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The cold burned his face as harshly as any fire could. He blinked away the snowflakes, fatter and thicker than they ever had been on Earth, making it nearly impossible to see where to put one step in front of the other. Snow stuck to his furs, giving him a second coat and providing the most perfect, unnecessary camouflage.
He had to keep going.
The blizzard grew angrier the longer he walked. With each step it tried to blow him down, block his path. Quaritch persisted. For this, he would keep going.
His knees were shaking with exertion by the time he reached the Na’vi village, sweat coating the inside of his furs and his breaths coming in short pants.
But he was here.
He surveyed the village below, the small huts nestled in the valley barely visible beneath the onslaught of the storm. Not a soul was in sight, but despite the weather there were tracks between the dwellings, made either by the Na’vi or their massive wolfhounds.
Movement caught his eye from the edge of the village, near the treeline that bordered the valley. He would never have noticed it if it weren’t for the flash of its teeth upon the snow. A huge white shadow stirred, its head pointing up toward Quaritch. How had it sensed him from this far?
For a long moment, the wolfhound and the Colonel stared at each other.
Then the wolf bounded off toward the village, seemingly unaffected by the blizzard.
There went the element of surprise.
But Quaritch could hardly bring himself to care. Eight long years he’d waited.
He started his way down the valley.
“Steady… Hold it…”
Spider held his breath, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Now!” Pxahìl muttered, and Spider released.
The net sprung free, floating down to gently capture the snowflies that were hovering over a snow covered bush in the woods.
Pxahìl gave him an approving glance as they hopped down from the branch to collect the sparkling, berry sized flies that only come out to play in blizzards. Spider opened his buckskin and carefully transferred the flies into it.
“Is that enough?”
“They will last a day,” Pxahìl replied. “Best to catch more.” The snow Na’vi’s accent was thick, but Spider liked it. In the time he’d been here he’d already picked up some of the twang himself.
Spider nodded. “I can carry on. I think I’ve got it.”
Pxahìl smiled, grasping Spider on the shoulder. “I will leave you, Spider.”
“I see you,” he gestured as Pxahìl gathered his things and whistled his wolfhound. The white-furred beast appeared through the trees, trotting easily over the snow, and Pxahìl jumped up onto its back.
It wouldn’t be long before Spider attempted to bond with his own wolfhound. He and Kiri would ascend the Hertxayo peak together, partaking in the ancient iknimaya of the snow Na’vi in just a few days, if the chief allowed it. As a representative of Eywa’s resistance it fell mostly to Spider to seek out and ally with far away clans, learning their culture and spreading the word of the resistance. Teaching them, if they allowed it, the ways of the enemy, so that they may be able to fight back when the day comes.
Spider restrung the net on his crossbow, his hands stiff with cold, and began to track a new cloud of snowflies. The clan used them for food, as well as for light during the short days. Once the sun set and during the eclipse, the flies sparkled with a light Spider had never seen before, so different from the bioluminescent glow of his home. Kiri, of course, had wowed the clan with her ability to sway the creatures into spectacular light shows against the night sky. They’d almost bowed down to her right there.
Spider nearly had too.
Against the onslaught of the RDA, he and Kiri were constant. A unit. A link in a chain that wouldn’t ever break. He didn’t know if he could have done any of it without her. Aside from the political statement they made for the clans - Eywa’s child and the human she blessed - he needed her deeply. She was his air to breath, his fuel to fight, his reason for being. And he was hers.
Right now she was at the village, helping the people keep the firepits burning or sewing new furs - a constant task in these parts. He smiled as he pictured her, the firelight dancing across her face and lighting her eyes in the most beautiful way. It kept him warm as he huddled into his furs, waiting on a sturdy branch for another swarm of snowflies to pass below.
By the time his feet had numbed and twilight had begun in force, they appeared right where he knew they would. Gently floating over against the wind, sheltered more in the woods than the valley, there were thousands of them, larger than any swarm he’d seen with Pxahìl. They danced and swirled with the snowflakes, a union that took his breath away. A constellation brighter than the stars.
He waited, just as Pxahìl had taught him, before releasing the crossbow and capturing a pocket of the swarm. He’d need a net thirty feet wide to catch all of them. The others didn’t seem to notice the assault, continuing to dance against the snow, catching the light and reflecting it back in a million directions like diamonds. Spider unstuck himself from the branch, slowly entering the swarm.
They hummed musically, singing their song as he held his hand out. One of them landed on his finger, then another on his shoulder. Up close he could see their antennae sniffing his furs, wondering if he was food.
A smile pulled at his lips as they lit up the clearing, lit up him.
Quaritch lost his footing, sliding down the last few feet to the relative flatness of the valley. Down here, the snow drifts were even higher, almost waist height in places. He kept moving, keeping to the shallow parts as closely as possible. Once the village was a few hundred feet away, he decided it was time to bury the rifle in the snow. He had other options concealed under his furs anyway.
Eventually he heard shouts and looked up to see snow Na’vi rushing toward him from the village.
Here goes nothing.
He raised his hands high, closing the distance between them as best he could with his hindered movement. The locals didn’t seem to have any problem traversing the snow.
Lucky bastards.
“I come in peace!” he called out.
But the Na’vi didn’t meet him with weapons raised. Concern and worry was written across their faces, but they weren’t hostile.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” an older one with a white fur wrapped tightly around his neck asked.
Undulations followed from the rest of them, echoing his question.
Quaritch surveyed them. This group that had come to meet him was only about twenty strong. All adult Na’vi. No one smaller. For some reason he found himself breathing out a sigh of relief. Even though he knew the moment was coming.
“My name is Quaritch. I am a simple nomad, looking for shelter in this storm.” He spoke slowly since their accent was pointedly northern, and his own American one he knew was jarring to these people.
“A nomad?” the same elder one asked - presumably the Olo’ekytan. “There are no nomads in these parts.”
“Well there is now,” Quaritch huffed. “I’m unarmed, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just looking for shelter.”
He beseeched the Olo’eyktan as best he could with his eyes as the man scrutinised him. His clothes, his accent. The scars on his burnt face.
“Come,” the Olo’eyktan said after a moment. “We will talk inside.”
Quaritch actually did sigh in relief, following their trails in the snow to make the way back to the village.
Warm light seeped out of the huts, which up close Quaritch realised were dug into the earth, half below ground level. Smoke streamed out of all of them through a small hole in the top, the largest of which was the shelter they were heading towards. It looked like some sort of community hall. They peeled back a thick curtain of furs, revealing an antechamber which was also lined with thick pelts along all walls, the floor and the ceiling. The Na’vi took off their cloaks, hanging them to let the snow drip off. Quaritch followed suit when they looked at him expectantly.
Then they pulled back the second curtain of furs to reveal the building inside. It was large and circular in shape - forty yards or so in diameter. Two steep steps led down to the floor where a huge firepit burned in the centre. Fallen trees were used as benches around the fire and sconces that contained glowing bugs hung around the walls for extra lighting. Inside was filled with people, all pale with sparkly freckles, like all snow Na’vi. A group of kids were huddled around a blue female, who was casting puppet shadows against the wall.
Quaritch’s breath caught in his throat. He scanned the kids that were gathered, looking for…
“Welcome,” said the Olo’eyktan. “My name is Wìäl. Please be seated.”
The blue female across the room looked up, and they locked eyes.
Her expression widened in shock.
Slowly, she got to her feet, gesturing for the kids to stay put.
People started to catch on as they stared at each other, the girl walking toward him and parting the crowd to do so.
Questions were being asked to him, but Quaritch barely heard.
He swallowed, looking around again for any sign of-
“You’re dead,” she whispered, standing before him, stunned.
“Officially,” he found himself saying. He worked his jaw. All these years searching, and now he was so close…
He had no idea what to say.
“What are you doing here?”
“You know this man?” Wìäl asked.
Sully’s daughter looked at the Olo’eyktan, nodding.
This could be it. She could tell them everything and they could skewer him right here if they fancied. He would accept it, but he needed to see the boy first.
“Is he here?” Quaritch asked only of her.
“Is that why you came?”
He took a breath, knowing honesty was his best option right now. “Yes.”
“Search him,” Kiri raised her voice. “He could be armed.”
The clan obeyed immediately, and Quaritch’s furs were suddenly being pulled and patted. Damn. One of them confiscated his knife, and then they got to the pistol concealed in his belt. He grinned awkwardly, raising his hands as the clan hissed in horror. Spears and knives were pointed at him, and angry shouts rose from around the room. People hurried to stand in front of the kids, as if Quaritch was gonna beeline straight for them.
“Who are you?!” Wìäl demanded, letting the warriors amongst them hold him at spearpoint. “You are no nomad.”
“I am a Sky Man,” Quaritch conceded. “But I mean you no harm. I’m just looking for someone, then I’ll be on my way.”
“You’re not taking him,” Kiri promised.
Quaritch shook his head. “I’m not here to do that. I just need to see him. Speak to him.”
Kiri’s face was inscrutable.
“Where is he?” Quaritch urged.
She narrowed her eyes.
Damn. He didn’t know what he was expecting exactly, but suddenly it was clear this wasn’t going to be easy. “I ain’t here to hurt either of you. I just need to see my son.” Had he really been so naive to expect the girl to just hand him over?
“I don’t understand how you’re alive. And why are you looking for Spider? It’s been years.”
He’d really rather save this conversation for the right person, but even he realised it wouldn’t be that easy. “When I jumped off that rock, I didn’t die.” His voice hardened at the memory. At the pain of the flames licking his face… “I crawled through the burning water and dragged myself out. Varang saved me. She healed me. I knew I had to lay low from the RDA. They would have killed me for desertion.”
Kiri shook her head in disbelief. Her tail swished behind her. “What are you doing here now?”
Quaritch levelled her with a look, the rest of the room forgotten. “I’ve been looking for him for a long time.”
Spider sighed as the snowflies drifted around him, dancing with the gently falling snow. He shouldn’t have lingered out here for so long. Twilight had fallen in earnest, the stars and aurora becoming visible between the thin branches overhead. Besides them, the snowflies were the only source of light in the sparse woods.
He’d always been comfortable out on his own, but tonight felt different. He couldn't quite put his finger on the sensation. Not quite eerie… more like something was aligning. He should head back.
He took one last look at the cloud of snowflies that had surrounded him. They were dazzling. He’d have to bring Kiri back here tomorrow night, if the storm didn’t make it impossible. He had just shouldered his crossbow when the crunching of snow alerted him to a presence over his shoulder. He turned immediately, hand going towards the hunting knife in his belt.
What he saw made him stop dead.
A figure, emerging from the trees. A figure, tall and dressed in furs that weren’t made by the village. A figure that stopped and stared at the sight of Spider. His face was concealed by a fur mask, but from what little skin Spider could make out… The figure was the dark blue of the forest.
What the hell?
“Who are you?” Spider called out, unnerved. A visiting nomad maybe? But why were they out in the woods this late?
The figure slowly reached a hand up to unwrap the fur that had been protecting his face.
Spider’s heart skipped a beat.
It wasn’t-
It couldn’t be.
The right side of the man’s face carried ugly scarring, making Spider doubt the instincts that were screaming at him.
It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t, that man was dead…
“Hi, son.”
He barely registered the gasp that escaped him.
That voice.
It was him.
Everything around them froze. Even the wind disappeared. Spider removed his own mask and could do nothing but stare at the Colonel as he tried to understand the sight before him.
“You’re dead,” he whispered.
“Fortunately not, kid.”
Kid. The word alone opened a floodgate of memories that Spider never realised he’d repressed. All those nights in the forest… the First Recom Squad… the weeks on the SeaDragon… being dragged through Bridgehead and everything that had happened there. He was just a kid when it all happened. It was a lifetime ago.
He barely recognised the memories as his own.
“I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
Spider’s brain had short circuited. How could this be real? He’d seen the man jump. Watched him fall through fire. “How?” his voice barely carried the short distance between them. It was as much as he could manage.
Quaritch inclined his head in a way that was so characteristically him that it took Spider’s breath away.
“When I fell into that inferno, it wasn’t the end. I landed in the water, but the flames gave me this…” he gestured to the scarring on his face. “I crawled out. Survived. Healed.”
Spider shook his head, but he couldn’t deny the evidence in front of his eyes.
“Varang patched me up, but I couldn’t go back. I had to let them believe I’d died in battle.”
It was too much. Spider swallowed, trying to come up with an appropriate response when all of his emotions were swirling as ferociously as the blizzard over the valley.
“Son?” Quaritch prompted when Spider remained quiet.
“I… I can’t…”
“Spider.”
Spider looked up.
“It’s me. I’m here.”
Rage against the past battled his emotions, commanding his heart not to bleed for Quaritch. “Am I supposed to be happy to see you?” he croaked.
Quaritch’s mouth hardened, but he didn’t make any other move.
“Everything you did… I was a kid then, I couldn’t understand. But I’m not anymore.” Eight years’ worth of rage was cresting close to the surface, finally getting an outlet it had been denied for so long. “I can see you for everything you did. For what you are.”
“Spider,” Quaritch began. “I’ve changed. I’m not that man.”
Spider just blinked away a tear. “Why do you keep coming back?”
“You wanna know?” Fire heated Quaritch’s voice. “For you.”
Spider resisted the urge to flinch.
“I keep coming back for you. Because you’re the only thing that makes sense.”
Spider was frozen in shock.
“In this life… on this planet… in this whole goddamn existence I’ve kinda realised the only thing that matters to me is you.” He paused to take a breath. “Forget anything else. Forget Earth! I don’t know how but it’s not important if you’re not there. I’ve been on my own, searching for you, following the stories of the Air Breather. For years. And finally… I found you.”
“You don’t get to do that!” Spider shouted. The strength of his conviction surprised even him. He’d never stood up for himself against Quaritch before, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t do it now. “You don’t get to come here and say you missed me and you’ve spent all this time looking! You had a chance to open your eyes! But you chose to throw yourself off that rock… You have only yourself to blame!”
“I know that, son. I ain’t accusing nobody.”
When had they switched to English? Spider didn’t care.
“Fuck!” Quaritch cast around frustratedly. “I know it’s on me. I know it.” He struggled for a moment, searching for the right words. “Listen, kid…”
Spider's chest heaved with the effort of keeping himself together, but he wasn’t being very successful. His hands trembled.
“I just… need to see you.” Quaritch’s voice broke.
It was that which crumpled Spider’s final wall. The sincerity in Quaritch’s eyes and hopelessness in his gesture brought eight years of repressed longing crashing down on Spider in a surge he couldn’t deny and didn’t have any willpower left to resist.
“Dad?” Spider whispered. The word was foreign on his tongue.
They stared at each other, and in the light of the snowflies Spider saw wetness in the eyes of the man across from him.
Quaritch held his arms out.
Tentatively at first, inviting Spider over.
And Spider, Eywa damn him, stepped closer. Then again. And again, until he was in front of Quaritch and being pulled close, wrapped in the man’s arms as Quaritch embraced him, laying his head on Spider’s.
Spider could not help it. His own tears dampened Quaritch’s furs as he let him hold him.
He closed his eyes and he was a teenager again, desperately wanting to accept the Colonel’s affection but resisting at every turn.
A sob broke through him, made worse for the fact he could feel Quaritch’s own shuddering breaths.
They stayed there for long moments, until Spider finally broke away. “Why are you here? Please don’t say to bring me back with you.” Spider wouldn’t know what he’d do if Quaritch tried anything.
Quaritch smiled grimly. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, I know that. But I need you to know that I ain’t here to take you away. From what I hear, you’re doing mighty fine for yourself.”
“It’s just you?” he asked, looking around suddenly as the thought occurred to him.
“I swear.”
Spider nodded, wondering what the hell they were going to do now.
“I already swung by your little Santa’s village back there. They told me you’d be here.”
Kiri. “Did you hurt anyone?”
“Do I look armed?” Quaritch held his hands out, inviting Spider to look. “And I already told ya. I ain’t interested in any of that.”
“Well I’m sorry if I can’t believe you straight up, given…” Eywa where to begin? “Everything.”
Quaritch didn’t reply, just levelled a look at Spider.
“Is it really you?”
“It’s really me, kid. God, I missed you.” His expression softened, and part of Spider crumpled all over again. “I like the trim.” He gestured to Spider’s natural curls.
What on Eywa'eveng was happening?
Spider didn’t deign to respond other than by shaking his head. In a daze, he shouldered his crossbow. “Let’s head back.”
Quaritch followed behind as Spider led the way.
That hadn’t gone so badly. He was half expecting to be shot on sight. God knows he deserved it.
But he should have known Spider better. His son would never shoot him unprovoked. Somehow that self-preservation gene had managed to skip a generation. Spider was too good. When Quaritch saw him amongst that dazzling cloud of lights, it was enough to confirm every decision he’d made these past eight years. It had all been worth it for this. His boy, his son. He was as awestruck as he’d been the day he was born.
It was the first time Quaritch had seen Spider as a man. He’d missed so much. He was still tiny compared to Na’vi standards, but his face had changed and matured. The lines framing his features were sharper, and the locs were gone, replaced with soft curls that brushed the top of his ears. His stripes had evolved too. Not that Quaritch could see anymore of him than his face under all the furs, but the blue streaks remained around his temples and jaw, faded to a duller shade than he remembered. It suited him.
Quaritch drank in the sight of his boy up ahead, moving through the snow with far more ease than himself. Now that he had him, he didn’t want to take his eyes off him.
The ball was in Spider’s court. He didn’t know where this was headed now. If the kid was willing to have him, Quaritch would make it right. He’d offer Spider whatever he wanted. If that meant betraying his own race, well he’d do just that.
Because he’d meant every word he’d said tonight. None of it was worth it if he couldn't have Spider. Without the boy and without a mission, everything was worthless. Quaritch was worthless. These eight years had taught him a lot. Not just about Pandora and how to accept it as a home, but about himself. And about the fact that there was absolutely nothing he or anyone else could do about the fact that he belonged with Spider.
In whatever capacity that would entail. As a father, hopefully, but he wouldn’t push Spider to accept it if he wasn’t ready. Until then, he’d serve Spider’s cause. He’d do what Spider needed. Be what he needed. Walking back through the thick snow in some forgotten corner of this world, Quaritch understood it clear as day. His heart was enslaved to the boy ahead.