, and Spider thinks that Malachy might’ve stopped breathing at this point, his entire body turning to stone. “But I don’t really care what she thinks, even if he has to sit outside on the walkway I’m having him there. His knowledge is extremely useful and I won’t have our people jeopardised just because she doesn’t know tolerance if it was as big as an ‘angstik.” 

“Alright,” Da says, looking a little bit bewildered by the entire situation. “But, why not take him to Mo’at, have him help her create pastes and medicines?” 

“Because Ronal has the largest supply of medical plants and roots in the village, and my mother will be joining us once she’s gathered what she needs from the forest,” Ma replies, and this time her tone garners no argument. And Da merely nods once, before glancing towards Malachy with something like an apology in his gaze. 

“Right then,” he says once the silence gets too long to be comfortable any more, clapping his hands to break it as he says, “let’s get on with the day then, shall we?” 

“Come on,” Neteyam says when Spider sits for too long, watching as Malachy slumps out of the pod behind Ma, a frown marring his expression. Neteyam glances up, his hand tightening on Spider’s arm when he catches sight of the human as well. 

“He’ll be fine,” Lo’ak says, slinging a fishing net over his shoulder and passing Spider a spear. “Mom knows how to take care of him.” 

“I’d like to see how Ronal takes having a human in her pod,” Neteyam says, and Spider gives him a sharp look at the mean edge to his laugh. 

“That’s not nice,” he says, and Neteyam winces in surprise. Which gives Spider a chance to shrug out of his grip. “How would you like to be in a hostile situation all day, being watched with every move you make. Judged like your next move could be a dangerous one. Huh?” 

He doesn’t give Neteyam a chance to reply, just snatches the spear from Lo’ak’s fingers and stalks out of the pod. 

Spider doesn't know why he’s angry, just that it's burning his stomach from the inside out and it's not comfortable. But he’s not quite ready to let it go yet, clutching onto it so that it fuels his footsteps as he stomps out of the pod. 

And he stops. And breathes for a moment. Letting the ocean air fill his lungs, unmitigated by the glass panel the other humans have to wear. It’s a small thing that differentiates himself from them, but it’s important to him. But he should endeavour to thank the Great Mother more often for her gift. 

Behind him, there’s quiet muttering. The low register of Da’s voice, interrupted by the troubled tones of his brothers. The nearly inaudible sniffling which has to be Tuk. It squeezes Spider’s heart in his chest, mellowing the anger out for now, but not getting rid of it. 

He hates causing his family this much pain, even if he’s come back to them. The nightmares, the constant looking over his shoulder. The tension whenever anyone approaches him unannounced. Everything he should be able to deal with because he’s with them. He’s home, and he doesn’t have to worry about Quaritch or his goons anymore because they’re dead. 

And yet here he remains, stuck in an in between place where his body can’t decide if he’s safe or not. 

He takes one more breath, clutching onto the spear a little bit tighter, before clearing his throat pointedly. 

“Um,” he begins, and the noise stops immediately, “I don’t know where I’m going.” 

There’s the distinct sound of people scrambling, and not even ten seconds later are Lo’ak and Neteyam joining him. Making a brave attempt at looking like nothing is wrong. Except that Neteyam’s smile is strained, and as they begin to walk down to the beach Lo’ak’s voice sounds too loud. And Spider feels as if everything is a little bit off, too far to one side and off kilter. 

It’s enough to distract him as they make their way down the sand, towards two other figures standing at the edge of the shore. But then he notices Lo’ak’s volume getting louder, and his smile getting less forceful at the edges. 

And he watches as Lo’ak’s feet speed up, until he’s practically jogging down the beach, kicking up sand as he goes and forcing the other two to keep up.

“He’s excited,” Spider comments even though he finds his breathing a little bit clipped. He’s not exactly used to running on sand, but he is trying. “Have they really bonded that much?” 

“I don’t know how,” Neteyam replies, managing to sound utterly confused even though they’re nearly sprinting towards them. “I just think Aonung’s a jerk, I’ve no idea what Lo’ak sees in him. And Roxto has somehow made good with Kiri, but I’ve no idea when that happened.” 

“Seriously?!” Spider exclaims. “Are they trying to steal all of our siblings?” 

“You tell me,” Neteyam replies as they slow their footsteps, chests heaving with air. 

Spider watches with some kind of suspicion as Aonung shoves at Lo’ak playfully, tugging the fishing net from his hands and holding it up to the light as if to inspect for holes. Spider bristles, and strides forwards with purpose. 

“You made this?” Aonung comments, and Spider feels his jaw clench. “You? The guy who can’t hold onto his ilu for shi– hey! You brought your brothers, I didn’t know they were coming.” 

“Yes we did,” the guy behind him says, and Spider finds he likes him immediately because of his deadpan tone. “And of course he made it, he’ll practise anything to get your sister to smile at him.” 

“Shut up Roxto,” Lo’ak hisses at the same time as Aonung scowls at him murderously. And Lo’ak ducks behind Spider as if he’ll do anything to protect him. 

“It’s nice to meet you finally,” Spider says, still keeping the manners Ma taught them when they were kids. He lifts his hand in greeting, and says, “I’ve heard loads about you.” 

“Same here,” Aonung says, returning the gesture. “But the way Lo’ak was talking about you, you sounded taller.” 

“Huh, that’s funny,” Spider replies immediately, “he made you seem smarter.” 

Behind him Roxto snorts, and Aonung’s ears flick just a little bit. His expression falls into something stern, as if he’s trying to imitate his father, but then his chin quivers and a grin appears. 

“I like you,” he says, tossing over the fishing net which has Spider scramble to keep his coordination. And the spear in his other hand. But has Aonung smiling in a way that has Spider wanting to rise to his challenge. 

So, shouldering the net, and gripping onto the spear tighter, he strides forward until he’s toe to toe with the Olo’eytkan’s son. “I like you too,” he says, but his tone is too low to be genuine, and it has Aonung baring his fangs at him rather than smiling. “Now help me catch some fish, I don’t want you to be shown up by my little sister.” 

“What has that got to do with anything?” Aonung exclaims at Spider’s retreating back, shoving Roxto when he cackles at the dismissal. 

“It has absolutely everything to do with anything,” Spider replies, and this time Neteyam and Lo’ak laugh too. But Spider is pleased when they all follow him to the shore, and he proudly dumps the things on the sand and turns to them with his hands on his hips saying, “How do I do this?”

“Don’t need to shout,” Neteyam says as he joins him. “We’re right here.”

Spider rolls his eyes playfully, and opens his mouth to return with something funny, when he sees Neteyam wince a little and steps back. And Spider’s amusement dims.  

“Do we teach him breathing first?” Lo’ak asks, and Aonung scoffs. 

“No, that’s like throwing a baby in the water head first with no instruction and expecting them to float,” he replies, and Lo’ak pulls a face at him that Aonung doesn’t see. Because he’s too busy taking charge. 

“We need to start with something easy,” he says, and so begins a morning of Spider being pulled around by his arm, told where to stand, how to throw things, when to be still, when to move around and nearly everything else. Short of when to relieve himself. 

It doesn’t do anything good for his anger which has started to make him feel a bit queasy, and is making his fuse shorter than he’d like. Because he can see how hard Aonung is trying to impress him, but it means that Lo’ak doesn’t get a word in edgeways. Even though one of his netting knots is much cleaner than Aonung’s. 

“How much longer do we have to put up with this?” he asks Roxto, leaning over a little so that Neteyam can hear him from his other side. 

“Give it a bit longer,” comes the reply. “Lo’ak usually breaks and snaps at him in a few minutes. Then we get to something interesting.” 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Spider says, but he goes ignored as the noise level gets just a little bit higher. Until they’re going at each other, and Spider steps forward to break it up - although he’s not sure how well that’ll go seeing as they’re both half a head taller than him. 

But an arm comes up across his shoulders to stop him, and Spider glares at Neteyam in annoyance. But his brother’s expression is playful and amused, which has Spider drawing up short as Neteyam points at them, telling him to, “Watch.” 

And so he does, watching as the bickering turns into childish fighting, the pulling of tails and tweaking of ears. Punches to the stomach, which don’t actually seem to be doing much damage. And then Lo’ak shoves Aonung into the water, and Roxto darts forward to get into the fun. And Spider can’t help but laugh. 

“Ow!” Lo’ak shouts, “That’s my tail.” 

“Well that’s my ear skxawng,” Aonung bites back, rolling them over so that he’s hovering over Spider.

“And that’s your foot in my face,” Roxto replies, his voice muffled by Lo’ak’s toes. 

“Shouldn’t we break it up?” Spider asks, and Neteyam shrugs his shoulders, doing nothing to hide the grin on his face. 

“No, they’ll tire themselves out eventually,” he says. 

“Wow, responsible brother of the year right there,” Spider says sarcastically, and Neteyam rolls his eyes at the playful tone, reaching down to grab the net and the spear from where they’re fallen. 

“If we make a start without them, they’ll follow quickly,” Neteyam tells him, drifting off to the side a little so they avoid the flailing limbs. 

“You think?” 

“I know,” Neteyam replies, handing Spider the net. “Aonung wants to be in charge of everything, but Lo’ak won’t want to be overtaken by him. So just give them a moment to realise we’ve gone.” 

Spider glances back for a moment, watching as the boys roll over each other again, and Lo’ak snarls with a playful set to his eyebrows. 

“He’s really settled in here, hasn’t he?” he says quietly, and Neteyam laughs. 

“You haven’t heard the half of it, wait till you hear about his Tulkun companion,” he says, and Spider blinks at him. 

“His what?” he says, but Neteyam waves him off. 

“Best to let Lo’ak tell you, he’d kill me if I gave it away before he got a chance to tell his long winded tale,” he replies, turning Spider’s wrist at the right angle when he brings the net up for his first throw. “But yeah, I think he’s found something like a home here.” 

“Do you think he’ll stay?” Spider asks, tossing the net out to the water, and clicking his tongue when it tangles mid air and lands with a muted splash. He turns a little to watch Neteyam out of the corner of his eye, and sees his brother’s shoulders slump. 

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I don’t know how I’d feel if he did, so don’t ask me that either. But he’s so…settled here.” 

“Would it really be a bad thing?” Spider asks, and Neteyam hums. “I mean yes, the family wouldn’t be all together but we’d have a connection to the Metkayina, and we’d be able to visit. Right?” 

“I just…I want everyone to stay where they’re supposed to right now. I don’t want any of my siblings missing from the pod,” Neteyam says. “And I know that sounds really greedy.” 

“No, no, I get it,” Spider tells him, holding up a hand as if to pat his shoulder. But after a few moments, he slowly lets it drop. Because Neteyam is turned in such a way that makes it seem like he doesn’t want to be touched. And Spider’s anger swiftly turns into cold guilt. Chilling him from the inside out. 

It seems that Aonung and Lo’ak have finally stopped fighting, now merely sitting in the sea water and childishly flicking droplets at each other. Spider smiles a little in amusement, though it does little to lessen the guilt. And it gets so overwhelming, so cold, that he has to face up to it.

“‘Teyam?” he says, and his brother hums in reply. Spider drags the net back in, clutching it in his fingers so hard his nails dig into the meat of his palm. He uses the gentle rhythm of the water to control his breathing, before opening his mouth to speak. Best to have good diction with this conversation, rather than stumbling over his words. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Neteyam’s head snaps up from his fishing. Because yes, Spider is sometimes too stubborn to admit to his own mistake. But this time the guilt is too great for him to keep in his chest. “I was annoyed at being babied the whole time. And I just wanted a bit of my own independence again.” 

“No, Pi–Spider, it’s my fault too,” Neteyam says, immediately letting the spear fall into the water so that he can clutch onto his brother’s shoulder. “I was worried, and didn’t want you to get sick or injured. But that’s because I’ve been worried for weeks. Months actually. But I don’t need to be worried anymore.” 

“Doesn’t mean you just lock it away for good,” Spider counters. “If you’re worried, then tell me ‘Teyam. Don’t shut it away and tell me what to do instead. It won’t get you very far.” 

“I know,” Neteyam replies, and his ears actually fold back a little. “But I can’t exactly help it.” 

“You kinda can,” Spider says, his tone taking on something a bit amused. “But I know you’re trying. So just, accept my apology and let’s not think about it happening again.” 

“You sure?” Neteyam says, and Spider frowns a little. “I thought you’d be stubborn again and not forgive me at all. Like you usually do.” 

“I think you’re the person who can hold a grudge here,” Spider rebukes. “I haven’t seen you talking to Malachy once, and he’s somehow gotten through Mom’s walls of steel.” 

“Shut up,” Neteyam grumbles, hitching his shoulders a little protectively. Spider knows well enough to back off, so he just laughs and scoops the spear from the water again. 

“Admit it, you love me,” he says with a cheeky grin, prompting Neteyam to turn back and aim a deadpan stare at his head. 

“I love you more than anything in this world,” he says without any inflection, and Spider shoves at his shoulder playfully. Finally breathing a sigh of relief when the burning anger and ice cold guilt finally dissipate, leaving him with only content and amusement as they watch Lo’ak launch himself at Aonung again. 

“Should we stop them?” Spider asks again, and this time Neteyam sighs in a acquiesce. 

“Fine,” he replies as if it’s the biggest inconvenience he’s ever faced. And Spider laughs as they wade through the water to grab onto an errant limb each, hauling the boys up from the water with loud indignant shouts and splutters. 

“Boys,” Jake says sternly (tiredly), in that familiar way that means it’s an order not a request, “I need you to come with me today.” 

For a moment, when he leans down to rest his hands against their shoulders, he’s transported to a peaceful time. When he would have been leaning forward like this with a smile instead of a frown, telling his sons that they were going out to the lake. Or on a hunt for some mystical beast for the afternoon. Or that they were doing something as simple as helping prepare the main evening meal. 

It’s a solid punch to the gut, and one he has to clear away with a small cough as he says, “The council have gathered to discuss our movements in battle.” 

“So then, why do we have to be there?” Lo’ak asks bluntly. “We’re not going to be there.” 

That is true, and Jake nods and hums in agreement. “Yes, but it is good practice for you, and Neteyam, and Spider, to see how these things go,” he says, before squeezing Spider’s shoulder in comfort, and saying, “And we need Spider to come along because he has vital information that will be important for the initial attack.” 

He hates that all three of his boys flinch and draw nearer to their older brother, crowding in at the sides even though Spider’s head doesn’t drop. Jake hates how brave Spider has to be, and how mature Lo’ak and Neteyam are already. Even though they’re only boys. 

But it has to be, so he forces himself to set aside his paternal instinct and lets the judgement of a leader take over. 

“I know,” he murmurs, “I don’t like it either, but it might make a difference between us beating them and them flattening us. Perimeters, defences, any details about the inside of the base you can remember.” 

“I get it,” Spider says quietly, glancing up at Jake with a glint of determination in his gaze. “Ask me, and I can tell you anything you need to know.” 

Jake squeezes his shoulder again, but this time it’s with pride rather than comfort as he says, “that’s my boy.” 

And then they’re moving, Neteyam and Lo’ak trading looks of trepidation and slight doubt before following Jake and Spider out into the light of Alpha Centauri. Into the buzz and hubbub of the village, dodging warriors as they hurry towards the cookfire in pairs. 

“You said it was a council meeting?” Lo’ak says, and Jake nods. 

“It is,” he replies, “but all warriors are required to attend as well. Don’t worry, you won’t have to speak in front of them.” 

“Will I have to?” Spider asks. 

“No, Tonowari will ask you questions before it begins, so tell him everything you can remember alright bud?” Jake explains, and Spider’s expression loosens a little bit, his brow smoothing out and his shoulders relaxing. “We just need to get to him first.” 

Jake hates putting Spider through any sort of pain, and watching him explain everything he can recall about Bridgehead to Tonowari is like a simultaneous punch to the gut and kick in the teeth. He wants to drag Spider back towards him and refuse he talk about it anymore. He wants to run back to that time when all three of his kids were just boys, when he could easily gather all three of them into a hug. 

But Tonowari’s voice swiftly knocks that thought from his head, and Jake steps into the role of leader so easily it’s scary. 

But, he can’t keep his eyes from his sons, even when he’s trying to command the attention of six veteran warriors. His gaze slides towards them every time it gets close, wincing at their tense shoulders before flickering away again. 

Through his explanation of their attack, he watches Neteyam’s hands turn into fists. As Tonowari describes their infiltration into the base, Spider’s jaw turns as sharp as a cutting knife. And when Jake tells the council about the aftermath - the distribution of supplies, the mending of the wounded, the destruction of the human base and his family returning home - he sees Lo’ak’s gaze turn sad. 

And when the meeting disbands, he easily curls Neteyam’s fingers outwards, until they’re cradled in his palm. He ruffles Spider’s hair affectionately, until his mouth relaxes into a smile and the stress in his face is gone. But he doesn’t get to speak with Lo’ak until that evening. 

When his son faces him on the walkway outside their pod, and he manages to see how much Lo’ak has grown. 

Because it’s in the set of his shoulders, and the look in his eyes as he says, “I don’t think I want to return to the forest.” 

It has Jake blinking in surprise, but in the next moment he completely understands. And Lo’ak goes to explain further, his mouth opening and his feet taking a hesitant move forward, but Jake is already ahead. 

Gathering Lo’ak into his arms even though his nose burns with tears as he says, “You don’t need to tell me. I get it, son.” 

He keeps Lo’ak there in his arms for a few moments, breathing in the familiar scent of tree bark from the beads in his hair, which has now become underlined by the bitter scent of sea water. His boys have changed so much, and right under his nose. 

How did he miss it? 

When Lo’ak begins to squirm, clearing his throat in embarrassment and pushing against Jake’s shoulders he stands back, but keeps his hands on Lo’ak’s arms. So that their eyes meet when he says, “I’ll talk with Tonowari in the morning.” 

And he’s hit by the full power of Lo’ak’s biggest grin, his eyes practically sparkling as Jake returns it. 

Even though his stomach turns a little in sadness. 

(And fear, because how is he going to tell Neytiri.) 

Spider has seen a Tulkun in passing, through a screen on a human ship where the only thing visible was its outline. He’s also seen one briefly, as a mere flick of a large tail as it sails past, or as a glimpse of a head fin peeking out of the water. He knows how important they are to the Metkayina, knows how essential they are for the continuation of his homeworld. 

But he doesn’t think he knows how majestic they actually are. But with the entire village buzzing with the news of the pod returning today, he supposes he’ll be able to find out. 

The nervous energy is almost enough to make him lose his appetite, but then Ma makes him his favourite breakfast, and it’s gone in two large mouthfuls. And loads of giggles from Tuk. 

The atmosphere is so thick outside their pod Spider could cut it with his hunting knife. Every head turns towards the horizon at any free moment, watching for something Spider doesn’t recognise before turning back to their work. 

“Is it really that big of a deal?” he asks Kiri as they sit on the edge of the walkway, dangling their toes into the water. She makes a noise she only reserves for when her brothers are being idiots, and rolls her eyes hard. 

“Is it a big deal,” she repeats sarcastically. “Of course it is. A pod passed by the reef only a few days ago, and practically everyone raced to the edge of the village to greet them even though they were going past. It’s like the forest clans gathering together, but happier, and with less politics.” 

Spider grins in excitement, kicking his feet a little and watching as a collection of glowfish dart pass to avoid them. “Sounds like fun,” he replies, and Kiri leans forward with her arms on her knees with a sigh. 

“It sounds beautiful,” she says, her eyes locked on the horizon in the distance. 

“Will they come today?” Spider asks, and Kiri glances at him with a knowing smile. 

“What do you think?” she replies, and Spider furrows his brow in confusion, opening his mouth to ask before a conch horn echoes across the reef. 

Shouts echo out to the water, and Spider peers around Kiri’s back to see the warriors shooting through the waves as fast as they can on their ilus and tsuraks. Vocalising and calling to the wind as the conch horn sounds again. 

“The Tulkun have returned,” comes Tsireya’s voice, and she rounds one of the supporting beams of their pod, waving at them both with a wide grin. “Everyone, our brothers and sisters have come back to us. Spider and Kiri, come, join us.” 

“Let’s go,” Kiri says to him with an excited grin, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and pulling him upright. 

“Kiri!” Tuk shouts from behind them, trotting out from the pod with a grin wider than her sister’s. “Come on, guys let's go.” 

“Wait, where’s Lo’ak?” Spider calls, but no one hears him, because Kiri is too busy pulling him towards the water, and Tuk is preoccupied with tugging Neteyam to his feet. Spider casts one last look around them to see if he can spot his brother, but then they’re diving into the water, and grabbing hold of an ilu’s harness. 

The sea is full of activity when they get further out into the reef. The people shoot past them in streams of bubbles, and Spider finds himself clutching onto Kiri for support. The depths are rife with large fins and tails, and Spider jolts in surprise at the first call of a Tulkun. 

They’re so melodic, and expressive, echoing through the water with ease as they spin around each other. One takes the two of them by surprise, arching over them easily and so closely that Spider could reach up a hand and graze them along its stomach markings. 

They surface for a moment, and Tsireya waves them over excitedly. When they reach her, she points and says, “That’s my spirit sister.” 

And a fin bigger than Spider’s whole body waves at them, and the Tulkun clicks in greeting. 

“Does everyone have a spirit sibling?” he asks, but he has to raise his voice over the noise level around them. 

“Every member of the clan who comes of age bonds with a Tulkun,” she explains, drifting closer so at least she doesn’t have to shout. “It’s a privilege of ours that we get to make a connection with beings as majestic as the Tulkun, and it is considered the beginning of your journey into adulthood.”

“Like the iknimiya,” Spider mutters. 

“I think it’s a bit more important than that,” Kiri tells him, but Tsireya only smiles kindly. 

“So what do you do when they return?” 

“Tell stories,” Tsireya replies. “About who has come into our clan, who has given birth, who has left us to become one with the Great Mother. The new loves we’ve discovered.” 

Here she ducks her head quickly, hiding her flickering ears but not well enough. Because Kiri and Spider trade knowing looks, which are gone by the time Tsireya looks up again. 

“But if you listen, you’ll experience the clan’s entire history in one day, because the Tulkun are creatures of great history, and even better storytellers than even my father,” she says, before she’s beckoned away by her mother. Who gives the siblings a strange, nearly warning look as she leads her daughter to a different Tulkun. One with a baby tucked under its fin, with very familiar markings dotting its head fins. 

At some point, Kiri splits from Spider, wanting to join the other kids in riding a Tulkun’s fin, and for a moment Spider is suspended in the depths of the ocean. Watching through the cloud of his own hair - which refuses to cooperate in the water - as family reunites under the water. 

And even though he’s on his own, for once he doesn’t feel alone. He watches with a smile as siblings rejoice at their reunion, and gazes in awe as Na’vi and Tulkun swim together as easily as if they were born to do it. 

And when he surfaces next, it's to the call of his own name. And Lo’ak coming towards him on the back of his ilu, one hand waving in the air the other keeping him upright. 

“Where’ve you been?” Spider demands as soon as he’s dragged onto the ilu’s back. 

“Preparing,” Lo’ak replies with a cheeky smile. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a massive sea creature for a sibling too,” Spider says sarcastically, but then he freezes at Lo’ak’s sheepish look. And he can’t help but say, “I was gone for two months. Two! How have you done this?!” 

“Just meet him, and you’ll see,” Lo’ak replies, and Spider finds he can’t do anything but hold on. And not because of his exasperation, but because of his curiosity. 

They go to the outskirts of the reef, where the clicks and sounds of the Tulkun are faint, but still audible, and where the sea goes into complete darkness beneath their feet. There, Spider sees the flicker of a fin, and a practical roar of greeting, which sounds oddly reprimanding. 

“This,” Lo’ak tells him when they’ve surfaced and gesturing to nothing but water, “is Payakan.” 

And suddenly the Tulkun emerges, flapping one great fin so that the boys are splashed by a wave of water. Spider splutters at his emergence, but Lo’ak only laughs and tells him, “He kinda likes an entrance.” 

“You think?” Spider says as he wipes the last of the sea water from his eyes. “He’s as dramatic as you.” 

Payakan clicks a few times and ducks his head fins, and Lo’ak dutifully translates it, “He thanks you for the compliment.” 

“Well, it wasn’t really one,” Spider says, but his words are ignored in favour of being lifted onto the Tulkun’s fin. 

From here, they can still see the reef, bubbling with activity. But the distance is large, and Spider turns a confused look at his brother. “Why isn’t he with them in the reef?” he asks. And Lo’ak pulls a face, and rubs the back of his neck. 

“Well,” he begins, “Payakan isn’t exactly…welcome in the reef, or with the Metkayina clan.” 

“You just had to make friends with the troubled one,” Spider cuts in jokingly, barely stifling a smile when Lo’ak sqwuaks indignantly. “Go on, tell me what happened. Did you make friends with them, and they immediately banished him?” 

He meant it as a joke, but the serious look between the Tulkun and his brother has Spider’s smile sliding off his face, and his stomach clenching. “Is it actually something bad?” 

“Payakan he– He kind of meddled with one of the biggest rules of his kind,” Lo’ak explains. “His mother was hunted by the RDA, and he thought to fight back against them. So he gathered a group of young warriors and bulls, and attacked the ships. But their weapons were no match, and everyone but Payakan died.” 

Lo’ak pats the crest of the Tulkun’s eye when he makes a sad noise, and Spider looks down in guilt and apology. “Tulkun’s abhor killing, any kind of it,” Lo’ak tells him. “So when his pod found out he led those boys and Tulkun into battle, they made him an outcast, and drove him from their pod. He’s been drifting ever since.” 

“How is he able to be here, then?” Spider asks, lowering his voice to a whisper as if one of the clan members would hear him and banish Payakan again. “Surely this is dangerous?” 

“No,” Lo’ak replies nonchalantly. “I asked Tonowari if Payakan could be here. Mainly because I wanted him to meet you.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah,” Lo’ak replies. “Payakan helped save your life. I thought you’d like to thank him properly.” 

An image of a large animal leaping from the water just at the prow of a long ship comes rushing back to Spider so fast that he gasps. And stares again at the markings on the Tulkun’s head fins. 

“You brought the ship down,” he whispers, and the Tulkun chirps in a tone that suggests he’s embarrassed. “You saved that mother and baby, and sank the ship. You’re amazing dude!” 

“Told you he’d like you,” Lo’ak says with a smug grin. And after a moment he adds, “Payakan says there’s no thanks needed.” 

“Please do take my thanks,” Spider nearly begs, and the Tulkun chirps bashfully again. There’s a moment, a brief one, where Spider considers actually saying what he wants to, but then he sees Lo’ak conversing with Payakan - so easily - and he asks with a grin, “So, is he your Spirit Brother? Or are you just good friends?” 

Lo’ak stops, his fingers halfway towards the water skin at his hip, his expression conflicted. “I-I think so,” he replies. “But I don’t want to think about what that means.” 

“It’s pretty obvious what it does mean,” Spider aims back, and Lo’ak ducks his head. So much so that Spider has to reach out a hand to his shoulder and straighten him up again. So that they’re face to face when he says, “If you think you’re going to stay here once the humans are gone, you can tell me. I won’t be upset, or angry. Because to me, you belong here, Lo’ak.” 

He shakes his little brother’s shoulder and adds, “I can see it. And I think Da can too, and Neteyam. So own it. You’re not just Omatikaya, you’re a Metkayina clan member too. Right?” 

“Yeah,” Lo’ak says after a few moments of silence, looking at the reef once more, this time with a fond expression and a solidifying of his tone as he says, “Right.” 

And Spider stares at him for a moment, taking his little brother in, before he swings around his legs to face him and says, “You have got to tell me how you found him. And don’t leave out anything.” 

Chapter Text

Their parents and the warriors left the same morning the rains did. 

The night before had been spent huddled together in their pod underneath at least three blankets, with their legs and arms tangled around each other in such a way that it was impossible to escape easily. At least one foot got buried in a stomach, and one fart nearly disturbed the peace for the entire night. 

But they slept right through the rain, which thundered against the pod above their heads, raised the sea level until it nearly overflowed the walkways, and drove every creature not of the sea into shelter in the forest. 

It didn’t deter the warriors from getting up early, vocalising to each other, and practically roaring across the entirety of the village that they had enough weapons to spare. 

And really, how could Kiri not wake up at that commotion, and when Mom finally begins to move? 

Her feet wiggle first, and Kiri’s eyes flutter at the movement. Her ears flickering at the sound of Tuk whining at her place being disturbed. Her legs move side to side then, as if Mom is trying to work out the best way to sit up without dumping the girls on the ground. 

And it’s here that Kiri whines loudly, wrapping her arms around Mom’s waist and making herself feel heavier. So that she gives up and lies back down again. It doesn’t achieve anything, because she feels her place on Mom’s chest slide as she sits up, until Mom has to wrap her arms around her shoulders so that she doesn’t completely fall down. 

“Kiri, love,” she whispers, trailing her hands up and over Kiri’s ears, caressing the back of her neck. “I need to move you.” 

“No,” Kiri whines again, clutching on tighter and burying her head into Mom’s chest. “I’m comfy.” 

“I know my heart,” Mom murmurs. “But your Dad and I need to go, and we can’t do that with you clinging to me.” 

She peels her eyes open a little so that she can stare at her mother accusingly. “You’re actually leaving?” she asks, and Mom nods. “Without even saying goodbye?” 

Beside her, Dad freezes from where he had been trying to dislodge Tuk from his shoulders, his fingers mid scooching even though Lo’ak and Spider are doing their best to cover every part of him with their limbs. Mom’s expression turns to guilt, and at her hip Kiri feels the blanket lift, revealing Neteyam from where he had been sleeping. 

“Y’re leaving already?” he croaks, and even though she knows Tuk is asleep, Kiri still sees her little sister tighten her hands where they lay against Dad’s shoulder. “But– I thought we were going to help? Or at least have a little while longer.” 

“We got a message before you woke up,” Dad whispers, still trying to keep at least some of the peaceful atmosphere in the pod. “The General has decided to make her move, and she’s sent her soldiers to comb every part of the mountains. It won’t be long until they find High Camp, so we have to act now.” 

That has Kiri sucking in a breath so harshly it nearly catches at the back of her throat. It’s the worst case scenario, and she can feel her fingers loosening at the thought. “But,” she suddenly says, and they tighten again. “You were still going to leave without saying goodbye.” 

“Yeah,” Spider suddenly chips in, although his voice doesn’t hold half the usual enthusiasm, and the blanket is draped over his head giving him a very odd silhouette. “What’re we supposed to do while you’re gone? Sit on our hands?” 

Dad chuffs a quiet laugh, and brings his hand up to brush the blanket away, revealing Spider’s pouting face. “No,” he says, bringing it down to cup the back of his neck, and reaching for Lo’ak who’s swaying in place, “you guys are meant to protect the village with Momo’s help while we’re gone. Make sure everything is in tiptop shape for when we get back.” 

“But that’s boring,” Tuk suddenly whines, sounding a bit more awake and earning a weak smile from Mom. “Can’t we come with you?” 

“No, babygirl,” Dad says, and Kiri finally gains some sort of mind to turn to Mom with an eager look. 

“No,” Mom says immediately before she can even open her mouth. “It is too dangerous. An active battle zone, and your father and I can’t keep an eye on all four of you whilst we’re also fighting ourselves.” 

“As much as we’d like you to watch us kick their asses,” Dad murmurs, and Mom reaches over easily to swipe at his shoulder. He clears his throat and then says, “Your mother is right, it would be too much for us to handle. Which is why you’re staying here.”

Tuk whines again, more awake now and able to spread her arms and legs just a little bit, nearly upending into Dad’s lap. Lo’ak and Spider begin to try and protest, and Neteyam goes quiet in a way Kiri doesn’t like. And to be honest, there is only one way for her to act, and she doesn’t like it either. 

But she has to be the responsible one. Because everyone else has chosen to leave their brain cells in yesterday. So, she pulls off the blanket, taking Mom by surprise so that her hands let go of her arms, and she moves to Dad’s back. Tuk blinks at her in surprise, but doesn’t protest when she’s picked up like a little baby and held close to Kiri’s chest. 

Dad glances at her with something like familiarity, a small smile quirking the corners of his mouth for some reason. 

“We need to let the adults handle this one guys,” she says, and Lo’ak and Spider’s exclamations stop, and Neteyam’s tail twitches from underneath the blanket. “It’s much bigger than we thought, and really we would only be getting in the way if we tried to help.” 

“What do we do instead?” Lo’ak asks again. “We can’t just sit around and wait.” 

“And we won’t,” Kiri replies. “As Dad says, we can help to protect the village while they’re gone, and help Momo prepare the healing pod. And if we get bored from doing all that, we can travel outside the village for a little bit and explore the reef.” 

“We’ve done that so many times though,” Tuk whines, again, and Kiri can’t help the instinctive scoff that escapes her lips. 

“Well, tough,” she says, tilting her little sister so her head is aimed at the ground, and she begins to giggle. “You’re too young and too little to help anyway, so you should be thankful we’re not going with them.” 

“Let me down Kiri,” she squeals, but Kiri does no such thing. Instead she shakes her gently, and Tuk shrieks with terror and amusement. 

“Your sister’s right,” Mom manages to say over the noise, and Kiri glances over to lock eyes with her. A nod traded between them, with a hint of gratefulness in Mom’s gaze. “It would be a bigger help to us if you stayed here. We don’t want a repeat of the battle at sea.” 

“Why?” Spider suddenly asks, curious at the implication. 

“We might’ve…snuck into the ship whilst it was sinking…when we were trying to save you,” Lo’ak tells him hesitatingly, rubbing the back of his head as it ducks towards the ground. 

“And I helped defeat one of the recoms because Dad was stubborn enough not to shout for help,” Kiri says, and Dad shouts indignantly, which finally breaks the tenuous atmosphere of quiet and has everyone laughing. 

“How’d you do that?” Spider asks. 

Kiri shrugs nonchalantly, setting Tuk back onto her feet before wiggling her fingers at him in a way that she thinks is mysterious. “Magic powers,” she tells him. “Like the magic people Dad is always telling us about.” 

“Not always,” Dad mutters, opening his arms to accept Tuk who runs into them happily. “I’m just trying to remember the whole story. Takes a long time to remember seven books, you know?” 

“No really,” Spider says, ignoring Dad’s murmuring, and giving Kiri an emploring look. “How’d you do it?” 

“Not telling,” she practically sings, and Spider’s shoulders slump when he pouts. 

And she’s about to tease him, probably about his stubbornness, she doesn’t quite have the comeback ready yet, but she finds she doesn’t need to. Because the sound of a conch shell echoes over the village, and every set of ears prick up at the sound. Even Spider’s. 

And the tenuous atmosphere falls on the wrong side of heavy, and Mom and Dad begin to stand from the pallet without much complaining on their behalf. Because all of her siblings have become quiet with something like sadness, and fear. Because outside the vocalisations are getting louder, and there’s more activity than there has been all morning. 

And in the corner of the pod, Malachy pushes himself up to press his back against the wall. Watching as their parents stand with resigned faces, and grab for their bows, spare arrows, communicators, and sliding their daggers into their sheaths. At that point, they turn towards the entrance to their pod, and Kiri has to hold up a hand to shield her eyes from the light. 

Although it doesn’t do much, as she winces at its intensity, and isn’t quick enough to grab Tuk when she runs after Mom and Dad. 

The rest of her siblings scramble, but she doesn’t think it’s to grab their little sister, but to follow her outside. And as Kiri pushes herself up to stand, her foot slips on the blanket underneath, meaning she’s the last out. And barely has time to lift her hand in a wave goodbye when Mom is calling out for Tson, and Dad is clicking for his tsurak. 

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Dad says, and Kiri comes level with the edge of the walkway. His smile turns soft as Mom takes to the sky, Tson’s wings ruffling everyone’s hair. Mom leans him down so that her hand graces against each of their cheeks, although Tuk dodges that easily.

“Three days max,” Dad continues. “And if we take longer you can hold us to it.” 

“Just come back safe,” Kiri calls to him, and Dad nods decisively. 

“Come back safe!” Tuk, Spider and Lo’ak call together, and the five of them stay to watch the warriors depart. A group of colourful wings and loud calls on the wind following them out to sea. 

Until they dive into the water as one, and there’s nothing left to see. Except the small black dot that is Mom’s silhouette on the horizon. 

And suddenly, everything is far too quiet in their pod, and the five of them tromp back inside. A heavy thing weighing down their moods and their shoulders. Kiri considers what now for a moment, her hand reaching up to scratch her head, before a loud grumbling noise echoes through the pod. 

And Tuk giggles at the boys’ sheepish expression, and Kiri grins at their ducking heads. 

“I suppose we haven’t had a morning meal yet, have we?” she asks, and Tuk giggles again. But their brothers don’t move towards the cookfire, instead they stare at it for a moment like it’s a dangerous beast. And Kiri suddenly remembers all the nights their parents went on dates, and left them to their own devices. And how bad they were at making their food that they had Momo make it instead. 

And how Kiri would just sit back and watch the chaos with laughter, unwilling to lift a finger to help. 

“Do you guys want to make it with us?” she asks in a strategic way, half expecting all three of them to shake their heads immediately. But surprisingly, Spider steps forward with a determined expression. 

“I’ll cut the vegetables,” he pronounces, and that has Lo’ak springing forward with the offer to do the same to the fruit. Although they probably won’t be needing either. 

But Kiri lets them at it anyway, handing over the actual food to Neteyam for him to cook over the fire. Because at least her big brother knows how to do that.

They fall into some sort of rhythm, a familiar one, but still edged with strangeness and tension. Because they’re surrounded by the sound of lapping waves, and the food being made is the wrong kind, and there’s a human sitting at the edge of their living space. 

Watching them, but without any sort of malice on his expression. Kiri can’t help but think it’s something curious. As if he’s seeing something like this - a family working together - for the first time. 

But Kiri sees, from where she stands at the edge, that instead of being ignored as he usually is, Malachy’s eyes are causing some added tension. Raising Neteyam’s shoulders towards his ears inch by inch, having his knuckles turn white around the wood of his spoon.  

She thinks they need to step cautiously with what they say, and gingerly collects the wooden bowls from where they sit in their woven pack. Keeping a close eye on her brother as she settles beside him, and Lo’ak and Spider begin to bicker over which knife to use for cutting. 

She takes the hunting knife from Lo’ak’s fingers smoothly, and replaces it with something more suitable. But even that doesn’t loosen the tension even a little bit. Because now Neteyam is glancing at Malachy out of the corner of his eye, and she doesn’t know if this tension will snap or not. And really, it’s making her uncomfortable waiting for something to happen. 

Eyes darting between the human and her brother,  watching as Spider makes a valiant effort to distract Neteyam without success. 

Until it seems even Neteyam has run out of patience with this makeshift peace, and turns to Malachy with an expression that has everyone falling quiet. 

And the human sits up a little bit straighter at the glint in Neteyam’s gaze, keeping his arms wrapped around his knees but steeling his expression for what’s to come. Kiri feels Tuk lean against her a bit more, a small unhappy sound escaping her lips. 

“Why didn’t you go with them?” he asks bluntly, bringing all other sound to a halt. Spider and Lo’ak set down their cutting knives carefully, trading a look at Neteyam’s voice but staying where they are for now.

“You had valuable information which would help their attack,” Neteyam continues. 

But Malachy cuts him off, saying, “And I have given them that information. They know how to bypass the central security, I’ve given them the location of a gap in the aerial support in the perimeter. I might as well have given them the blueprints to the entire bass.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Neteyam shoots back, and Malachy takes a quiet breath. 

“Because they would have taken too long, and an attack would have been imminent by the time they reached the forest,” he explains. 

“Then why not go with them?” Neteyam asks, defensively. “That seems like the most logical option.” 

“Yes,” Malachy replies, and if Kiri isn’t wrong he sounds as if he’s ferried far too many of these kinds of discussions, “but I would have gotten in their way on the battlefield. Who would have carried me in? They couldn’t have kept an eye on me themselves. Add to the fact it’s a highly active battlefield and you’ve got a different problem.” 

“Why not bring you with them and then leave you on the sidelines?” Neteyam asks next, his tone becoming sharp and snappish. 

So much so that Kiri berates him with a singular, “Neteyam,” which gets ignored very thoroughly. 

“Because again, it would be a risk and a danger,” Malachy explains calmly and slowly. “I’m not trained for active combat, and I’m more likely to get someone else killed.” 

“So then I want to know why you’re staying here,” Neteyam says, and for a moment there’s silence. Not because of the statement itself, but because Malachy looks as if he doesn’t have an answer ready. As if he was prepared with an answer, but it disappeared as soon as Neteyam uttered those words. So her brother takes that as an opportunity to bite back harshly with, “You don’t know do you? You’re staying with us because you have nowhere safe, but you’re also leeching off our food, our warmth. And everyone else is allowing it.” 

Kiri gets that some anger needs to be released, she does, but she realises that this isn’t the healthiest way to do so. And as Neteyam’s volume gets higher, she sees Spider standing to leave out of the corner of her eye. 

“Which is another thing I don’t get,” Neteyam continues, pushing himself up so that he’s practically hovering over Malachy, prowling over him. “Why everyone seems to be so fine with you being here, when you were the one to torture our brother. The hurt you caused is what we have to fix, and yet you sit here and watch us do it as if you had no part in it.” 

Malachy flinches, and Kiri’s sure her brother doesn’t see it because he barrels on. And with a quiet noise Tuk buries herself into Lo’ak’s side where they sit at the edge of the cookfire. 

“Please, explain to me how that’s possible,” Neteyam says with some sort of sarcasm. “From where I’m standing it looks like you managed to wiggle yourself into our family, and gotten nearly everyone else to like you, only by being Max’s godfather. And yet you haven’t got the courage to apologise to Spider, even though you’ve had a chance to every day.” 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Malachy suddenly mutters, and Neteyam’s ears twitch towards him. When he says nothing else, her brother laughs, and it’s the most unkind sound she’s ever heard him make. 

It has a cold shudder travelling up her spine. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Neteyam spits, and Kiri makes a noise of protest at the language. “You had a choice, because you came to a planet that wasn’t yours, and when told to torture a kid I bet you didn’t even hesitate.” 

“That’s not true,” Malachy retorts, and Kiri feels some sort of relief when his voice comes out strong. But her brother scoffs, harshly. 

“Oh yeah? And how’s that? Did you have to think about it for five minutes before strapping him in? Did you have to wait for some sort of money to go to the company before boarding the ship? Or maybe some corrupt deal?” 

“Neteyam,” Kiri berates, but he barely looks at her. His eyes are on Malachy, but he’s not noticing the raise in his shoulders, or the way his knuckles are turning white around his arms. But she does, and her heart clenches in her chest when something in him finally snaps. 

“I didn’t have a choice!” 

An abrupt silence falls over them, dark and heavy and leaving only the sound of his heaving breaths behind. Neteyam blinks at him, and Kiri is glad to see a little bit of the anger dissipate, but it’s not enough. 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Malachy says again, dragging his knees down until they’re crossed underneath him and his hands can draw themselves into fists. “They have my sister, they have her memories and if I didn’t agree to come here, I didn’t follow her orders, they would shove what little they have of her into a recom and send her here to suffer another meaningless death and I–” 

He stops himself, clenching his lips between his teeth and nearly biting through them. “I couldn’t let that happen,” he whispers in pure agony, his sadness bending his shoulders towards the ground. “Not when she was finally free.” 

There’s another silence, a longer one, and Kiri glances at her brother with a small golden spot of hope in her chest. That perhaps he’ll leave it be now, that that’ll be enough for him. But the hope flickers out quickly, because his scowl is still in place and, cruelly, he scoffs again. 

“Pathetic,” he mutters, and Malachy’s head bends down further. 

“Neteyam,” Kiri says again, this time it’s with a short clip that has her brother glancing at her, and baulking at her stern expression. Kiri can feel her scowl become harsher as she lifts a hand and points to the outside world. “I think you need a few minutes to cool off.” 

Neteyam blinks at her in surprise, dithering where he stands for so long that Kiri has to say, “Now, Neteyam,” to get him moving finally. He practically stomps out of the pod, and Kiri sees Spider glance up at his departure. 

The tension doesn’t seep out of the pod though, and Tuk whimpers quietly into Lo’ak’s shoulder. He lifts a hand to bring her closer, rubbing a hand on her arm to comfort her, and bringing a breakfast bowl level to her to distract. It works, and Kiri feels a little sigh of relief escape her lips. 

“I think,” she says, and Malachy glances up to meet her resigned gaze, “it might be best if you stay out of the pod for a while. Maybe a night or two.” 

His eyes become glazed, nearly blank, but he nods in agreement. And stands to go easily. 

Kiri feels sick to her stomach at his look, but doesn’t stop him as he turns to go in the opposite direction to Neteyam. She hates not having harmony in their pod, dislikes that she has to be the one in the middle. But for now, she doesn’t know how to fix this. 

Because Neteyam holds too much anger to be healthy right now. But Malachy holds so much sadness that it only causes something damaging to snap him out of the silence. Because she can tell that what he said wasn’t the whole story, that there was still a part missing. 

She’s scared that it’s something she won’t like. That it’ll be something she wouldn’t want to touch. 

With another sigh she pushes herself to her feet, and gives Lo’ak a reassuring nod when he glances up in concern. She merely goes outside, settling herself down next to Spider in silence. As soon as she lets her feet down into the water, the glowfish surround her toes, but she doesn’t let the giggles escape her lips. It’s not the right time for them anyway. 

“You alright?” she asks and he hums in answer. 

“Just got a bit loud,” he replies, and Kiri hums this time. Swirling her toes in the water and watching the fish move with her. 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, and he glances at her in confusion. “I should have done more to keep that situation in control. I should have realised Neteyam was going to blow up like that.” 

“You can’t control what he does,” Spider replies, pulling a leg up to the walkway and leaning his arm upon his knee. “Neteyam is stubborn, we know that. And sometimes, we just need to let off a little bit of steam.” 

“This was more than a little,” Kiri mutters, and Spider laughs. Although it’s not amused, and it’s definitely not a nice sound. “And I should have realised it’d turn into a shouting match.” 

Spider hums again, although it sounds distant. And Kiri breathes against the anger and anguish still making a meal of her insides. Trying not to vomit, or word vomit all over her brother. 

“How did you defeat the recom?” he suddenly asks, effectively distracting her in the process. “Was it actual magic powers, or are you using that as an excuse to take away from your skills with a hunting knife?” 

“No, it was actual magic powers,” she says, trying to keep the smile off her face and her tone actually genuine. Spider rolls his eyes anyway as if he doesn’t believe her. 

“Tell the truth,” he says. 

“I am!” 

“I’m being serious.” 

“So am I,” she retorts, falling quiet at the slumping of his shoulders. 

“Kiri,” he says, and her smile slips a little. “Please. You’re the only one I can talk to about…” he trails off and lifts a hand to gesture at his face, “this.” 

“This?” she asks, tilting her head in such a way that lets him know she’s having a bit of fun. “That’s just your face. There’s nothing weird about it.” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” he complains, shoving at her shoulder so that she nearly falls sideways. She resists gravity and comes back upright. 

“I really don’t,” she replies with a smile. “That’s just you Spider, unless you’re thinking of coming for my role as Momo’s successor as Tsahik in which case, you’re in for a fight to the death.” 

“I believe it,” he says. “But seriously, you’ve got a better connection with the Great Mother than I do, so if you can do something that I could too, you’d tell me, right?” 

He turns a gaze that’s so hopeful on her, that Kiri nearly loses her grip on her words. Nearly tells him every single tiny detail. But she saves it, and scrunches the memory into a ball to shove deep into the recesses of her thoughts. 

“Of course,” she says, and Spider slumps in disappointment. Which goes just as quickly as it comes when she nudges him again, saying, “Let’s go back inside before those two clean up the entirety of morning meal.” 

By the second day of their parents’ absence, all five of them are antsy. And not in the childishly impatient way, but in the pace around the edge of the pod, stare at the horizon sort of way. In the way that has everyone being two steps away from snapping at the smallest inconvenience. 

The way that has the entire pod holding its breath against the tension. 

Kiri doesn’t like it, at all, but she feels herself become affected by it too, her jaw always clenching, her eyes constantly darting towards the horizon. Expecting a collection of silhouettes (their parents returning) or a singular shadow darting along the surface (which never says anything good). 

But all she’s met with is the blue of the sea and sky, until it gets to a point just after the mid day meal that she feels she has to do something. Or else she’ll go nuts. 

“Right,” she mutters once she’s placed her bowl down, clapping her hands against her knees and abruptly bringing herself up to stand. She casts an eye over her siblings and their sad expressions, and finally decides to do something about it. “I’m going to ask the Great Mother for her aid. Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome to, but I refuse to sit here and do anything any longer.” 

“I’ll come too,” Spider says, and Kiri warms at the immediate response. 

“Me too,” Tuk chirps, wiping the last of her food from her cheeks. 

“We can’t do much else can we,” Lo’ak sighs, and Neteyam hums in agreement from where he’s staring at the entrance. “How do we get there though?” 

“Well,” Kiri says with no small amount of teasing in her tone, “I’m sure if you asked your girlfriend she’d be happy to take us.” 

There’s little laughter that follows her joke, which is a testament to the tension within the pod. And how desperately they actually need to do this. Even Lo’ak doesn’t rise to the ribbing, only rolls his eyes fondly.

But none of them move, and Kiri huffs a sound of annoyance, before she swiftly turns on her heel and striding out onto the walkway. Not bothering to wait for them, even though she hears all four of them scrambling to follow. 

“You’re not actually going to ask Tsireya to take us there, are you?” Lo’ak calls, and Kiri sends a cheeky smile over her shoulder. 

“Of course,” she says. “How else are we meant to get there? We wouldn’t be able to find it by ourselves.” 

“But the Tree of Souls is sacred to each clan,” he hisses at her once they catch up. “We can’t just ask them to take us to it.” 

“Why not?” she asks innocently. “You’re nearly a member of the clan, right? Doesn’t that mean we can be invited along to the Tree as your family?” 

Lo’ak splutters badly, but doesn’t give an excuse which would be able to put her off the path. And she brightens at the small giggles that escape Spider and Tuk’s lips. 

But they hit another obstacle in the form of Tsireya’s willingness to do right by her mother. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to take all of you,” she says when asked, and Lo’ak turns as if to forget the idea entirely. 

But Kiri is faster than that, snatching at his tail before he gets out of reach and using it to pull him back. Ignoring his loud yelp. 

“My mother wouldn’t allow it,” Tsireya continues, glancing behind them as if Ronal is about to round the walkway at any moment because they uttered her name. 

“But what if we were going to ask for the Great Mother’s support?” Kiri asks next, shoving down her swiftly burning fuse, and ignoring the annoyance prickling at her skin. “Not for frivolous reasons, that’s why you’re hesitant right?” 

“Would it even work?” Tsireya asks next, and Kiri clenches her fingers a little. 

“Our father is fighting alongside yours,” Aonung says, stepping up to Tsireya’s left hand side from where he had been tending his hunting spear. He places it blade up on the ground now, standing tall to imitate his father. Although the wrinkle in the middle of his brow gives him away. “Will you ask Eywa for his protection too?” 

“We’d be asking for her support,” Kiri tells him, fighting hard against the bitter tone that wants to make its way past her teeth. “So it would apply to your father too. If we follow along behind, will you allow it?” 

A whole conversation is passed between siblings with expressions alone, and even though Kiri has done the same thing multiple times with her own brothers and sister, she finds she can’t make heads or tails of this one. Only that one is fighting harder against the other. And she waits, her tail twitching impatiently and her fingers aching to fiddle with something. 

Until they finish, and turn back to them. 

“We will take you,” Aonung tells them, and Kiri’s bitterness turns to golden warmth that seeps over her lips and turns them up into a smile. “But you have to promise not to tell any of the adults that we have, and we need to make it quick. Back in time for curfew, alright?” 

“Yes Aonung sir,” Spider mutters when he turns away, and Tuk laughs loudly enough to draw Aonung’s attention back. But she covers her mouth and shakes her head so that he doesn’t ask. 

“Stop it,” Kiri hisses when she steps past him, but Spider only pulls a childish face at her. And she grins playfully at him, swiping with her hand as he bounces on the walkway. 

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Neteyam asks while they’re harnessing their ilus. Each keeps a wary eye out for Ronal or Momo as they work, because the slapping of fins against the water and the constant clicks and screeches are sure to draw attention. But Kiri finds herself startling at the uncertainty in her brother’s eyes. “Will it even do anything?” 

“We won’t know till we try it,” she replies with some sort of optimism keeping her voice light and airy as a tree spirit. “Dad always tells us of the story of him going to the Tree of Souls for help, and how Eywa answered by sending her children to flatten the humans and snatch them from the skies. Who is to say she won’t do the same this time?” 

“But what if it was a one time thing?” 

“Then I suppose we’d have to go back to being patient,” she says, pulling down a strap a bit too harshly, and patting her ilu’s neck in apology. “We won’t know till we try.”

And although Neteyam pulls another uncertain face, he does clamber onto his ilu, offering Spider a hand at the same time that Kiri beckons Tuk onto the back of her own. 

“You must stay close,” Tsireya warns them as they drift towards the open sea, and Kiri rolls her eyes at Lo’ak’s nearly knowing look, at how his shoulders are pulled back and his chest nearly puffed with superiority. “The currents around the Spirit Tree are strong, and likely to pull you away if you don’t follow our ilus exactly. Trust them, because they know the way.”

At their confused expressions she smiles kindly, and explains that, “All ilus and tsuraks know the way to the Spirit Tree intimately. It is the first place they visit when they come into this world, and they know the currents and riptides better than even we do.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in check,” Lo’ak suddenly says, and Aonung scoffs loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“That’s what we’re worried about,” he says, and Lo’ak complains loudly, slapping his hand against the water to splash him. Although he misses, badly. 

“What happens if we don’t follow their ilus?” Tuk quietly asks, chin pressed against Kiri’s back. “Something bad?” 

“I don’t know Tuktuk,” Kiri replies, reaching behind her to entangle their fingers, but keeping her eyes on Tsireya. “But I’ll need you to hang on tight for me, do you think you can do that?” 

“Mmhm.” 

“Good,” Kiri says, patting her hand twice before taking her own back, and angling the ilu down until they’re submerged in the water. 

There’s a lot that could go wrong here, Kiri knows that. But there’s also a lot more that could go wrong if they don’t do this. The balance is too fine to not do one or the other, and really she finds she’ll feel better if she thinks she is doing something. 

So she shoves away the doubt, and stubbornly ignores Neteyam’s gaze as they begin to pick up speed. He’s upset, she knows that, but she’s not sure what else she can do at this point. And it might be interesting anyway, even if they aren’t able to do anything. 

And besides, it’s a chance to explore a different Spirit Tree. She couldn’t pass that up for anything. 

And from the first glance, she’s glad they didn’t stay in the pod. Because it’s more awe inspiring than their Tree of Souls back home, taking her breath away easily and causing the rest of her siblings to gasp when they emerge from the water.

“Welcome to the Spirit Tree,” Tsireya tells them, giggling at their wide open mouths. “We come here during each visit from the Tulkuns, to celebrate a child’s birth, and to bring back our fallen loved ones to Eywa’s grasp.” 

“Where is it?” Spider asks, dragging Kiri eyes back down from the rock formations which reach towards the sky. He’s frowning in confusion, and Kiri realises why. Because one more glance around them reveals no tree. 

“Right below us dummy,” Aonung tells them with a smug expression, and Kiri makes a noise of interest at the same time that Spider rolls his eyes. 

“You say that as if we were meant to know beforehand,” Spider tells him, and Aonung’s smile only gets bigger. “Maybe be a bit considerate of people who do not know your culture.” 

“It’s so pretty,” Tuk says with a gasp, and Kiri has to agree wholeheartedly. 

She can’t keep her eyes off the colour of it, how purple it is. How its leaves stretch towards them and wave in the currents that push and pull at their roots. Fish and sea mammals swim around it slowly and calmly, casting dark shadows against the glowing branches, and she wonders at how active the water around it seems. 

“It’s amazing,” she whispers. 

“Where are the tree spirits though?” Spider asks, and Tsireya makes a small noise of curiosity. To which he imitates the constant movements of the tendrils of the tiny creatures with his fingers and explains, “They’re seeds of the Tree of Souls, tiny pure spirits. We use them in burials to make sure someone’s soul is carried to Eywa’s grasp.” 

Kiri watches with interest as not only Tsireya but Aonung stares at her brother in curiosity. She wonders if the trees between clans are so different that even the biological methods aren’t the same. She’s not a scientist, but she finds herself itching to ask more questions. 

“We don’t have those here,” Tsireya tells them. “I’m sure they wouldn’t survive with the water, but we have glowfish. They might have the same role as your tree spirits.” 

“Those tiny fish that always hang around the reef?” Neteyam asks, and something loosens in Kiri’s chest. He’s talking, that’s good. 

“They’re important not only to the ecosystem but to our customs,” Aonung replies, trailing his fingers in the water and watching with a different sort of smile on his cheeks as two glowfish come to inspect them. “And they’re usually quick enough to avoid our nets.” 

“We should go down before we lose the light,” Tsireya suddenly says, and Kiri glances up with worry at the waning rays above them. Another day missed, if they don’t get this done now.

“Let’s go then,” she says, wrapping her arm around Tuk’s waist as they submerge once again. 

Underneath the water, the intensity of the Spirit Tree is more than she expected. So much so that she shields her eyes against it for a moment, but then finds she has to take her hand down again to see everything. 

The colours, the light, the detail, everything below the surface is far more intense and beautiful than it had been above. Removing the distractions of noise, means that Kiri can concentrate on how the leaves sway with the water, how with each pulse of energy the light at the roots of the tree spreads further. How, even though the eclipse is taking hold above them, they wouldn’t be able to tell from down here. 

A shoal of glowfish flitter past them, brushing against their feet and arms as they make for the tree and blend in with the lights. Kiri makes to follow them, but then the rest of her siblings join her in a cloud of bubbles. Pausing to take in the sight for themselves. And she finds their expressions so amusing she needs to take a moment to watch them alone.

She feels Tuk’s small fingers dig into the meat of her arm, and when Kiri glances over she sees her wide eyes flittering over everything. Her awe is completely mirrored in Spider’s expression, although he shows it only with his wide eyes, because he hasn’t quite mastered being able to relax his face. 

But Kiri knows that if they were above water his jaw would have dropped. 

Lo’ak has no visceral reaction, because he’s seen the Spirit Tree before, but he does still pause to take it all in. Interestingly, his expression is set into one of serenity, a calm she’s never seen on him. 

Neteyam brings up the rear of their group, but barely takes time to look at everything before he’s moving again. And although his face is marred by determination, she does catch a glimpse of a wrinkle in his brow as if he’s raising it in surprise. 

They follow Tsireya and Aonung at their beckoning, and Kiri enjoys the strain against her forearms as they go deeper into the water. It’s hard work, deep water diving, but she’s found there’s something to like about the sense of hard work that comes from swimming against currents. Even though the first few times she’d tried she went home completely exhausted. 

They dodge shoals of fish, and weave through forests of seaweed, until they get close enough to touch the leaves of the tree. 

And Kiri, more out of instinct, draws her tswin forward, shivering when its tendrils are exposed to the water. 

But before she lets them touch its surface she stops abruptly, looking at Spider with wide eyes. “What about Spider?” she signs at Tsireya, but Aonung holds up a calming hand, catching her attention. 

He’s got a hand holding onto Spider’s shoulder gently, and her brother works for a moment to get his mouth into a smile without releasing his contained oxygen. “Aonung and I are gonna sit out the session,” he tells her with clumsy fingers. “We’ll keep an eye on your guys in case something goes wrong.”

His smile doesn’t hide the slight tinge of sadness in his gaze, even though his words are comforting. And it’s with some hesitation that Kiri nods, and connects her tswin to the Spirit Tree. Letting her eyes fall shut to the darkness. 

The few times she has connected with their Tree of Souls, she always felt a sense of belonging. Of returning to something intrinsic within her so that she practically melts into the flashing rainbow lights which comes before she hears the voices of her ancestors. 

But she supposes it’s because this isn’t their tree that the experience of connecting is completely different. Because there are no flashing lights, no whispers of past clan members in her ears, and only a tingling at the back of her neck, as if someone’s staring at her in curiosity.

And call her crazy, but it feels like the actual tree, that little bit of curiosity. And she waits, like she did with the anemones below the sea, waiting for the plant to reach for her rather than the other way around. And outside the connection, she feels her shoulders slump when tendrils she can’t physically touch connect with her mind, gently wrapping themselves around her soul and settling there. 

And suddenly, the water around her doesn’t feel cold, but warm. Comforting. And she resists the temptation to open her eyes. Even though she really, really wants to. 

You’ve learned well, someone says, and it feels like it’s being whispered into the shell of her ears and shouted into a void at the same time. Feeling endlessly large but so small. 

It breaks the quiet surrounding her, but doesn’t dispel the darkness. Which in a way is comforting to Kiri, even though she doesn’t quite know why. 

She refrains from startling, because something in her finds the voice so familiar she aches for it, but it’s a very close thing. Her ears flick instead, and a shiver darts down her spine when her braids float around her head and tickle the back of her neck. But Kiri feels the corners of her lips quirk into a smile, and she says back, How could I not take your teaching to heart. 

Yes, comes the reply, you were always such a receptive child to my contact. Even more so than your grandmother. 

Kiri feels her whole self nearly wiggle with pride and yet somehow, she keeps some modicum of respect. But even though she can’t see anything, she feels the Great Mother’s amusement, because the warmth surrounding her gets a little bit more intense around her cheeks. 

There must be something you want, if you’ve come to see me through a different Satare, the voice says. This is not your Ancestors Tree, and yet it has accepted you and your family easily. 

Could it not have? 

Trees are tricky and stubborn things, she explains, with their own whims and wants. They’re very possessive of the clans they watch over, and the histories they contain. It is rare for members of a different clan to connect, and even more so for trees of different environments. 

So, we could have been denied a connection? Kiri asks, and the whispered hum reverberates in her breastbone, making her whole chest vibrate. 

Yes, comes the reply, although one of your brothers has already been accepted, so it would have only been the rest of you that would have been, as your father says, kicked out. 

Kiri giggles, and feels two air bubbles escape her lips. Perhaps it is because we were led by the Olo’eyktan’s children? 

No, I don’t believe that is all, she replies. But I suppose we wouldn’t find out unless we asked the tree. But that would be a question for a different day. You wished to ask for help. 

Kiri nearly asks how she knew, but then abruptly closes her mouth around the stupid question. We’ve come to ask for your aid in our parents’ battle against the humans. 

I assumed that, she replies with a gentle chuckle. Your siblings can be very persistent when they want something. Especially Neteyam, he hasn’t stopped trying to get my attention since he connected his tsaheylu. 

You don’t mind, do you? 

Of course not, she says. 

Kiri startles again when the voice suddenly pulls away a little, drifting to her left side where, somehow, she can hear Neteyam’s voice muttering over and over to Please help them Great Mother please. 

I’m just not sure how I can aid them, she says, and Kiri feels her heart squeeze in her chest. 

You’ve helped them before, couldn’t you do the same as you did then? Kiri asks, trying to keep her voice as level and calm as possible. But she feels something heavy against her sternum, and a sadness falls over her thoughts. 

I’m afraid my children wouldn’t be of much help in this instance, she replies. The humans, their weapons and resources have become too violent and evil for them to combat. And they wouldn’t be able to reach your parents. Not where they are. 

What about the other clans? Kiri asks, some small part of her hissing at her own impertinence. Could you ask them for support? Surely they would answer if it’s the final push to get all of the humans away from our home world. 

Some of the clans are tired, child, she replies. They have been promised that the battle they were in was the last too many times, only for the humans to return a few years later.

This time we mean it, Kiri tells her, her voice hardening with determination. We have people back on Earth who have fought back against the company, and once we’ve finished these humans off, there won’t be any more on our planet. They’ll leave it alone. 

And what about the one in your family? she asks, and for a moment Kiri feels her whole body freeze up with dread. He is human, is he not? And yet your family has let him stay with the water clan, even though he has been witness to some of the worst slights against them. 

Malachy? Kiri asks, and the voice hums in agreement. I– 

She stops again, indecisive, and the Great Mother takes a moment to hum once again. 

You’re uncertain about what will happen with him, she says. I feel the same hesitancy within your family, but you must consider whether integrating him into your clan will be the best thing for him. It will have consequences, whatever you choose. 

But what about the support for our parents? Kiri asks again. Surely you wouldn’t let them go into this fight alone. 

Indignance colours Kiri’s whole body, but it’s not hers. Her own ears flatten a little at the tip in deference. I would never allow them to face such an opponent without my help, the Great Mother tells her, the voice no longer whispering. 

Kiri peers through the darkness, squinting at a sudden silhouette taking shape. It flickers and brightens with every word, but doesn’t give a clear outline of the person she’s trying to see. 

I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise, Kiri tells her quietly, and the indignance dies as quickly as it came. But, we’re worried. We haven’t heard from them since they left, and we can’t do anything. 

So you came to me, she replies, and Kiri feels heat against her shoulder and the back of her neck. Like hands comforting her and drawing her close. Which was a wise thing to do, child. But you will need to trust me to be able to do what needs to be done. 

I do trust you, Kiri tells her, and laughter twitches at her cheeks. But we wanted to impress upon you the importance of your support. 

You are just like your mother, the Great Mother says with a shake of her head, and something else flickers at the corner of Kiri’s eye. She notices it too, and says, Ah, but it seems I have taken up much time. She would like to speak with you before you need to leave. 

My mother? Kiri asks, and she glances over, expecting to see Mom stepping through the flickering lights. There’s no verbal reply, just the feeling of a hand pressing against the small of her back, encouraging her into the rainbow tunnel. 

“Mom?” she calls, seeing a solid floor appear beneath her feet but not feeling it beneath her toes. She doesn’t recognise the walls around her, and she winces at how the smudged bright light irritates her eyes. “You here?” 

It’s so quiet, too quiet. Quiet enough for her to be able to experience a slight ringing in her ears. Her footsteps make no sound, and she approaches a very familiar person from the back. Her eyes sliding up and over their rounded, clothed shoulders. Catching on the headband wrapped around her head, and on the hair that seems too perfect to be Na’vi. 

“Mom?” Kiri asks again, and the person stops what they’re doing, and straightens their back slowly. And the chair they’re seated on turns around slowly, until Kiri’s met with a face that she has usually seen relaxed in sleep, with the hair floating around her head like a dark crown. 

“My child,” Grace Augustine tells Kiri, and she blinks at her in surprise. 

Because yes, whilst she’s seen Grace’s body, it is only on regular checks to her hideaway far up the mountains. Tucked into a small pocket of forest which has reclaimed the metal of the hut and turned it green with plants. She supposes in a different life, when she would have seen her birth mother more often, this would have had more of an impact. 

But right now, as Grace Augustine stands from her chair to wrap her arms around Kiri, she only feels the oncoming of a headache, right above her left eyebrow. Although she does have to admit, she does give good hugs. 

“How much you have grown,” she says into the crown of Kiri’s head. She pulls back, and trails a hand down Kiri’s face, tilting her chin upwards with a gentle smile. “My beautiful girl.” 

Kiri finds she can’t really reply, because she has nothing to say. But she can fee; the headache getting a little bit more insistent, and part of her wants to tug away her mind from the connection. Because she’s been in for too long, and she wonders if Spider is still alright. 

“You have been taken care of,” Grace says next, and Kiri knows it’s not a question. “And I’m so glad.” 

Her other hand joins the first, cupping Kiri’s cheeks as her eyes rove over every bit of her face. Her smile dims a little, and she huffs, keeping every sound quiet. And her hands drop until they’re laying against Kiri’s shoulders. 

“I’m so glad,” she says again, but it’s sadder this time, and Kiri’s chest aches enough for her to try and reach out to Grace. But she pulls away, abruptly. “But you’ve been here for too long my girl. You need to go.” 

“But I have questions,” Kiri suddenly says, taking a step forward. She winces and hisses though, bringing a hand up to the side of her head when it throbs harshly. It doesn’t stop, and suddenly the pain is eclipsing the whole left side of her head, and she has to curl over her stomach against it. 

It’s spiky and dull at the same time, taking over every thought and notion until the only thing she can think about is how much it hurts. How much she wants it to go away, for everything to go away so that it can be quiet again. 

“You need to leave,” Grace is saying, pressing against her shoulders again but in insistence. “Kiri, you need to break the connection.” 

And through the pain, she can tell it’s no longer Grace talking, but she’s too disoriented to tell. But she knows she can’t, not without help. Because it’s too much and it hurthurtshurt– 

“Kiri!” someone shouts, and she feels a whimper escape her lips as she scrambles for the connection with clumsy fingers. 

“Kiri come on,” someone else says. 

“Get out of there.” 

“Please Kiri!” 

And she grabs hold of the connection finally, holding onto it so tightly that it feels as if she’s squeezing the tendrils at the end of her tswin. And then she’s pulling hard with all her might, shouting at the pain in her head and yanking the connection free. 

Leaving herself to float. 

Spider used to think that the scariest thing he’d ever experience would be the feeling of being suffocated. The slow realisation that there is no air to breathe, the desperation that has his movements become jagged and sharp, which cuts off all rational thoughts. 

But now? Seeing Kiri thrash in the water with streams of air bubbles escaping her lips, her freckles flickering erratically in the light of the Spirit Tree? This is the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. 

But instead of a loss of rational thinking, Spider finds he’s the only one moving. Grabbing hold of her tswin when the light from the tree dims a little and yanking it free. Grasping her underneath her armpits and beginning to desperately kick for the surface. 

That has the others reacting, and Spider finds himself Aonung and Neteyam dragging her body upwards. It’s tiring, or at least it should be, but Spider can feel the hot pulse of adrenaline rushing through his veins. 

“What happened?” he shouts as soon as they’re free of the water’s grasp. 

“I don’t know,” Aonung says, calling an ilu over as they tread water and try to keep Kiri’s head out in the open. “I’ve never seen that happen before.” 

They lift her up gently, and Spider watches with his heart thumping in his chest as Neteyam checks her breathing, gently lifting an eyelid with the utmost care. 

“She’s unconscious,” he tells them, “but she’s breathing. If we can get her back to the village I’m sure Momo and your Mom will be able to help.” 

“And Malachy,” Spider suddenly says, glaring at the look of disgust on his brother’s face. “He’s dealt with something like this before. He’ll be able to help. You know I’m right ‘Teyam.” 

A battle occurs in the space between Neteyam’s eyes, right on the bridge of his nose as it wrinkles and smooths out in quick succession. But Spider doesn’t let up on his glare, and Neteyam’s expression finally settles into one of resigned irritation. 

“Fine,” he says. “But we need to get Kiri back to the village as quickly as we can.” 

“My ilu’s the fastest,” Aonung tells them, “I’ll take her straight to my mother as soon as we get there, if you guys get your grandmother and the human.” 

It’s agreed, and Neteyam and Spider wait for Lo’ak and Tuk to surface before they too clamber onto their ilus. Lo’ak does a poor attempt at comforting a teary eyed Tsireya from where he sits, but it doesn’t work, because her tears spill over onto her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“Don’t,” Spider replies, but it’s gentle. “This wasn’t your fault. We should have realised Kiri was spending too long within the connection. Please don’t blame yourself, Tsireya.” 

His words don’t seem to do much in the way of comfort, but she nods all the same, and they pick up the pace as they slip back into the water. But the quiet emphasises his panic, and his fear, and Spider wishes that they could come out from it immediately. 

Because it’s too familiar to the silence he’d experienced in that room. The closeness too much, and the tightness in his chest too reminiscent of not being able to breathe. 

He considers sticking it out, staying under the water for the entire journey because it would mean they get there faster. But then, he considers that in doing so, they’d be spending a good while in the quiet and the dark, and his heart rate ticks up a notch. To the point where his lungs begin to strain against his chest. 

And he has to tap Neteyam on the shoulder, signing at him to surface. He gets a frown in return, but his brother angles the ilu upwards. Lo’ak and Tsireya follow, but Spider waves them on with, “Keep going. I just need to catch my breath.” 

“You sure?” Lo’ak asks, tightening his grip where it’s wrapped around Tuk’s waist. But Spider nods, and that’s all his brother needs to keep going. Even though Tsireya gives them an uncertain look before she goes too. 

“Looks more than losing your breath to me,” Neteyam comments, and Spider can’t help the self-deprecating laugh that escapes him. His brother turns and looks at him, and Spider flicks seawater at his worried frown. Neteyam barely flinches, and stubbornly keeps staring at him. “What is it? Tell me.” 

“You’re not going to keep going till I do, are you,” Spider replies, and Neteyam doesn’t bother answering because it’s true. Spider huffs in defeat, but waves Neteyam on. 

“They did tests on me while I was taken,” he says, not bothering to dance around the subject because he knows his brother wouldn’t stand for it. “Like the ones Momo did when we were kids, but with more sharp things and machines that flashed lights in my eyes. But one of them involved discovering if I could breathe the air quality back on their home planet.” 

Neteyam hasn’t taken his eyes off him, and Spider finds some sort of shame ducking his head. And he keeps his gaze firmly on his fingers, and tries to finish his explanation as quickly as he can. 

“They put me in a room, shut the door and adjusted something with the air quality,” he explains. “And slowly I began to realise I couldn’t breathe. That my lungs refused to cooperate with what was around me. But also that I couldn’t do anything about it.” 

He feels Neteyam tense under his fingers, and Spider avoids his eyes even when he asks, “Did they…stop the test when they realised? Was he there to help?” 

“They stopped it,” Spider replies, not even deigning the second an answer. “And they didn’t do it again. But seeing Kiri go through the same thing…and being underwater right now…” 

“Got it,” Neteyam says, Spider winces at the hard edge to his words, even though a part of him knows it’s because of something unresolved between him and Malachy. 

But he only wraps his arms around Neteyam’s waist, lays his head on his shoulder and says, “You will need to apologise to him at some point. He might be staying for a while, and I know I won’t be able to live with that hostile environment.” 

Neteyam hums but says nothing else, and Spider refrains from tugging his tail. Although only barely. And they sit in a heavy silence for the rest of the journey back, waiting for the outline of the village to come into view. 

There’s no sign that anyone else knows anything is wrong. No people darting across the walkways, no shouts of their names as they approach. And Spider finds he has time to lean forward and tell Neteyam to, “Head for our pod.” 

“Why?” he asks. 

“Because I know for a fact Lo’ak will have forgotten to try and find Malachy, and by this time in the day he’s usually trying to catch a nap,” Spider says, and he lifts a finger instinctively and pokes it at his brother’s cheek. “Don’t make a face, we need his help.” 

“I wasn’t making a face,” he grumbles. 

“Shut up,” Spider retorts, before poking Neteyam in his shoulder to get his attention again, and pointing to a walkway just ahead. “Over there.” 

“Why?” Neteyam asks, but Spider leaps from the ilus back before replying, because he knows what would happen if he stayed. 

“Because you’re going to get him,” Spider says, surprising himself with how much amusement is bubbling in his chest. And although the worry overtakes the want to laugh at Neteyam’s shocked face, it’s still there. 

“Why me?” 

“Because you’ll be faster getting him to the pod,” Spider says, and Neteyam grunts in irritation. “Please, ‘Teyam. You know I’m right, and Kiri will need his help.” 

There’s a few seconds of indecision, and Spider watches them play out across his brother’s face. Watching his brow scrunch, his jaw tense, and his eyes turn hard and cold. Before something must get through to him, because his shoulder slump, and he nods. Spider gives him a small smile before leaving him to it, turning to dart across the walkways towards the Tsahik’s pod. 

Adrenaline fuels his movements again, making his lungs intake air faster, his feet speed up over the smallest of inconveniences. He supposes at this speed he could even beat a few of the younger warriors, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind. 

Because every time he blinks, he sees it again. 

Kiri shaking, her freckles glinting in the light of the Tree, her mouth open wide, her eyes rolling back into her head– 

“Be careful skxawng,” someone shouts at him, and Spider feels his shoulder smarting from the collision, but his brain is not computing it. 

Not when he catches sight of Tuk waiting outside the Tsahik’s pod, her wet cheeks glinting in the light. He pushes himself faster, and his baby sister notices him quickly, grabbing hold of his fingers when he gets close and dragging him inside. 

His nose wrinkles at the familiar stink of pastes and salves, waving away a cloud of steam from where pure sea water is bubbling over the cookfire. He has to crouch to be able to see things a bit more clearly, but he and Tuk are quick to join Lo’ak at Kiri’s side. 

She’s flat on her back, expression utterly serene and limbs malleable as Ronal moves her around as she wishes. With a small thin tool, she prods Kiri’s chest from her sternum down to her stomach, her skin indenting with the small bit of pressure. 

Tuk whimpers quietly, and Spider drags her to his side, his hand searching for Lo’ak’s and squeezing it tightly when he finds it. But he never takes his eyes from his sister. 

“What happened?” Ronal asks quietly, her gaze stern when she glances up from her work. 

Spider feels the words get stuck on their way out of his throat, because he’s not quite so sure of her reaction. But, astonishingly, Lo’ak answers her with confidence and no small bit of bravery. 

“We visited the Spirit Tree to ask Eywa for her support,” he says, and Spider glances between them, waiting for a scowl, or an angry click of her tongue. But nothing comes, her expression almost softening a little at the corners. “Kiri, she spent too long connected to the tree. We think it might’ve overwhelmed her or something.” 

Ronal purses her lips, and reaches for a different jar, rubbing the clear paste against Kiri’s chest. She then gently rolls Kiri onto her back and does the same with her small tool, but this time leaning down to drag the water from Kiri’s lungs from the outside. 

It’s as she’s rolling Kiri onto her back again that Neteyam practically storms through, his face a picture of anger, or irritation, or a mixture of both with sadness. Spider’s not sure. But, Malachy follows behind and takes his place on the opposite side of Kiri’s form to Ronal. 

And surprisingly, the Tsahik does nothing but give him a sharp look, handing over the paste so that he can continue her work as she bends over Kiri’s chest again. 

As Neteyam takes a seat next to Spider, he gives his brother an asking look. But Neteyam only gives a sharp jolt of his head. 

“Place more against her sternum,” Ronal murmurs, and Malachy works quickly to do as she asks, rubbing the paste into the small indents. “We need to release the water from her chest. But I’m not sure about her mental state when she’ll awaken.” 

“What happened?” Malachy asks, but when Spider opens his mouth to answer, Ronal cuts across. 

“Overload on the synapses,” she says, and all four Sully children blink at her. “She’s taken in water as a result.” 

And Malachy hums in thought, pulling the datapad from his pocket and getting it to work with one hand. With the other he presses his palm against Kiri’s chest, keeping the paste there warm and malleable. Spider watches in curiosity as the datapad takes a scan of Kiri’s mind, and with one touch to the pads screen, it becomes a riot of colour and flashing lights. 

“If we get the water out of her system first, we can deal with the rest,” Malachy murmurs, and Ronal begins her breathing technique once again. He turns to the kids, and Spider feels his back straighten at the possibility of something to do. 

“We need you guys to clean the salt off her skin, can you do that?” Malachy asks.

“Why?” Lo’ak asks, although it’s more out of curiosity than anything else. 

“It’s clogging her pores, messing with the flow of energy inside her body,” he replies, and Spider blinks at him. “Clean the salt away and the energy will hopefully return to its natural flow.” 

He hands them each a warm damp cloth, and Spider takes a moment to inspect the soft fabric beneath his fingers before getting to work. Carefully wiping away the excess of their adventure that afternoon. 

It’s methodical work, and calms a little bit of the stress and worry that’s been eating at his whole body. It relaxes his shoulders a little, loosens the tight band that has been wrapped around his chest like a cummerbund placed too high. He can feel Kiri’s muscles twitch under his ministrations every now and then, and every time he glances at her face. Willing her eyes to open. 

Ronal’s breathing begins to sound like the whooshing sounds of the sea outside the longer she works over his sister. Like the tide coming in to break on the shore, and going back out again. Rhythmic and slow, contrasting the constant tapping of Malachy’s fingers as he works the datapad. 

And for a few moments, Spider finds himself lulled into a strange moment of peace. So much so that he feels his eyes slip closed, and his breathing deepen. His movements continue, because they feel like the one thing keeping him grounded in the moment. But here, surrounded by the darkness and buoyed by the smell of Ronal’s pastes, Spider asks the Great Mother for a miracle. 

I know we’ve asked a lot of you today, he says, even though part of him is talking to nothing, but please. Bring Kiri back from whatever edge she’s gone to. We can’t lose her. She’s too precious, so please, take whatever you need to give her back. But don’t make us lose part of our family. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease– 

He feels his breath come into his lungs quickly and suddenly, feeling the bright intense heat of a hand in the middle of his back. One large enough to nearly fit across his shoulder blades. It stays there for a while, and Spider finds his whole body has gone still at the touch. 

But something intrinsic within recognises the touch for what it is, and his mind calms. And his eyes open when the touch disappears, and Kiri’s next breath is bigger. 

She opens her eyes, and all five siblings gather around her, keeping their voices low but reaching out their hands to touch any part they can reach. And the tears that escape Kiri’s eyes match the relieved ones sparkling on all of their cheeks. 

And Spider lays his head down on Kiri’s chest gently, pressing his forehead into her skin and laughs wetly. Thank you, he says emphatically, sincerely, and the hand returns. 

Warm heat seeps into his bones and his blood. And the hand presses against his back once, before leaving again. Gone as swiftly as the sea wind flapping the blanket Kiri lies on. But as present as the shaft of light from outside making its way in. 

“Thank Eywa,” Ronal whispers as Malachy sits back on his heels, and Spider agrees wholeheartedly, joining in the quiet exclamations of joy as he’s surrounded by his present family. 

Falling into the comfort they provide without hesitation. 

Chapter Text

“Over there.” 

A pale hand points towards the walkways ahead. Long, callosed, familiar fingers leading the way when he’s so used to them wrapping around his wrist to drag him somewhere. Neteyam can hear the tension in his brother’s voice, feel it in the tight grip he has around his waist. 

And his chest hurts from his inability to do anything about it. 

“Why?” Neteyam asks, suspicious because it’s their pod they’ve come into view of. But Spider leaps from the ilus back before replying, the creature squeaking at the sudden change in weight distribution. As if he knows Neteyam is about to protest and turn them towards the Tsahik’s pod. 

He turns towards Neteyam when he lands, planting one hand on his hip and using the other to point again. His expression is one that brokers no arguments, and Neteyam finds himself staring incredulously at the slight amusement tinging Spider’s voice.  

“Because you’re going to get him,” Spider says, even though his brow is still furrowed with worry. 

Neteyam’s surprise turns to anger and irritation quicker than even he can keep up with, his mouth downturning into a harsh scowl. His gaze turning acidic. 

“Why me?” 

He’s the least likely person to get the human to help them. If anything, he’s the one person who would probably drive him away, who would risk Kiri’s chances of healing because his anger got the best of him. Because he doesn’t like Malachy, in fact, he probably hates him and everything he represents. Everything he’s done to his brother, and his family. 

“Because you’ll be faster getting him to the pod,” Spider says, and Neteyam grunts in irritation, hand squeezing where it holds onto his ilu’s harness. Spider’s certainty wavers, and Neteyam finds he hates that more than he does Malachy.

“Please, ‘Teyam. You know I’m right, and Kiri will need his help.” 

And isn’t that a punch to the gut. 

He knows Spider’s right, of course he does. With the datapad and Malachy’s extensive knowledge of its use, he could scan Kiri and find out exactly what’s wrong with her. With his medical knowhow, he’d be able to aid Ronal in figuring out the best way to heal her. 

It’s in Kiri’s best interest that he does this, that he sets aside his hatred and fixes things. So that they can at least be amicable, if not tolerant of each other. 

There’s a few seconds of indecision, and Neteyam feels Spider’s gaze on his face, and knows that his brother is watching his indecision play out across his face. Watching his brow scrunch, his jaw tense, and his eyes turn hard and cold.

Before rationality gets through to him, because his shoulder slump, and he nods. Hesitantly, but he does it anyway. Spider gives him a small smile before leaving him to it, turning to dart across the walkways towards the Tsahik’s pod. 

Neteyam watches his retreating back before urging his ilu to the edge of the walkway, until he’s able to push himself up and over. Planting his foot on the woven path and bringing himself upright. He can feel his heart rate begin to increase, the worry and stress inch its way up his spine, and Neteyam has to actively breathe to get it back under his control. 

And when he actually sets his hand against the cover of the pod, he stops. His ears flooded with Spider’s voice. A memory, and a rush of anger swooping into the bowels of his stomach. 

“They put me in a room, shut the door and adjusted something with the air quality. And slowly I began to realise I couldn’t breathe. That my lungs refused to cooperate with what was around me. But also that I couldn’t do anything about it.” 

Neteyam feels the scowl settle on his face again, and he shoves the cover back harder than he probably needs to. Hard enough to make Malachy jumps where he sits. Curled up as usual with his back to the wall of the pod. 

“Get up,” Neteyam tells him through gritted teeth. “We need your help, Kiri’s in trouble.” 

He’s going off adrenaline and rage now, the edge of his gaze turning pink with it. And usually he would see Malachy’s expression folding into concern for what it is - brotherly instinct, the same thing Neteyam has been running on for the past sixteen years of his life - but he doesn’t. He only sees the reason for his family’s sadness, and the anger rushes in to support him. 

“What’s happened?” Malachy says, tucking the datapad under his arm as he stands. “Is she injured? Sick? Was there an attack of some kind?” 

“She had a fit while we were visiting the Spirit Tree,” Neteyam explains. “We don’t know why it happened, but she was connected for longer than any of us.” 

“Prolonged exposure perhaps,” Malachy murmurs thoughtfully, his face settling into someone determined as he strides towards the entrance. “Take me to her, and I’ll see what I can do.” 

Neteyam goes to follow, but suddenly feels his feet root to the ground. And his whole body just…stops. Malachy notices, because he turns at the cover with a look that can only be impatient. 

“Are you coming?” he asks, and Neteyam opens his mouth to say yes, he does. But something else comes tumbling out from behind his teeth. 

“You nearly killed my brother,” he says, and something flickers in Malachy’s gaze. “Will you do the same with my sister?” 

A dead silence falls between them, and the cover falls from Malachy’s fingers, plunging them into half darkness as the light of Alpha Centauri comes through a slant in the fabric. The only sound left is the hiss of the human’s breathing apparatus, and the quiet sound of the sea washing up against the shore outside.  Malachy takes a step towards him, and Neteyam tenses, his shoulders hitching towards his ears and his fists curling. 

“You nearly suffocated him,” he continues, his voice low and shaking. “You nearly killed him, and he won’t talk about it with us and he expects us to be alright with you being near our family. How is that fair? And now he wants you to help heal our sister when you might turn around and say the wrong thing and we’d lose her because you don’t know our customs.” 

His eyes brim with hot tears, which cling to his lashes before he blinks and they fall down his cheeks. He feels his shoulders begin to shake where they’re lifted, and he brings a hand to wipe the snot running out of his nose like a stream. 

“I’m meant to trust you,” he says, glancing up and nearly flinching at the muted devastation on Malachy’s face. “But how can I do that, when you’ve done so much to prove that you can’t be trusted?” 

There’s silence again, heavy and close. It lies between them so thickly that Neteyam could probably take his hunting knife to it. But he doesn’t, and a part of his aches for the human to make the next decision. To do something so that Neteyam can react to it, rather than be the responsible person he always is. 

He jolts, eyes widening at how small human hands are when they’re grasping onto Na’vi fingers, and glances up to see Malachy looking contrite. And uncertain. He squeezes once, gently, as if asking if it’s alright that he’s doing this, but Neteyam doesn’t pull away. 

“I’m sorry,” Malachy tells him, “for everything I’ve done. I’ll keep apologising until I’m old, wrinkly and not able to move anymore if it makes up for the pain I’ve caused you.” 

He stops to breathe, and Neteyam finds himself sniffling at the shake that’s in the human’s voice. He’s not sure when someone last said sorry to him, when someone genuinely acknowledged his pain. Even he himself hasn’t stopped to consider it, because he’s been so focussed on Spider’s recovery, and making sure his siblings are taken care of. 

“I know it’s not an excuse, but I really couldn’t help your brother’s capture,” Malachy says. “And I couldn’t go against the orders of the General, because she would have ordered me to be disposed of, and then Spider would have been put under the care of someone who has no sympathy. And I know that for a fact.” 

Neteyam feels a drop of dread collect at the base of his spine with the tension, making his whole body shiver for a moment. Malachy squeezes his fingers again, and surprisingly it helps. Only a little, but it does something to Neteyam’s stress levels. 

He notices that the anger has dissipated a little. 

“But, the suffocation thing…” he says, biting his lip so harshly Neteyam thinks he’s going to draw blood. “That I could have stopped easily. I could have made it not happen at all, because it came from orders outside the ship. Directly to my company issued datapad which has the ability to wipe messages from the interface.” 

Neteyam’s brow scrunches in confusion, but Malachy waves it away with his free hand. 

“I didn’t stop it though,” he continues, “because by that point I wasn’t sure if going against orders would get me killed. Or if I could actually work against them without alerting the other science guys on the ship.” 

“Was it you working the machinery?” Neteyam asks. He flinches at the anger that suddenly catches on the corners of Malachy’s eyes and mouth, exposing his teeth as he practically snarls through them. 

“No,” he says, “and that was the worst thing about it. We had another scientist come in from the main base. Someone else who spoke Na’vi. He worked under the jurisdiction of the head of the department in Bridgehead, and used my experiment to try and further their goals.” 

Neteyam can feel himself wincing at the description of this person, hoping that they were drowned in the ocean with the other humans. His fingers grip onto Malachy’s even tighter, and he watches with some fascination as the skin around the pressure turns pale. 

“He worked the calibration, made it go faster than would be healthy for any living being, which was why Spider began to…” he trails off. His head dips, and a bit of his dark hair escapes the hair tie. Falling into his eyes. “No, that’s my fault. And I need to apologise to him about it.” 

“Yeah,” Neteyam says weakly, blinking at the change. 

“But that’s not what you wanted to hear from me,” Malacyh continues. “And what I can tell you, is that you can trust me to help Kiri. Because she’s your sister, and I’ve seen one too many of those die before they’re able to live to their full potential. So if I can stop that from happening, I’ll do anything I can to make it so.” 

He drops Neteyam’s fingers, and he mourns the loss of warmth for a moment, before turning to pull back the cover again. 

“So, lead the way,” Malachy tells him, and Neteyam hurries out to the walkway once again. Suddenly noticing how much time they’ve lost by talking so much, Alpha Centauri now making its way up towards its peak position in the sky. But also realising how much progress they’ve made just by speaking, because when the two of them clamber onto his ilu, Neteyam finds he doesn’t mind the arm Malachy wraps around his waist to keep his balance. 

But the anger is still there, he can feel it burning low in his stomach, and he finds it growing bigger the closer they get to the Tsahik’s pod. But he finds the cause is not the human behind him, but something bigger that he can’t quite distinguish. 

He goes into the healing pod with this potent mixture of anger and irritation and sadness working its way up his body and into his expression, until he’s sitting himself down next to Spider. And giving a sharp jolt of his head at his asking gaze. 

Malachy gets to work helping Ronal with Kiri, and it must be because of everything their conversation dragged up that has Neteyam’s fingers twitching every time the human’s get close to his sister. His hand lays against her chest for a while to warm the paste which has been lathered over her skin, and Neteyam has to clutch onto Spider’s hand to keep himself from launching forward. Malachy’s free hand works his datapad to take a reading of her head which comes up looking all sparkly and colourful. 

Neteyam can see Tuk’s eyes clearing a little in interest as she tries to get a bit closer to look. But Lo’ak manages to drag her back to his side, keeping her there with a secure arm. 

The offer of a distraction with wiping down the saltwater from Kiri’s skin is a welcome one, and Neteyam finds the warm water seeping from the cloth into his own fingers comforting. But it isn’t enough to settle him fully, doesn’t quite calm him enough to stop him from flinching every time Kiri is moved. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Neteyam watches Spider’s fall closed and his lips moving. Praying to the Great Mother he supposes. He feels his hand get squeezed by Spider’s as Ronal continues her work, and Neteyam finds his free hand drifting over to rest on Tuk’s head, the cloth abandoned on the pallet at his knees. 

He watches with muted fascination as Ronal tilts Kiri up onto her side once again, bending around her pregnant belly to reach his sister’s back. Blowing hot air against her spine to get the water within her lungs to escape. It flickers the steady stream of scented smoke which has been placed around Kiri’s head, but Neteyam finds himself concentrating more on the shallow rise and fall of his sister’s chest. 

Which suddenly becomes larger, the intake of breath bigger, and Neteyam feels his ears prick upwards at the sound. He leans forward just as Kiri is opening her eyes fully, and before the first few tears fall, she’s surrounded on all sides by all of them. 

Spider’s head on her stomach, Tuk’s next to her head, Lo’ak’s arms around her stomach, and Neteyam’s hand on her chest. 

He stays as upright as he can, because the potent mixture of emotions in his chest and stomach nearly have him bending over. It has his eyes brimming over with tears and his nose becoming stuffed until it nearly burns. But he manages it, just barely, because he keeps one hand on Kiri’s chest, and the other leaning against the woven floor. 

“Kiri,” Tuk whines quietly, scared because their sister is actively sobbing now, and they gather just that little bit closer. 

“You’re alright,” Spider whispers, and Lo’ak’s arms tighten around her. 

Relief tries its best to punch through the potent mixture in his chest to hardly any avail. But it gets through enough for Neteyam to be able to lift his head, to look around their family unit for the first time in a while. Attempting to lift himself up from the thing trying to drag him downwards. 

Tsireya and Aonung sit by their mother, supporting her as she settles on the pallet next to the cook. Ronal looks exhausted, the lines on her face deeper than usual, but when she catches Neteyam’s gaze she gives a small smile to his grateful nod. 

Malachy shuffles where he sits, so that he can take his legs out from underneath himself. But he doesn’t lift his gaze from the datapad, and continues to examine the scan of Kiri’s mind with great intent. To the point where it has Neteyam feeling a bit ill. 

“She's alright, isn’t she?” he asks, and Malachy fiddles with his fingers of his free hand for a moment in thought. Small sobs continue behind him, and he rubs his thumb against Kiri’s chest in comfort. 

“I’m not sure,” Malachy murmurs, flicking to another section of the datapad. His words have Neteyam’s ears flattening against his head in worry, but the human glances up in time to be able to wave off the concern. “It’s nothing too major, you got her out in time. I just think it might be wise to not connect with anything as large as the Spirit Tree for a time.” 

“For how long?” he asks quietly, and Malachy gives him a tired smile, which is more than anything Neteyam ever thought he’d get. 

“Just until she’s a bit stronger,” he replies. “It probably won’t take long, but I would like to take more scans and do a couple of minor tests.” 

Neteyam tenses again, and Malachy’s expression turns reassuring as he adds, “ After she’s all better. Right now what she needs is rest.” 

“She’ll be okay?” Tuk asks in a small voice, and the tiny smile returns to Malachy’s cheeks. Kiri’s tears and sobs have since calmed to sniffles, but they’re enough to still have Neteyam’s heart aching in his chest, and to see his baby sister comforting her older sibling, it has his stomach hurting along with it. “You promise?” 

“Yeah, promise,” Malachy replies, and Tuk nods decisively and turns back to her place at Kiri’s head. The human makes to stand them, and Neteyam feels the protest lodge between his teeth. The only thing stopping it being his own surprise that he wants the human to stay. 

But someone else says it for him. 

“Don’t go,” Lo’ak says, and his words have Malachy stopping at the entrance to the pod, and swivelling on his heel to look back at them. Neteyam too, turns to look at his baby brother, whose ears fold in embarrassment as his hand makes an aborted move towards his neck. 

“Stay,” he says once the silence drags on for long enough to be uncomfortable. “Please. The fire will have died back at the home pod, and you can keep an eye on Kiri as she rests.” 

“Please Malachy,” Spider says with a quiet voice, “it would be good if you stayed, just in case anything else goes wrong.” 

There’s quiet then, only broken by the quiet popping of the fire and Kiri’s sniffling, and Neteyam isn’t quite ready when Malachy glances at him. And he feels that, with the talk they’d had before they got here, and with everything that has happened that he should protest. Even a little. 

But he can’t quite find the energy to come up with an excuse for the human not to stay, and he only ducks his head in a small nod when their eyes meet. 

But Malachy’s eyes then go to the family sitting behind them, and Neteyam glances back too with some amount of worry. Because if Ronal is unhappy, then none of his siblings will stay, and Kiri can’t be moved right now. But they would be stubborn enough to do so. And he opens his mouth to make an argument for Malachy to be with them, just so that won’t happen, the words sitting on the tip of his tongue. 

But he doesn’t need to have come up with anything. He doesn’t even need to let them escape past his teeth. 

“You need to all stay here,” Ronal tells them seriously, and even her own kids look at her with astonished expressions. The Sullys blink at her in surprise. “It will be too cold for you to stay in the pod alone. And it would be irresponsible of me to send any of you back across the walkways at such a late time.” 

Neteyam glances outside the pod to find that yes, the eclipse has fallen, the world around them beginning to glow in that way it does during the night. And not for the first time is he relieved to have the decision made for him. 

“You will stay here, where it is warm, and you will all eat something,” she tells them seriously, and Neteyam knows by the tone of voice that she means it. Because Momo uses the exact same when telling them what to do. It’s a voice the rest of his siblings know well, because they all nod in quiet gratefulness, and settle back into the pallet. 

“How’re you feeling Kiri?” Neteyam asks when he joins them, but she only hums in reply, reaching out a hand to drag him into the sibling pile. He hears Spider chuckling down by her knee and lifts his head to see him being dragged in too. 

“She must be really tired,” Tuk comments, burying herself as close as she can. 

“Yeah,” Lo’ak says, his voice muffled by Spider’s arm which has been thrown over his face. “She’s never this clingy unless she’s exhausted. At least not with me.” 

“Shush,” Kiri murmurs beneath them, and all three brothers glance at each other guiltily. 

Neteyam feels his head being dragged back down again by a hand, the grip not as strong as it usually is. But he goes with it anyway, until he’s laying against Kiri’s shoulder, listening to her heart thump against her collarbone. 

From there, he’s able to watch as Malachy takes a tired seat next to the cookfire, his shoulders slumping and the datapad landing with a muted thump beside him. There’s no further talk, and although Neteyam feels some of the tension leak from his bones, he can’t help but feel that there’s still things left unsaid.

And by Spider’s wriggling and moving, he can guess his brother knows so too. 

But for now, it’s a responsibility for a Neteyam who’s more cognizant and awake. And his eyes flutter closed, his body relaxes, and he lets himself be drifted into the arms of sleep. His body comforted by the warmth of his siblings around him. 

“I’m not allowed to connect with Eywa anymore?” Kiri asks incredulously, staring at Malachy as if he’s grown two heads. Spider, from where he sits by the cookfire helping Ronal make food, laughs into the pot before him. There’s one thing Malachy is not prepared for, and that’s his sister’s stubbornness. 

“That’s what I said,” Malachy replies, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her a stern look. “It’s not healthy for you in this state, and any prolonged activity is bound to cause the same problem as yesterday.” 

“And what if it’s a quick few seconds?” Kiri asks, but already Malachy is shaking his head. “That would barely do anything though.” 

“Yes, you’re right,” he says, “but we can’t run the risk of it doing damage in the long run. It’s all or nothing at this point, and for your health it needs to be nothing.” 

Kiri huffs and crosses her arms as well, giving Malachy a glare which could melt down the strongest of human metals. “And who gave you the power to tell me what to do?” 

“I did,” Ronal says from where she’s busy cutting roots and vegetables. Kiri cows under her commanding gaze, but her stubborn streak isn’t put off so easily. “I worked hard to make sure you came back to your body safely, child. I won’t be able to do that every time you connect with the Great Mother.” 

“Where did she go?” Tuk asks curiously, clambering over Kiri’s covered legs even though she hisses at her playfully. “Why did you have to bring her back? Did she go far?” 

“She was deep into the grasp of Eywa. If she’d stayed any longer, I might not have been able to bring her back,” Ronal says, and Kiri too flinches at her words. “You were wise to bring her here when you did.” 

“Lucky is more like it,” Malachy grumbles from where he’s working over his datapad. “Any longer and the water exposure might have done more damage than even I can fix. Which is why there's no connecting for you.” 

Kiri pulls a childish face at him, to which Malachy sends her one right back. But she’s distracted by Tuk bundling herself against her side, clutching onto her hand tightly. She glances down in surprise, and places her free hand on Tuk’s head, even though Spider thinks it should be Kiri being comforted. 

“So Kiri could have not woken up?” she whispers, and Ronal nods seriously. Spider’s stomach drops through him too quickly to keep up with, and each sibling glances at each other with fear. 

“It was that close?” Spider asks, unable to believe it was the case. “Just from connecting with the tree for too long?” 

“It wasn’t just that,” Malachy cuts in, taking a seat so that they can at least glimpse at his datapad. “Her mind was already under some strain before she connected with the Spirit Tree, either from stress or some other kind of connection.”

Spider glances at Kiri with some suspicion, and she avoids his eyes stubbornly. “The fight, where you guys rescued me?” he asks her, but she keeps her eyes firmly on the datapad. 

“What are you talking about?” Lo’ak asks, but Kiri shakes her head.

 “If something happened, then we need to know about it,” Malachy says, and yet Kiri only winces. “We can’t help heal you fully if we can’t get to the root of the problem.” 

“You must tell us everything, child,” Ronal adds, her tone eerily similar to one Momo would take when she scolded them as children. It’s one that brokers no argument, and Kiri’s shoulders slump. 

“I connected with these…plants, during that fight,” she tells them, and Tuk makes a curious sound. “Eywa guided me in how to do it, and it was to help Dad fight back against one of the soldier people. But it might’ve taken longer than I expected, and a bit more energy than I could spare.” 

“But you did it anyway,” Malachy says with a muted sigh, tapping against the datapad’s screen a few more times, and adding in something at the edge. “That would explain why such a short amount of time connected to the tree caused such a reaction. You need to be more careful from now on.” 

“Who made you our older brother?” Kiri asks with some sarcasm, and Malachy’s laugh is tinged with some self-deprecation and what sounds like longing. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“The human cannot,” Ronal says from where she sits, “but I can. And you are to rest for now, save your strength, and prohibit yourself from connecting to Eywa until such time as we think you’re strong enough to do so.” 

Kiri grumbles, and manages to free her arm from Tuk’s grasp to cross both against her chest. But it doesn’t have the same potent anger as it usually does. Probably because she’s tired. He reaches across slowly, in case she doesn’t feel like being touched just yet, and manages to lay his hand against her shoulder. 

“We need you to get better,” he tells her, and Kiri clicks her tongue. “I’m serious, Kiri. It’s like when you guys first brought me back to the village and I couldn’t do anything. You need to rest, and listen to your body, even if it’s going to make you bored out of your skull.” 

“What if I don’t want to,” she mumbles, and Spider tightens his grip just a little bit. 

“Then we’ll pile onto you and keep you here until you’re better,” Lo’ak threatens with a wide grin, breaking some of the tension and unrest and leaving a gap for some laughter. “We did it with Spider, and we can do it to you too.” 

Kiri narrows her eyes at him threateningly, her eyebrows scrunching. “You wouldn’t dare,” she says, and Lo’ak smirks at her, before making an aborted move towards the pallet which has Kiri flinching back in surprise. 

“Careful,” Tsireya suddenly complains, darting forward to snatch the food bowls from the floor before they become collateral damage. But the two siblings keep staring at each other, waiting for the other to move. Ears twitching at every small sound. 

Which means that Kiri is taken completely by surprise when the sibling pile begins against her side, with Tuk (gently) throwing herself at her sister and sending them toppling to the ground with a round of giggles. Spider can’t help the snort of amusement that escapes his nose, and tries to cover up his wide grin with his hand. He doesn’t join the sibling pile, because he knows that Kiri must still be feeling a bit delicate, but he does shove against Lo’ak’s shoulder to get him moving. 

And his little brother goes easily, bounding over with a flickering tail and a bad imitation of a warrior’s yell that has Tuk squealing and Kiri complaining loudly at him. Spider laughs harder, clutching his stomach with how it aches and nearly toppling over onto his side. Malachy protests when an errant tail smacks against his head, but doesn’t do anything to stop the bickering. 

Their antics have Tsireya and Aonung chuckling too, and Ronal rolling her eyes in exasperation. But no one actively tries to stop it, letting the siblings roll around the pallet with squeals and giggles, keeping their movements as careful as they can. It never ceases to surprise him how observant his brothers and sisters are.  

But Spider notices that one laugh is missing, and it has his head turning to search for Neteyam, scouring the inside of the pod and then leaning forward to glance out at the walkway. He blinks against the light, until his eyes adjust, and they catch sight of his brother’s lonesome figure, although some of Spider’s dread lessens when he notices his straight back, his attentive ears. 

He pushes himself up to his feet, and waves Malachy’s concerned look away. There’s something that they need to work out on their own, between brothers, one that has been building for a long time. One that Spider realises he’s been avoiding, dancing around and not getting close enough to mend it. But now is the best time, if not ever. 

He feels his determination rise within his stomach, warming his chest and making his footsteps more certain as he pushes aside the cover and steps out into the bright light of Alpha Centauri. Lifting his hand to shield his eyes as best as he can. And he can sit himself down next to Neteyam without stumbling into the water. 

“Something tells me you’re not just avoiding everyone,” he says, dragging his foot up to the walkway and leaning his elbow against his knee. 

“What gave me away?” Neteyam asks, settling a little bit more by letting his shoulders relax a little. 

“The general lack of depression around you,” Spider replies, waving a hand around the general area of Neteyam’s head whilst his brother laughs. He doesn’t take his eyes off the horizon though, and Spider turns to join him in his sentry work. Even though he sighs and says, “They won’t return today.” 

“What makes you say that?” Neteyam asks, and Spider shrugs. 

“A hunch, I suppose,” he replies. “It takes a while to fly back from the forest, right? And who knows how long the battle will have lasted. Why, what makes you think they’ll be back.” 

“A hunch, I suppose,” comes the retort, and Spider snorts. Neteyam shuffles a little, rolls his shoulders as if he’s uncomfortable and rotates his neck. “And a sort of…feeling. Like it’s meant to be today, but I can’t tell why.” 

“I think I know,” Spider says after a moment, but doesn’t care to explain even when Neteyam looks at him in askance. He just lets the calming sound of their siblings’ laughter and the constant noise of the sea wash over them. 

He takes a breath, a large one that fills his lungs to their fullest, preparing the words behind his teeth before turning his head and directing them at Neteyam’s head. 

“You know,” he says, “you don’t have to be so responsible anymore.” 

“Huh?” 

Neteyam stares at him in astonishment and confusion, but Spider only gives him a smile in return. “I know you, little bro,” he says, “and I know you’ve probably been doing your best not to let yourself feel all those feelings you’ve got bottled up in here.” 

He reaches out a hand and gives Neteyam’s chest a small poke. One that barely indents his skin, but it causes his brother to rock backwards anyway. Spider’s smile falters, and he sits up a little bit more, hand turning to hover over Neteyam’s wrist. 

“What are you talking about?” Neteyam whispers, his eyes glimmering with something that’s not quite tears. “I–I can’t just, not be responsible. What’ll happen to you guys? Tuk would go absolutely wild, causing chaos throughout the village. Lo’ak would start a fight any chance he gets, and Kiri would run off to give herself another fit and this time we won’t be there to take care of her. And you, you’d get yourself kidnapped again and everything would fall apart and–” 

“‘Teyam!” 

He stops, but his mouth remains half open, as if the last protest still wants to make its way out into the world but it can’t quite get there yet. Spider squeezes his fingers around his brother’s wrist, and the laughter from inside the pod disappears. 

“Stop,” Spider says, and finds with some embarrassment that he’s crying. The tears stream down his cheeks slowly, hot and sticky against his skin but he doesn’t wipe them away. He uses his free hand to grab the back of Neteyam’s neck instead.  “Just, stop it, please ‘Teyam. I’m here now, Kiri is alright, she's going to be fine. Lo’ak is more than able to take care of himself, and Tuk won’t cause any chaos because we’re right here for her to play with instead. I’m not going anywhere, so you can pass some of the responsibility onto me, okay?” 

There’s silence, and Spider feels the world fall out from beneath him until it’s only him and his brother. His best friend. Two souls which could be no more different in looks but completely similar on the inside. He stares into his gold eyes, feels his pulse thrumming against his fingertips, silently wills him to just…stop. For a moment. 

To let himself go. 

What worries Spider, is that Neteyam’s tears don’t fall. They glimmer at his eyelashes, clinging there for dear life, but they don’t track down his cheeks. It’s a small kick to his stomach in itself, and he hurries to bring Neteyam closer to himself before he could possibly escape. 

And he feels his brother’s head land on his shoulder, his skin turning a bit wet and cold from tears. But he doesn’t let go, or push him away, just lets out a breath of relief when he feels some of the muscles in Neteyam’s back release a bit. And with the hand that had been holding the back of his neck, Spider tracks swirls and patterns against his spine gently. 

Bringing him back down when he needs to return. 

And they pull away a few moments later, breathing just a little bit easier, with the small furrow in the middle of Neteyam’s nose having disappeared. 

Tuk gasps behind them, breaking the quiet so abruptly that Spider’s neck cricks when he turns his head. He’s relieved to see she’s not hurt, but he has to hiss in pain anyway, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. He ignores it when Tuk points to the horizon, shouting, “Look! Look! They’ve come back! They’re back from the fight!” 

And Spider turns his head again - gently this time - to grin at the familiar silhouettes making their way towards them. The indistinguishable shape of an ikran blocking out some of Alpha Centauri’s brilliance. The water bubbling beneath it with a flurry of wings and tails. 

Spider stands when the conch horns begin to sound and the village begins to welcome the warriors home. He turns his grin on Neteyam. 

“Seems your hunch was right,” he says, and his brother smiles back weakly. But his eyes glitter with happiness rather than tears, and it doesn’t dim Spider’s smile. He reaches out a hand for Neteyam to take, saying, “Let’s give them a good welcome home.” 

Jake knows this exhaustion intimately. How it coats his skin and seeps down to his very bones, making even moving his littlest toe seem like a gargantuan task. It drags at his eyelids, has his words slurring at the edges and his instincts become less sharp. 

He’d been running on adrenaline and nothing else since they’d landed at High Camp. And hadn’t supplied his body with food as they set off for Bridgehead. 

They’d planned to have the Metkayina warriors attack from the water, and the group at High Camp to tackle the defences. It would then be a case of meeting in the middle, taking out any and all humans they came across, until the entirety of the base was wiped out. 

Easier said than done, as things often were. 

They were slammed by the defences, considering that the humans were ready for them. It was scary, and Jake isn’t worried to admit it, to see warriors, friends, dropping from the sky alongside their companions. The artillery too much for them to combat with their arrows and bows. 

Jake did what he could with his modified weaponry, but he was one guy, and whilst there were few casualties, somehow, there were many injuries, and by the time eclipse began to set Jake began to think they’d never get past the first hurdle. 

And from what he heard when they regrouped after the battle was finished, the Metkayina warriors had it no easier. Considering that the humans had somehow managed to access backup recordings of the battle at sea, and knew their tactics. 

It had begun to feel very desperate, Jake had known that, but he was not one to give up. It was just that the sounds of his people screaming and the rapid pap pap pap of gunfire had his ears pinning to his head. And he was ashamed to realise that if Neytiri hadn’t been there to ground him, he would have been lost to the thoughts in his head. 

The mire that had been dragging at his heels. 

But then, on their second attempt after recovering some, Eywa decided to give them support, even though Jake had not thought to ask for it. Because he was of the opinion that this was their problem to solve, and that she’d sacrificed enough of her children during the first battle. 

But apparently the Great Mother hadn’t thought the same, and on their approach to the defences, Jake’s hopes had lifted, because the mounted guns looked mutilated, and parts of the wall was smoking. And then he’d looked over to the ocean, where he knew Tonowari and his warriors were about to start their approach. 

Only for Neytiri to draw his attention to the intense tsunami wave which was coming up and over the cliff face, wrecking the machinery lodged there. And Jake’s next surge of adrenaline had him pushing Bob faster. And from there, the battle becomes a blur. 

He didn’t even realise what he’d been doing to his own body by pushing it so hard until with one final swipe of his blade, he’d ended the tyranny of the General. 

Watched as she coughed on her own blood, and her exoskeleton became unresponsive. And too heavy to stand on its own. Jake’s ears had twitched at the clank of metal against metal when she fell, and had barely had a chance to think of how tired he was before Neytiri was catching him just as he nearly joined the General on the ground. 

“We did it,” he’d said to her, and her small but relieved smile had lifted him back to his feet once more.

The cleanup operation had been left in Tarsem’s capable hands - and the amount of pride that burned through his chest at watching the warrior lead their people hadn’t surprised Jake - and they left along with the Metkayina warriors as quickly as they could. 

With the promise that they’d return very soon, of course. 

And yet still, Jake hadn’t given himself a chance to rest, so here he was now. Barely hanging onto his tsurak as it races through the water, bleary eyes trying to focus enough to see if he can spot the kids at all. Concentrating on the cold splash of water against his thighs in an effort to stay awake.

Their pod stands empty and quiet, which has yet another surge of adrenaline shooting through Jake’s veins. His eyes open wider, he gasps loudly, and he pushes himself up a little bit higher to see if the kids are in the pod itself. 

“It’s alright, love,” Neytiri calls from above him when he can’t see them still, and he’s about to open his mouth to protest - their kids are missing, how is it alright? She points towards a different pod. The Tsahik’s pod. “There they are.” 

And she’s right, and something intrinsic within Jake relaxes at the sigh of all five kids wildly waving at their approach. Jumping on the walkways and shouting with all their might. Tuk is the first to start running towards the beach, where the entirety of the village has come to welcome them, but her older siblings are not far behind. 

The returning warriors are greeted by cheers and shouts, vocalisations and joyous reunions. Jake has to laugh when an overly eager partner bowls over someone, shoving them flat on their back in the water and practically smothering them with kisses. 

Jake finds he’s a bit wobbly when he disembarks his tsurak, but he has the conscience to pat his companion on the flank before it goes. Whispering one last thanks before it disappears back into the water. Tson grumbles quietly when Neytiri lands, rolling his wings and shaking his head to rid himself of seawater. 

“Dad! Mom!” comes a familiar voice, and Jake finds he gets no warning as Tuk practically barrels into his legs. He can’t help but laugh and bend so that she’s hugging his shoulders, and not his knees. 

“Tuk,” Neytiri murmurs in relief, but then Lo’ak and Kiri and Neteyam and Spider shove their way through the crowd, and suddenly they’re both surrounded. Jake reaches for every kid he can, and then Neytiri, so that the two of them encircle their family. 

He feels Tuk’s arms tighten around his neck, Kiri’s shoulder pressing against his side. He sees Neteyam press his head against Neytiri’s chest and Spider shove himself in against both their sides. And Lo’ak drags everyone in a bit closer so that he can keep his hands on both parents, one on Jake’s arm the other clutching Neytiri’s hand. 

“You’re back,” Kiri says wetly. “We were so worried, why were you gone for so long?” 

“Defeating an entire base full of humans does take a while baby girl,” Jake replies as she sniffles. “We had to make sure that everything was accounted for.” 

“Well, you really scared us,” Spider says accusingly, although his glare isn’t as convincing as he might like it to be, considering the tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“We didn’t mean to,” Neytiri replies, running her hand up and over his plait, and resting it against the back of his neck. “And we couldn’t send a message back, it was too dangerous.” 

“There is much to discuss,” comes Tonowari’s voice, and Jake straightens as best as he can to keep face in front of the Olo’eyktan. He doesn’t need to worry though, because both Tsireya and Aonung are practically hanging off their father’s sides, and Ronal hovers just behind his shoulder. “We will leave the celebrations till tomorrow, for now everyone must rest. Preferably out of the cold.” 

It’s an order if ever Jake has heard one, and he winches himself back up to his feet, urging the kids onward with gentle hands. 

“Right behind you,” he says to Neteyam’s worried look. His brow furrows when his son doesn’t say anything, but wipes it clear from his expression to give one bow of thanks to Tonowari before taking his leave as well. 

The tiredness surges and Jake feels himself wobble again, pressing a hand against a wooden column to keep his balance. But in front of him, he sees the familiar shapes of his family, and that beats the exhaustion back easily. Until he can stand up straight again and stride forwards to catch up. 

Their walk to the pod is quiet and comforting, because Jake is never not keeping contact with one of his kids, and with the order to return to their families, the rest of the village is eerily silent. But it’s nice, after the days of fighting cries and bullet rounds. And Jake is reluctant to break it when they reach their pod. 

But it doesn’t look very lived in, and Malachy sits at the edge of the cookfire instead of leaning against the wall. Fiddling with the blankets and pallets as if to make it seem like people have been staying there. 

“What’s going on?” Jake asks hesitantly, and the quiet chatter of the kids dies down immediately. Replaced by shifting looks and elbow jabs. Shuffling feet against the woven floor. “You weren’t here when we returned. Why were you staying in the Tsahik’s pod?” 

“Perhaps it is better to talk after food?” Lo’ak says when none of his siblings offer up an answer. And Jake turns a worried frown in his direction. 

“Why? Has something happened?” 

“Not…really,” he says, giving Kiri an odd look. 

“Did you ask Eywa for help?” Neytiri asks from where she’s stoking the cookfire back into a healthy flickering of flames. “Is that why the humans’ defences failed at our approach? And the tidal wave, that was your doing as well?” 

“We might’ve asked the Great Mother for a little bit of support,” Lo’ak replies. Jake doesn’t like how he sounds, like he’s hiding something else from them. And he crouches until he’s on his haunches, a nonverbal cue for a family. 

And when Malachy goes to stand and leave, Jake raises his hand to stop him. Because whatever’s happened, it involves him too. 

“You will tell us everything,” Jake says seriously. “And you won’t leave anything out. And whatever’s wrong, we can fix it together. As a family.” 

He feels an astounded gaze land on his head, but Jake doesn’t acknowledge it properly, only gathers the kids closer so that the cookfire warms them. Because this might take a long while. 

“We went to the Spirit Tree, to ask Eywa for help,” Spider begins, and Jake nods slowly. Because they’re not the only ones who have done such a thing, and he remembers begging for help when the clans gathered. And how distant the purple light of the tree had been. 

“Tsireya and Aonung led us there,” Tuk continues. “You should see it Dad, all bright purple and under water. It was so cool!” 

“But, when we connected I stayed in for too long,” Kiri says, and Jake’s heart thumps in his chest at how low the tips of her ears droop. “I asked too much, I think. And…” 

“Kiri had a fit,” Neteyam says next, and Jake flinches at the bluntness of his tone, the flicker of guilt in his eyes. “And we had to bring her back to the village as quickly as we could, but she was already unconscious by the time we got here.” 

Neytiri breathes deeply, with control, and then shuffles over to gather Kiri closer to her. Jake’s heart pounds in his chest, his whole body inwardly screaming at himself and the universe. Because they hadn’t been here when it happened, and the kids had had to deal with it on their own. 

“It was a surge of electrical activity in her frontal lobe,” Malachy states, drawing attention towards him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t shuffle, only meets their eyes confidently. “Caused by connecting to the Spirit Tree. Too much activity can overload the brain, so I’ve told her it's best that she doesn’t connect with Eywa at least for a while.” 

“But she’ll be okay?” Jake asks, his voice wobbling a little. Malachy pulls an uncertain face, one that has Jake’s heart plummeting towards his feet. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and Jake’s hand clenches into a fist so hard his nails cut into his palm. “But for now, at least, she’s alright. We just need to keep an eye on things in case it happens again.”

“Kiri,” Neytiri murmurs against her hair, and Jake’s heart squeezes at his baby girl’s quiet whimper. And Jake draws Tuk in a little bit closer.

“I’m so proud of you guys,” he tells them, drawing confused looks and wondering noises from his kids. “You handled the situation like adults, you didn’t panic too much, at least I hope so, and you got your sister back to the village and to the people who could heal her best. I couldn’t have done that at your age.”

“And you supported each other while we were gone,” Neytiri adds, her smile bigger than Jake expected. “We’re both proud of you.” 

Jake settles fully then, allowing his tiredness to work its way through his body. Preparing himself to get some proper food and rest. Only, Neteyam’s voice, so uncharacteristically small, breaks Jake from his idea of sleep. 

“Can we go home now?” he asks, and Jake nearly bursts into tears at the sight of his son’s devastated expression. He’s not quick enough to beat the sibling pile that surrounds him, but he gets there in time to gather Kiri and Neytiri close with them. 

His hand finds its way through the limbs and hands of his family in order to lay gently against Neteyam’s head, so that his son knows he’s genuine when he says, “Of course. We’re gonna go home.” 

Chapter Text

It took a while for them to actually be ready and prepared to leave. A couple of months is a long time, and gives a family of seven plenty of time to collect meaningless trinkets and bits of junk which collect at the bottom of baskets. Most of which can either be thrown away, or repurposed somehow. 

But even then, those instances are few and far between, and as they work through their things, organising and packing them away neatly, Spider is able to reflect briefly on how much shit they actually have. And how much was collected in his absence. 

“Do we really need this?” he asks, holding up a half finished weave, which looks like it’s meant to be a net, but someone got bored halfway through and stopped. 

He finds it snatched out of his fingers though as Tuk gasps in betrayal. 

“That’s my first net, you can’t throw that away,” she complains, cradling the thing to her chest. 

“It’s not finished though Tuk,” Lo’ak replies from where he’s elbow deep in their storage crate. He fishes out his hand to point at the thing which hangs limply from her fingers and says, “And besides, that looks like you wouldn’t be able to catch anything with it. The holes are so big.” 

“That’s because it’s my first net,” Tuk retorts. “Not everyone can be good at weaving on their first go like you.” 

“That is true,” Kiri comments, and Lo’ak makes a small betrayed noise. “I think it’s a good first attempt Tuktuk.” 

Their sister grins happily, and places the net over her legs, where it slips slightly and one of the larger holes catches on her knee. Dislodging some of the weaker knots, and making it wider. She blinks at it in surprise, and gently places it down on the ground beside her. 

“Maybe it’s not the best to be catching fish with,” she admits, and Spider shakes his head fondly, turning back to the basket at hand and digging around in its depths some more. 

“Tuk, what about this one?” he asks, pulling out a half made trinket, and she shrieks louder than she did for the net. Spider’s beginning to see a pattern, and he quietly and sneakily sets aside any others he finds. Because otherwise they would be going home with more stuff than they had when they left. 

The rest of his siblings laugh, both at his teasing and Tuk’s antics, but they settle when the cover at the entrance pushes back, and Ma steps through. A hunting sack tossed over her shoulder. 

“How’d it go?” Spider asks as she places down the bag at the edge of the firepit with a soft thump. She looks the sort of tired that comes from hard work, the kind that has you smiling when your muscles hurt. 

“I think the ikrans will be happy to fly back tomorrow,” she says with a satisfied smile, tugging out the fish and settling them on the last wooden prep board they’ve yet to pack away. “Although, Guy took a lot longer to eat his fill than the others. I think you’ve been feeding him too much.” 

“Nah,” Spider replies with a shake of his head, “it’s because he knows we’re going on a long flight. He’s bulking up to have energy.” 

“You sure you don’t mean fattening up?” Kiri says, eyes glinting with mirth. 

Spider goes to throw something at her head, but finds nothing soft so instead he just bears his teeth. Which has her laughing a little, and returning the gesture willingly. 

“Where’s Dad?” Lo’ak suddenly asks, snapping Spider’s attention back to the conversation happening around them. “Did he and ‘Teyam stay out longer?” 

“No,” Ma replies, confusion edging her voice. She glances towards the entrance, and the slow moving slant of light on the woven floor, her tail twitching behind her even as her hands keep working. “He was behind me, perhaps they were stopped on the way.” 

“Oh,” Lo’ak replies, ducking his head suspiciously. It has Spider glancing at Kiri and Tuk, all three of them frowning in confusion as they turn to stare at their brother. 

“Why?” Spider ventures, and Lo’ak’s ears flick a little. “Do you need to talk to him? Are you asking for his blessing to ask Tsireya to be your girlfriend? Because that’s the wrong adult to talk to.” 

“No!” Lo’ak snaps back, and Spider laughs at the angle of his ears, the embarrassment making his voice crack. “It’s not like that, shut up!” 

“Tsireya and Lo’ak sitting in a tree,” Tuk begins, but her voice is muffled when Lo’ak shoves his hand over it with a yelp. But before Kiri can come to her rescue, Lo’ak shouts loudly and in disgust. Shoving himself away from his little sister and wiping his hand on the floor harshly. “Gross Tuk.” 

“Tuk,” Ma says a little sternly, but her glinting eyes tell a story of amusement. “If he’s not back in a little while, we can go look for him.” 

“Thanks Mom,” Lo’ak says, and the pod settles back into some sort of quiet as they begin to work again. 

“Alright, we’re definitely not keeping this,” Spider says, holding up some indistinguishable piece of cloth, and even Tuk has to wrinkle her nose at the look of it. The round of disgusted noises has Spider tossing it towards the pile of this they’ve nefariously labelled as rubbish, although the cloth lands with an ominous splat that has everyone laughing.

“What’s so funny,” Da says as he and Neteyam step through the cover, skillfully avoiding the pile as they come in. “We could hear you from across the walkways you know. You’re all very loud.” 

“We keep finding things in the baskets,” Spider tells him, digging through his own work for a moment before coming up with another indistinguishable cloth. He holds it up for inspection, and says, “Does this belong to you?”

Da flinches back with his brow scrunching in displeasure, although it lessens somewhat when the kids laugh at him. “Neytiri, that’s gross,” he says, and the laughter gets a bit louder, a little bit more intense. “Seriously, when did you last clean your clothes?” 

Ma retaliates with a fish bone, although it doesn’t quite land and instead flops next to a sparking log. “That is not mine, and the person who found it should clean it up,” she says, and Spider shrinks a little under her gaze. She only smiles though, and it's a fond thing that softens her eyes. 

“Lo’ak needs to talk to you,” Tuk chirps from where she’s clambered into Neteyam’s lap. And both brothers splutter, although for very different reasons. “It sounds like something important.” 

“Well, I need to talk to him too,” Da says, and Spider finds that the fold in Lo’ak’s ears is slightly different this time. And that their expressions have taken on a serious slant to them. 

And the two stand to go, Spider craning his neck to watch them go. But they don’t go too far, he can tilt over a little and catch sight of their silhouettes. Which doesn’t help his curiosity. Not in the slightest. 

“What are they talking about?” Kiri asks, leaning over Spider’s shoulder to get a better look. He jolts in surprise, but thankfully doesn’t make a sound. She leans forward more, until Spider feels as if he’s about to tip over. “Do you think it has something to do with why Da was late?” 

“He was talking to Tonowari,” Neteyam interrupts, and the two siblings glance over in curiosity. “I didn’t hear what they were talking about, but it looked pretty important. Most of the villagers gave them space, they didn’t try to talk to them or interrupt.” 

“So it’s serious,” Spider comments, and his head turns again to stare at Lo’ak’s straight back. There’s no movement of his hands - which is strange - and they talk in quiet tones covered up by the gentle sound of the tide coming in. It gets to a point where Spider’s curiosity gets to be too much, and he stands definitively, disturbing Kiri from her place. 

“I’m gonna try and see if I can listen,” he says, and escapes out of the pod before Neteyam’s berating hisses can reach his ears. 

The wind grazes against his cheeks and lifts the small hairs at his forehead. It’s cool, and fresh, hinting at coming rains and storms. But it’s brisk and fast enough that it hides his steps, as long as he keeps them soft, rolling from his heel all the way to his toes. 

Da and Lo’ak don’t notice him, and Spider inches along the walkway until he’s within earshot, and crouches just out of their periphery. He turns back to look, but none of his siblings have followed. Instead, they’ve gathered around the entrance, keeping their ears pricked high in interest. 

Ma shakes her head fondly from where she sits behind them, but she doesn’t move from her spot. 

“I talked with Tonowari the other day,” Da says, and if it’s even possible Lo’ak’s back straightens further. Spider nearly does the same, because this sounds important, and Da’s voice gets a certain way when it is an important talk. One that promotes a straight back and poised shoulders. 

“What did he say?” Lo’ak asks, earnest. His tail flicks behind him, twitching from side to side and it’s enough of a distraction that Spider almost misses what Da says next. 

“He said he thought you’d already decided to live with the Metkayina,” Da replies, and Spider feels himself freeze. “That by accepting the invitation to go to the Spirit Tree, you were already taking the first step to become a clan member. So when I asked if you could stay…” 

“He thought it was already assumed I would,” Lo’ak finishes, although he says it quietly, meaning that Spider has to lean forward to hear him. Which is a bit tricky when your whole body is trying to compute the potent mixture of confusion, happiness and small bit of sadness which is glueing his feet to the ground. But it disappears with the wideness of Lo’ak’s smile, which is potent even at his side profile. 

It warms Spider’s chest so much that he can’t help but smile too. Although the corners draw down a little when he remembers exactly what this means. 

He chances a glance behind him at the others, and feels the rest of his smile slip from his cheeks at the tears glistening on the girls’ cheeks, and the downcast slant of Neteyam’s expression. The slight dimming of Ma’s gaze as she turns back to her work. 

“I’d like to go home, though,” Lo’ak admits, and Spider perks up a little. “It’d be good to see everyone at least. And to get the rest of the things we left behind.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Da says, and Spider’s heart squeezes at the slight tinge of sadness and hesitation in his voice. He reaches a hand over to place it against Lo’ak’s shoulder, tightening his fingers so much that his knuckles turn white. “You do what you need to, and if you’d like I can fly you back again.” 

“Dad,” Lo’ak whines, “I don’t need an escort.” 

“I beg to differ,” Da says, shaking him a little. “You’re a fourteen year old boy, and likely to get lost halfway across the sea. If I had my way, it’d be all of us bringing you back.” 

Spider has to bite his lip hard, because part of him wants to jolt forward and agree wholeheartedly, easily giving himself away. But Lo’ak only laughs and shakes his head, and they fall into an easy silence. 

“They won’t be able to let you go easily,” Da says, and Lo’ak’s shoulders slump. It’s such a sudden change that Spider wants to hug him, so badly. “You know that, right? Not after everything that’s happened.” 

“I know,” Lo’ak replies hesitantly, lifting a hand to run along his braids. “That’s why I don’t want an escort. Because an elongated goodbye…I couldn’t take that. And it’s not like I’ll be gone forever, I’ll still be able to visit. Right?” 

“I doubt your mother would let you go without visiting,” Da admits. “And I’ll be surprised if she allows you to go back with me alone. She’ll be knotting my tail I’m sure. But I’m sure that with time, it’ll become normal. It’s just getting to that stage that might take a while.” 

Da’s hand inches up until it’s cradling Lo’ak’s neck. And Spider sinks a little bit lower into his heels, feeling his back curve with his own shoulders, feeling the acceptance like a heavy physical weight. He supposes this is how his parents will feel when the rest of them decide their paths, and leave the pod behind. 

“What if they don’t want it to become normal?” Lo’ak asks, and his voice is so quiet and sad that it punches Spider in the stomach. Has his eyes watering with sudden tears and his hand shooting up to keep the harsh sob behind his lips. “What if they don’t accept my choice, what if they don’t like that I’ve become one of the people here?” 

“They won’t,” Da says, and his grip becomes tighter again. The wind picks up with his words, and Spider finds that his sign to start inching back again. But what his Da says next has him freezing once again, but not out of shock, but pure agreement. “If I know your siblings, they’d be shoving you towards your ikran faster than you can even tell them. That, or they’ll be knotting your tail for thinking such things.” 

Spider continues his journey backwards, until he can feel the heat from Alpha Centauri ebbing away with the cover provided by the pod. And as he glances back to avoid tripping over someone’s tail Da says, “Now come on, we better get inside before Tuk eats your helping of food.” 

Inside the pod, they scramble for a few moments to find a position or something to do to make themselves look completely and totally busy. 

Spider grabs a wooden spoon to inspect its cleanliness, Kiri scrambles for a set of arrowheads which she begins to try and shove into a bag, Tuk tries to untangle her half finished net (which she won’t be able to bring home) and Neteyam helps Ma cut some roots for the meal. Doing something useful so that when the cover is pushed back he is the only one who doesn’t look up with a guilty look on his face. 

“Something’s up, what is it?” Da asks them, but they reply by chorusing, “Nothing!” 

And somehow, maybe because of how tired he is, Da leaves it there. Shrugging his shoulders and sitting next to Ma to help prepare the fish for the evening meal. The only one who doesn’t let it go is Lo’ak, who stares at them in suspicion before joining them. Although his looks do nothing to break their resilience, and Spider finds himself sitting with his own thoughts for a while. 

Which does nothing for his mood. 

But then again, he’s not the only one dealing with the mixing pot of emotions. And the siblings find themselves leaning on each other as their final days in Awa’atlu come to an end. 

He finds himself getting emotional, even though he’s only been here for at least a month. He’s become attached to the calming sound of the sea, the bitter smell of sea water. He likes having friends his actual age, and being able to act his age does wonders for someone’s mood. 

It’s why most of his tears are shed when they have to say goodbye to Tsireya, Aonung, and Roxto. 

He bundles Tsireya as close to his chest as he can, even though she’s a whole head taller than he is. He basks in her warmth, breathes in her smell of sea salt and pure light. Feels her seashells press against his cheek and Lo’ak begin to tug against his shoulder before he steps back. 

“You will come and visit, right?” she asks with a small sniff, and Spider finds himself nodding vigorously. 

“Any chance I get,” he tells her sincerely, batting away Lo’ak’s insistent hands. “Otherwise I think I’ll go crazy.” 

“I doubt that,” she replies with a small smile. “With your patience, I bet you could last the whole flight home before biting Lo’ak’s head off.” 

Spider laughs with his belly, because there’s no way he’d last that long, but his brother’s pulling becomes annoying enough that he pulls away finally. And Lo’ak immediately grabs for Tsireya in a bigger hug than Spider could have managed. Mainly because of the size difference, as Lo’ak is able to wrap his arms around her shoulders. 

Spider rolls his eyes, but finds himself being pulled into someone's side faster than he can actually settle into the irritation. He instinctively wraps his arm around their waist in return, and finds his shoulder being shaken gently. 

“You’ll need to visit to keep your sanity,” Aonung says with a warm laugh. And Lo’ak rolls his eyes at him over Tsireya’s shoulder. “It’s a guarantee with this lot.” 

Tuk’s tiny gasp draws their attention to where she’s pointing towards herself and says with a small voice, “Me too?” 

It has Spider cooing at her, reaching over to drag her into his side and keeping her there. “Never Tuktuk,” he tells her. “You’re too precious to be annoying. And you know that better than we do.” 

Her pout is replaced by a familiar bright smile, and she wiggles out from under Spider’s hand, dancing away to shove herself in between Tsireya and Lo’ak. 

“It won’t be that bad,” Spider tells him, and Aonung squeezes his shoulder. 

“I know,” he says, suddenly compassionate. Spider glances at him, surprised by the change. “But, you know you can also just visit to see us. And to get away from the madness, right? Treat this like a peaceful hideaway.” 

“Can I do the same?” Kiri asks from where she’s being side hugged by Roxto. 

“Me too please,” Neteyam says from Tisay’s side, tightening a strap on his harness before patting her flank. “I won’t last a day if Lo’ak’s going to keep mooning over Tisreya.” 

“You’re all welcome back, of course,” Tonowari says. “As long as you promise to keep our wayward children out of trouble.” 

“I think you’ll find it was our lot that got into trouble,” Da replies, and the two men laugh as if their kids aren’t right there. Spider rolls his eyes, and Kiri scoffs lightly, but they don’t say anything more of it. 

According to Neteyam, there’s fewer people on the beach to see them off than there had been to welcome them to the village. And Spider can sort of understand why, due to the fact that the rising tide has brought in a slew of fish ripe for catching. Who would want to say goodbye to the family that caused them so much trouble rather than go and catch some fish? 

Although there are groups of people there, they’re small family pods. And Spider supposes it’s so that the kids can get a glimpse of the flying creatures. He spots a few of the younger ones wiggling in their parents’ grip, reaching a hand out as if they can touch the ikrans from where they stand. 

Guy ruffles his wings at the attention, lifting his head a little higher when Spider bends underneath his chest to tighten the harness. He chirps in pride when the children squeals at his brightly coloured wings which spread a little when Spider ducks underneath. 

He comes back up and tightens the next strap a bit harder than needed. Smirking at his companion as he says, “Show off.” 

They prepare to take off in a flurry of activity, limbs slinging over the backs of companions, squawks echo over the beach as they settle. Ti’ong, with his white wings speckled by sand, snaps his teeth at Guy when he inches too close. Tuk berates her companion from where she sits in front of Ma, but the ikran only gives her an unimpressed look. 

One that has Lo’ak snorting loudly, and Kiri hiding a smile behind her hand. 

“Right, we’ll be going now,” Da says with a little uncertainty, and Spider holds back a small chuckle. He’d forgotten how awkward Da could be in official situations, and it seems this is no exception. 

Tonowari nods, and steps forward. Planting the hilt of his spear into the sand definitively. Tisreya and Aonung flank his right side, and Ronal joins them, cradling her still swollen stomach with one hand. She really shouldn’t be out in the heat, at least Spider thinks she shouldn’t, but no one is going to stop her. 

“Wait,” Kiri suddenly says, halting him in his place and drawing some ire from Ma. “Where’s Malachy?” 

“He can’t still be in the pod, right?” Lo’ak asks, and Spider twists at his waist, turning his head left to right before a hand sticks out from behind Neteyam’s back. 

“Right here,” Malachy says, and the small bit of tension that has suddenly formed in between his shoulders lessens. “You’re not leaving me behind.” 

Neteyam grumbles something too quietly for Spider to hear, but Malachy whacks him on his shoulder, making him flinch away with a laugh. 

“May I continue?” Tonowari asks, and Da nods with an exasperated sigh. “You are welcome back here when you’d like. Uturu will always be provided, and Awa’atlu will be your home. In two days, two months, or two years. You need only ask.” 

“Thank you,” Da replies, and Spider’s back straightens at the sound of his “Olo’eyktan voice”. Guy chirrups a little at the change in balance, but settles quickly. “And the same to you, and your people. We thank you for the support in a great time of need. Please, think the same of our home, it is open to you and yours should it be required.” 

Tonowari’s spear drops, and Da takes that as their sign to depart. He twitches Bob’s kuru, making his companion shriek loudly - causing the little ones to shout in delight - and turn towards the surf. 

They take off one by one, both to avoid a cloud of sand covering the people, and so that no collisions occur in the air. Spider trails behind Lo’ak, the tips of Guy’s wings grazing against ‘Alek’s once they become level. 

They head towards the horizon, passing over the reef quickly and coming to open water faster than Spider expected. He feels himself settle into Guy’s back further, ready for the long flight home. But he notices Lo’ak turn to look back, a mournful look on his face. 

“Don’t worry,” Spider says, drawing his attention away and giving him a smile. “You’ll be back soon. So don’t look back as if you’re never going to see it again.”

And Lo’ak’s expression settles into something hopeful and determined, as he says, “Yeah. You’re right.” 

His second return to the forest is much better than the first, in the sense that there’s no eyes keeping watch over his every move, and no tension in regards to what his companions might do. It means that, when they swoop over the tops of the trees, Malachy is able to look out to their surroundings in awe. 

Much like Spider had when they’d landed that first time. Craning his neck so badly that Malachy thought he’d strain something. 

It’s just as peaceful as it was last time, the calm washing over them like a gentle wave from the sea as they fly over the canopy. It’s quiet, and over the periodic flapping of ikran wings, Malachy can hear the occasional screech of the animals below. And Tuk’s excited yells at seeing the forest for the first time in a while. 

He finds himself leaning over a little to watch the forest go by below them, watching as the trees change the further inland they get. How the horizon gets swallowed up by greenery, and the smell of seawater is replaced by damp. 

“It’s rained,” Neteyam comments, and Malachy feels his cheeks burn a little. He must’ve heard him sniffing. A hand points out the dark heavy clouds they’re chasing after, and Malachy’s eyes widen at the sheets of rain falling to the ground. “Flash showers. They’re common during the hotter months, and usually quick to move on.” 

“Are they why the trees never shed their leaves?” he asks in fascination, but Neteyam gives him a strange look. 

“Why would they do that?” he asks. “We’d run out of food, and the balance would be completely thrown off. Do the trees on Earth do that?” 

“Some of them do,” Malachy replies with a shrug. “But to be honest there’s so few of them left, the information is coming from our science and history books.” 

Neteyam’s gaze softens with sympathy, and he makes a small noise of acknowledgement before turning back around again. Dipping Tisay’s snout a little bit lower, so that her claws graze against the tree tops, and her speed slows just enough for Malachy to be able to watch without getting dizzy.

“The forest seems happier,” Kiri calls from where she floats on Timal’s back. 

“And you can tell how?” Neteyam asks, and she gives them a mischievous face. 

“Not telling you,” she says. 

And at the same time, Spider shouts over, “Magic spooky powers.”

Tuk laughs loudly, the sound coming from the depths of her stomach, and her smile widens. It has Malachy chuckling too, because Spider’s grin is wider than he’s ever seen it. The position of his body is so relaxed that he could be a completely different boy to the Spider he knew on the SeaDragon. 

Malachy goes to mention it to Spider, but he only gets to open his mouth before it gapes wider in awe. Because they fly underneath the Hallelujah mountains. And they’re even more impressive than the first time he’d set eyes on them. 

The clouds barely graze the bottom of the cliffs, hiding their edges and making their shapes indistinguishable. The ikrans fly around the vines tying the mountains to the ground with ease, even when a few are completely hidden by mist. It’s a dangerous flight, and Malachy finds his hand gripping onto Neteyam’s arm whenever something scares him. But he stays on Tisay’s back, and even remembers to loosen the hold his knees have on her flanks. 

“Not much further,” Neteyam calls back over his shoulder, and Malachy tries to actively loosens his fingers. It’s a relief to know, but it doesn’t help that his stomach swoops with dread anyway. Because whilst that would mean he wouldn’t be stressing about possibly falling to his death, there is a more pressing and present danger awaiting him. 

After all, a Na’vi clan who’s home and people had been destroyed and killed by humans, is probably not going to be the most welcoming. If anything, Malachy is prepared for the same hostility levels as those he experienced with the Metkayina people, but he’s expecting something worse than that. 

But he doesn’t get much time to dwell on that problem, as a chorus of vocalisations and sounds greet them. And multiple warriors on ikrans carve through the wind to lead them to the entrance. Neteyam and the rest of the family return their sounds, and Malachy has to refrain from holding his hands over his ears. 

Because the joyous words are too good to miss. 

“Jakesulli is back!” 

“The family has returned!” 

“And Spider’s there, I see him!” 

“Glad to see you’re alright kiddo!” 

And as they climb higher, and get closer to the largest mountain Malachy has seen, the shouts get louder and more consistent, until they’re overwhelmed by a wall of sound. But it’s not oppressive, or scary, and it’s why he wants to hear every single bit of it. 

It’s pure, unadulterated joy and support, rising up from their chests and nearly becoming something he can see. It makes the day seem brighter, and widens everyone's smile. Malachy chuckles at Tuk’s enthusiastic waving, and Kiri’s tearful grin. He smiles at the warmth in his own chest, even though it takes him by surprise. 

They land within the mountain to the same level of noise, a crowd gathering around their ikrans, hands up to welcome them gladly. But Malachy hangs back when the family initially disembark from their ikrans. Because for one thing, he doesn’t want to become overwhelmed by the throng of people. And for another, they need this time to reunite with friends and family, without any hostility or anger. 

So he stays on Tisay’s back for as long as he can, rounding himself a little to keep from being seen. Until the crowd moves further into the cavern, and Malachy is able to hope down unseen. As he collects his small pack of belongings, he can’t help but watch as Spider is enveloped in multiple warm hugs. One is more gentle and loving than the other two, and one is more hesitant. But none are less adoring. 

It’s strange to see the kid amongst his own clan, mainly because he’s so small in comparison to them, and yet they don’t treat him as such. They crouch to hug him, apart from a few people who lift him to fling him around boldly. They keep their gestures small so that their arms don’t hit him accidentally. And when they notice Spider’s tiny flinches, they quieten their voices, and elbow others when they don’t get the memo right away. 

It’s why Malachy feels he can sneak away, because the kid is being cared for. And the protective snarl that had been occupying his headspace can die down a little. At least, he thought he could sneak away. 

But Mo’at appearing behind him scuppers his plans, although he makes a valiant effort to keep his yelp from reaching the others. His lip hurts like a bitch though. 

“Your sneaking is not as effective as you think,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest imperiously. Malachy tenses a little, clutching the strap of his pack so that the edges dig against his hip. “But, if you’d like some solitude, there is a shortcut around the cookfire that leads to the pod.”

“O-Oh,” Malachy replies, glancing at the merry crackling flames, which are a bare few yards away from the main crowd. “Thank you?” 

There’s a few seconds of silence, and Malachy gets the distinct sense that Mo’at is waiting for him to say something else. If her tilted head is anything to go by. But he doesn’t know what else to say, so he dithers. Until she sighs and says, “Would you like me to lead you there?” 

“Yes please,” he replies, and she nods, grabbing hold of his pack and slinging it over her own shoulder. Ignoring his complaints. 

“Come,” she says, and Malachy can do nothing but follow. 

And it’s only as they’re passing by the cookfire that he’s realising what she’s doing. By placing herself on the outside, closer to the flames, she’s blocking him from view. Providing he keeps pace with her. And by taking hold of his bag, she’s giving herself a plausible reason to escape the hubbub and noise, should anyone ask where she’s going.

“Thank you,” he says once they’ve gotten free of the noise levels, and they’re heading deeper into the camp. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything by being a nuisance.” 

“And why would you think of yourself as a nuisance?” Mo’at asks plainly, and Malachy keeps his eyes firmly on his feet. “Is it because you believe you would break the atmosphere by bringing about hostility?” 

“In a nutshell, yeah,” he murmurs, and Mo’at scoffs quietly. Although it’s not a mean sound. 

“Sometimes I do not understand the ways of you humans,” she replies, and Malachy can’t help but laugh. 

She pulls back the cover on a darkened pod, and Malachy steps through to a dark and dusty interior. He’s suddenly glad for his exopack, because he would surely be sneezing up a storm at the amount of dust mites floating in the air. Pallets sit rolled up neatly at the edges of the living space, and the firepit stands empty. 

Mo’at hands him his pack before striding towards the logs to her left, and Malachy dithers, again. Until she turns to him, wood pieces in hand and says sternly, “I would like your help.” 

He’s come to know that sometimes what she says is not a question, and he hurries forward to aid in sparking the flint. Bending over the flickering kindling to monitor its growing flames, and nodding at Mo’at when it’s time to coax the fire to life with her breath. 

Once it’s at a suitable height, he sits back with a tired sigh. Light gives the pod a cosy glow, and his eyes catch on the main support beam which towers above his head. It’s thick and sturdy, and not from this side of the forest, if his plant studies are still in date. But what gets his attention, are the small markings which crawl up the beam in intervals, and end just at Malachy’s height. 

When he reaches up to touch them, he finds the wood is rough, as if they’ve been carved into the wood itself. He suddenly gets the feeling that he’s touching history, and pulls his hand away. 

“No matter how many years he’s spent on our planet,” Mo’at suddenly says from where she sits at the fireside, “Jakesulli has never been able to shake some Earth traditions.” 

“They’re their heights,” Malachy replies, and she nods with a quiet hum. He can’t take his eyes off them now, and finds himself imagining the kids running around Jake’s feet as he measures them diligently. Laughing over who’s taller than who, complaining when one of them stands on their toes or stretches their neck longer than usual. 

And he suddenly feels his chest and stomach ache with so much want it has him hissing quietly. Barely holding back from curling into a ball. 

Mo’at moves towards him, but Malachy lifts his hand to wave her off. She backs away, but is obviously reluctant to do so, and for a moment he wonders what he’s done to warrant such care. 

But then he’s distracted from his morbid thoughts by the sudden chirping of his datapad. Which has Mo’at hissing but only in annoyance, and turning away from the technology with a degrading word. Malachy scrambles to answer it, and bumps his wrist against something sharp in his pack in the meantime. 

He stands to move towards the edge of the pod, turning so that his back is leant against the wall and that the datapad can only see his face before he answers it. Wincing at the bright light of the laboratory, and the intensity of Max and Norm’s smiles. 

“Hey bud,” Max says, and Malachy can’t help the tiny wave he gives in return. “We thought we’d check in when we spotted the datapad had moved away from the ocean. Are you guys back in High Camp?” 

“You really need to turn off the tracker in that thing,” Norm adds. “If we can access it, the RDA could have had a prime reason to use it too. Thankfully they’re too boneheaded to figure that out.” 

“I think it only turns on when it’s in range with one of the control towers,” Malachy explains, minimising the screen for a moment to open a map of the forest. “There’s one at the edge of the mountains.” 

He doesn’t notice Mo’at’s shoulders rising slightly, mostly because he’s distracted by the curious sounds that escape Norm’s lips as he too takes a look at the tower in question. “That would be useful. Could connect us to Hell’s Gate, see what the damage is.” 

“Damage?” Malachy asks, tilting his head slightly. “Last I heard, Ardmore had been using Hell’s Gate as a storage facility.” 

“But that means its satellites are still intact,” Norm tells him, tapping away on another datapad. “Meaning we’d have access to the grounded aircraft, and the ability to connect to the IVS.” 

“Why?” Malachy asks, his stomach dropping a little in dread. Because he knows the answer already, but he just doesn’t want to hear it come from Norm’s lips. 

“So we can get you, and any survivors home,” Norm says, as if it’s obvious. “Some of those guys are due in court to testify.” 

“And why do I need to go with them?” Malachy asks, wondering if it would be childish to shout at them. To demand that they let him stay, that he doesn’t have anything back there to keep him tied to Earth, that he’d be completely happy becoming a modern day Tarzan, living deep within the forest if he could. “I don’t need to go back, and if you need someone to monitor the ship’s progress I can do that from here.” 

By the expression on Max’s face, he’s not telling him something. The pucker of his brow, the downcast set of his eyebrows. The muscle jumping in his jaw. 

“What?” Malachy asks when the silence drags for longer than he likes. And Norm turns away in his chair until all he can see is his right side. “What is it? Has she gotten to you too, Max? Is she demanding you drag me back like a misbehaving child? Or is it really that you need me to testify too?” 

“No,” Max says, and it’s quiet, but so heavy that it has Malachy’s jaw snapping closed. He sighs heavily, and Malachy’s heart begins to pump in his chest. “It’s your mother, they don’t think she’s got much time left.” 

“I could’ve told you that five years ago,” Malachy says with a derivative snort, but Max’s expression becomes stern. 

“Her lawyers have been asking for you for a few weeks now,” he tells Malachy. “Because you’re her last remaining child, when she inevitably does go, the estate and her affairs fall to you. She’s also been asking for you, so yes. You need to come back.” 

“I’m not at her beck and call,” Malachy snarls. 

“I know,” Max replies. “But the estate includes everything Roisin owned too. And I don’t think you want that to be falling into the wrong hands.” 

“The gannets have started flocking, have they?”

“Mm,” Max replies, and Malachy’s head dips. His knees shake so much he finds himself sliding down to the ground, pulling them to his chest and scrubbing at his face tiredly. 

“When would we launch?” he asks next, and Max’s expression loosens a little. 

“Next round of supplies is meant to begin its orbit in about a week or so,” Norm replies just off camera. “If you can get a shuttle up and running, you can connect with the ISV at its peak and we can handle the rest from there.” 

There’s a silence, and Malachy chances a glance at Mo’at, only catching an unreadable expression on her face before she’s turning back to the firepit. Indecision keeps his tongue still, and has him biting his lip. A question, needy and pathetic, crawls up his throat and occupies the space behind his molars as it grows. 

Until he can’t contain it any longer, and lets it flow free. 

“Can I come back?” he asks, and his breath hitching quietly. Max blinks in surprise, opening and closing his mouth a few times as his brain visibly computes the question. Malachy, again, doesn’t notice the slight raise of Mo’at’s shoulders. 

“I-If that’s what you want bud,” Max replies. “And if you think you’ll be able to. I wouldn’t want to send you back into a hostile environment, or one where you’d just be isolating yourself.” 

Malachy pauses, and thinks it over for a second, his heart speeding up a little at the realisation that he wouldn’t know what he’d be coming back to. But he wouldn’t be able to stay on Earth, even if he tried. 

“He would be welcomed back,” Mo’at suddenly says, and Malachy jolts in surprise, dropping the datapad on the floor. He isn’t quick enough to beat Mo’at’s hand, and she picks up the technology so that she is speaking to the humans. “I would see to it that he wouldn’t be met with hostility, or be able to hide himself away. If he truly thinks of our planet as his home, then it will be so.” 

“Great,” Max says with some relief, and Malachy is embarrassed to feel his nose burning with tears. He hastily wipes his cheeks before they can fall, sniffling when Mo’at asks about the shuttle they’d need to unearth, covering the sound with her voice. 

It seems Mo’at is way better at cutting off calls when they become too long, and the two of them fall back into silence again. Malachy can’t help but stare at her and wonder why, although she doesn’t look at him. And the quiet is broken by the arrival of the others. 

“So this is where you two went,” Spider comments, bounding over with a sort of giddy energy. 

“You missed it, everyone has so many stories to catch up on I couldn’t keep up,” Tuk exclaims, placing herself on Malachy’s other side. He tries to come up with a smile, but it’s weak enough that she notices, and her excitement dies a little. 

“We thought it would be good to open up the pod before you arrived,” Mo’at explains, gesturing towards the merry fire, and the lack of dust mites. Which billow in the light when packs and rugs and supplies land on the woven ground with muted thumps. 

As the rest of the family begin to settle, Spider leans over a little, noticing Malachy’s low energy as well as he whispers, “What’s wrong?” 

But Malachy waves him away for now, wanting to sit with the revelation. His eyes continued to flicker towards Mo’at, looking for something that wasn’t there. So much so that she takes notice, and reaches across Spider to pat his knee in response, leading the three of them to the edge of the firepit. 

Closer to the warmth and nearer to the chatter. 

Malachy hadn’t allowed himself to do so whilst they stayed with the Metkayina. Part of him thought he wasn’t allowed to, and then that part considered that he didn’t deserve to. Until it became a habit and he began to isolate himself. But bit by bit, he’s come to want to be closer to the firepit. Wanting to be nearer to such a close fit family unit. 

And maybe that’s the real reason why he wants to stay. Even with the remaining dregs of tension lying over them, the Sullys have been the closest he’s ever gotten to a normal family relationship. But the question remains; would they actually welcome him back if he goes away for the 12 year round trip it’ll take him to get back to Earth? 

He’d be 36, not a kid anymore but with hardly any life experience to be considered an adult. If anything, he’d still have the mindset of someone in their early 20s. He begins picking at his nails as he thinks, until Spider’s hand stills his own. 

And he glances up to a range of worried faces, which has him flinching back in surprise. 

“What’s wrong?” Jake asks sternly, garnering no push back. “Is it one of Ardmore’s people? Are they demanding something?” 

“No,” Malachy replies hesitantly, reluctantly. “Max and Norm found a way to connect with Hell’s Gate, and its shuttles. They think they can get me onto one of them to go back. To Earth.” 

There’s quiet, heavy and oppressive, and not nice to sit in. And every pair of eyes, apart from Mo’at’s, blink at him a few times. Computing just like Max had. Until they suddenly understand, and the noise level in the pod ratchets up a little bit. Because the kids start shouting, and the adults demand explanations. 

“What?!” 

“You’re leaving?!” 

“What the hell.” 

“Language.” 

“When did this happen? We didn’t discuss this, and I believe it is important enough to discuss.” 

“Were you going to tell us? Or just disappear?” 

“Has this got something to do with your family?” 

“Would you stop!” Malachy exclaims, and the sound cuts abruptly. Leaving behind the distant ambient sounds of the villagers outside, and the heaving of Malachy’s chest. “I’ll tell you all I can to have you understand, alright?” 

Instinctively they settle, and Neytiri turns to helping Mo’at prepare a meal. Probably for something to do with her hands as Malachy explains himself. 

“I didn’t choose to come here at first,” he begins, playing with the hems of his trousers, “I was guilted– forced by my mother, both because the RDA has a file of my sister’s memories which they were threatening to use to make another recom, and because my mother had some harebrained idea that something here on Pandora could help with her cancer, a sickness which is killing her from the inside.” 

Neyitiri scoffs as if it’s the stupidest idea she’s ever heard, and Malachy finds he has to agree. 

“My mother is a cruel stubborn bitch, and I came here to appease her,” he explains. “She put myself and my sister into military and educational training with the RDA to make herself look good to the higher ups. She was a Colonel in the European division of the company, and saw to use us as her way to get into the US branch’s good graces. 

“So Roisin, my sister was sent to Pandora as a pilot, and I was enrolled in one of their universities to learn all I could about Na’vi culture and language. And then she died when I turned 16, and I became my mother’s one hope. My father didn’t do anything to stop her, and it sometimes got to a point where she would shove either of us anywhere she thought would gain her credit.” 

He’s breathing heavily, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt lighter in his life. Like something heavy is being lifted off his chest with everything he admits. 

(But keeping his eyes down means he doesn’t see the looks being traded between the family members. The worried gazes landing on his shoulders and back as they begin to curve with the weight of his own words. 

He doesn’t notice how they’ve begun to inch closer to him, now near enough to reach out their hands if they wanted to.)

“She nearly let the RDA use Roisin’s memories, but then realised how much she would be changed by the transfer. My sister had begun to get sympathetic to your people’s plight, but it was at war with the side of her that wanted to do best by our mother’s wishes,” he explains. “So by putting such a turmoiled mind into a younger body with little recollection of how they died, and you get the exact same mind fuckery experienced in Quaritch and the rest of his goons.” 

He stops again to catch his breath, and apologises quietly for his language before continuing. 

“But now the crazy old bitch is about to kick the bucket,” he says. “And I have to go back to Earth in order to save the family funds, estate, land, and mine and Roisin’s belongings before the rest of our extended family can get their hands on it.

“But, as soon as that’s done, I’m on the next transport back out here,” he says, and quickly bites down on his lip. He didn’t mean to tell them that bit. He thought he’d introduce the idea as cautiously as he dared, in case they refused and he’d be stuck on Earth. So he continues hesitantly, saying, “That is, if you’ll have me?” 

He keeps picking at the hem of his trousers, fingers moving faster, pulling on a loose thread, winding it around so that it cuts off some circulation and turns it red. He doesn’t lift his eyes even as the silence drags, and feels his stomach slowly sink and turn to ice. Because whilst it’s all very well and good for Mo’at to say he’d have a home here, she doesn’t represent the rest of the family, some of whom only still tolerate him and would probably be glad to be rid of him. 

He waits, for what he doesn’t know, and he’s about to crack with the pressure he feels. His mouth opens, and he’s about to brush aside his own words, possibly laugh at himself, when he feels his entire being just…stop. 

His muscles tense, his bones creak and his breath halts in his chest at the blue arms wrapping around his body. They’re smaller than an adult’s, and after a millisecond, Malachy blinks to gain back his bearings. Eyes landing on braids and beads, his brain unable to compute what’s happening. 

He catches sight of the others, counts them out slowly, and stops when he realises who’s missing. Realises just who is hugging him. 

It breaks him. Truly and completely, his face crumpling and his chest heaving with sobs that would usually be bending his back. He feels his body melt into Neteyam’s grip, his own hands reaching up to grasp at his elbow, his shoulder, anything he can reach. 

And the others come to surround them too, even Neytiri although she is a bit slower than the rest of her family. They circle them on all sides, and suddenly all Malachy can feel are hands and arms, cradling him, touching him, comforting him however they could with whatever part of him they can reach.

Tuk’s small ones grabbing his own. Kiri’s slim ones reach for his side, slipping around his back. Spider’s calloused ones gripping onto his arm tightly, Lo’ak’s nimble fingers wrapping around his shoulders, Jake’s rough knuckles brushing away a strand of his hair which has fallen over the glass of his mask, something in his brow wobbling at the lack of contact with his cheeks. Neytiri’s hesitantly coming up to the top of his head, and resting there lightly.

Tears slide down his face, and plop against the edge of the mask, making his cheeks itch slightly. 

“You’ll be welcomed home when you return here,” Jake says, his voice wobbly and wet. And for a brief, crazy moment, Malachy thinks that there’s not a dry eye in the house. Or, pod. “And don’t think it’ll be anything else.”

“It’d be a bit stupid if you thought it was anything else,” Spider comments. “It’d be rude actually.” 

“Shush you,” Kiri tells him, although it doesn’t have the usual sternness behind it. It has Malachy laughing anyway, although the sound is wetter than he’d like, and he leans further into Neteyam’s grasp. 

Neteyam. The thought that he’s actively hugging Malachy still has him blinking in surprise, but he always finds that it’s best not to think too hard in these types of situations. So he stops his thoughts from spiralling, and tightens his grip on the boy’s back. 

A lighter quiet returns to the pod, and Malachy begins to realise how tired he is, and how slow his brain feels from the emotional outburst. When the quiet is broken again. 

“Well,” Lo’ak says in a chirpy manner, “seeing as we’re doing big emotional reveals, I suppose it’s a good time to tell you guys that…I’m leaving too.”

“We know,” everyone replies in unison, cutting Lo’ak off before he can even think about getting dramatic. 

He squawks loudly anyway. “How did you know?!” 

“It’s kind of obvious,” Spider replies with a cheeky grin. “You weren’t going to leave your girlfriend behind. And you’re not very subtle when it comes to having private talks.” 

“And why aren’t you getting all emotional for me?!” 

“Because you’ll be a day’s flight away,” Neteyam quips back, his hands tightening ever so slightly. “I think that doesn’t deserve such a big reaction. And we’ve known for days, your wanting eyes are really not as secretive as you think.” 

“Well aren’t you all just nosy…eavesdroppers,” Lo’ak grumbles, crossing his arms fiercely over his chest. 

It’s too petty, too childish, and too funny for Malachy to keep from laughing. And it escapes his lips before he can hold it back, the sound bright and violent. Catching everyone off guard as he smacks a hand to his lips in embarrassment. But then, it has everyone laughing, even Lo’ak, and Malachy finds he has to pull his hand away again to join in. 

And as he basks in the comforting embrace still wrapped around him, floating on the buoyant laughter that has his heart feeling light yet full at the same time, he glances at Spider for a moment. 

Nodding in something like acceptance when the kid’s gaze connects with his. 

Yeah, he could get used to this. Quite nicely. 

Many years later…

His third and final return to the forest is calmer, quieter, and with far less activity than his first two. 

There’s no soldiers pushing him forward, no tall blue colonels glaring at him, and no fierce and joyous calls to greet him. But he finds he doesn’t mind, discovers he likes being able to hear the sound of his boots thudding against the ground as they’re removed immediately. 

He takes no small amount of joy in being able to feel grass against his toes, the hissing of his exopack a familiar and welcome accompaniment to his arrival. The engines of his transport die, leaving him with the ambient sounds of the animals and plants around him. 

He turns his head once, taking everything in. The tall trees, the ikrans darting across the phantom of Polyphemus, the constant movement of the tree spirits as they work their way through their home. He turns it back, and finds himself grinning at the sight before him. 

The kid is no longer a kid anymore, but a man. And he steps forward with a warrior’s greeting, palm out to meet him as the rest of his family step forward to join them. 

Malachy’s hand slaps against Spider’s with a heavy clap, and he finds his grin getting wider. 

“Welcome home,” Spider tells him. And Malachy’s fingers tighten against his, his chest rising with the biggest breath he feels he’s taken in years, lungs expanding and contracting with the scent of refiltered oxygen, and a hint of damp from the passing rains . 

“It’s good to be back.”