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It was a quiet day at Hell’s Gate. The usual loud noise from the kids running around and playing, getting in the way of scientists and earning half hearted scoldings, was softened to low chatter and distant movement.
The wide windows were streaked with rain, droplets clinging to the glass before sliding downward in uneven paths. A steady patter echoed against the metal roof, gentle but constant, filling the space with a kind of calm that only came on days like this.
Jake, Norm, and Max were huddled around a table near the center of the room, shoulders close as they bent over a microscope. Jake listened as Norm explained the specimen they had collected earlier, some kind of forest herb believed to heal faster than anything they had seen before, while Max adjusted the lens, quietly fascinated.
Nearby, Kiri, Lo’ak, Spider, and Tuk sat sprawled across the cool metal floor, murmuring to each other about whatever thoughts drifted through their heads on such a slow afternoon.
Tuk was absentmindedly complaining to Kiri about Neytiri and Neteyam being away hunting, how it was not fair and how she hated waiting, while Lo’ak and Spider lazily watched the window from afar, tracking raindrops as they raced each other down the glass, arguing quietly over which one would win.
Once Lo’ak’s raindrop lost to Spider’s for what felt like the hundredth time, he let out an exaggerated groan and dropped back onto the floor, limbs splayed out in defeat.
“I’m so bored,” he complained, staring up at the ceiling.
Spider glanced over at the glass wall dividing the two rooms, watching Norm, Jake, and Max completely absorbed in whatever they were doing.
“I found a storage room the other day when I was looking around,” he spoke up after a moment. “I didn’t really check it out, but maybe we’ll find something cool.”
Lo’ak’s head snapped up at that, boredom forgotten almost instantly. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes lighting up. “Why are we still sitting here then?”
He was already scrambling to his feet before anyone could answer, glancing between the others with a grin. “Come on. It’s gotta be better than watching rain.”
Kiri glanced toward the other room, eyes flicking briefly to where Jake, Norm, and Max were still bent over the table. “We probably should not be wandering around,” she said, though there was no real protest in her voice. “They are working.”
Tuk was already on her feet, practically bouncing. “But they have been working all day,” she argued. “And they did not even notice us sitting there. We will be fast.”
Spider hesitated, then nodded, lowering his voice as he stepped closer to them. “We have to be quiet,” he said. “Norm and Max would definitely not want us messing with anything important.”
Lo’ak glanced once more at the scientists before reaching down and pulling Tuk up with him, clearly favoring her since she had agreed. “Just look,” he said quietly to the three. “No touching.”
Spider led them down the halls of Hell’s Gate, moving with an ease that came from having spent far more time there than the others. The lights overhead hummed softly as they passed, long corridors stretching out in every direction, most of the doors shut tight.
Lo’ak trailed just behind him, glancing into rooms as they went. “This place is way bigger than I thought,” he muttered, only having been in a few of the labs before.
The storage room was tucked away at the end of a narrow hall. Spider paused before opening the door, listening for a moment, then gently pushed it open.
Inside, the room was… boring.
Shelves lined the walls, stacked with old equipment and dusty containers. Empty cases, cracked screens, tangled wires, and neatly labeled bins filled the space. The air smelled faintly of metal and cleaning solution.
Lo’ak groaned softly. “That’s it?”
Tuk wandered off immediately, peering into boxes and tapping at things she had been specifically told not to touch. “This is not cool at all,” she said, disappointment clear in her voice.
Spider shrugged. “I told you I didn’t really look.”
They were just about to give up when Tuk crouched near the back of the room, tugging at a small box half hidden behind a stack of crates. It scraped quietly against the floor as she pulled it free.
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head. “This one has dad's name on it.”
The others turned.
Printed clearly across the side of the box, in neat black lettering, was one word.
Jake.
Lo’ak was moving before anyone else, scrambling across the room to crouch beside Tuk. “No way,” he said under his breath, staring down at the box like it might disappear if he looked too long.
Kiri and Spider followed more slowly, stopping just behind him. Kiri knelt beside the box, fingers hovering just above the lid without touching it.
“I wonder why he has things hidden in storage,” she said softly, more curious than suspicious. “Why not keep them with him?”
Spider stayed standing, his gaze lingered on the name longer than the others. He had a feeling he knew the gist of what was inside the box, and the thought made him hesitate.
Jake rarely talked about his life before Pandora. Never kept reminders where anyone could see them. Spider knew what it was like to want to leave something behind, to pretend an old version of yourself did not exist anymore. Whatever was in that box was part of a life Jake had chosen to walk away from.
And Spider was not sure they were meant to open it.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Spider said quietly, the words barely more than a thought as he finally stepped closer.
Lo’ak had already reached for the lid.
He pried it open before anyone could stop him, curiosity winning out as it gave with a soft creak. “It’s fine,” he said, already pulling things out. “It’s probably just old stuff.”
Inside were a few worn items, neatly packed like someone had taken care placing them there. A folded piece of fabric. A small stack of photographs, edges curled with age. Something metallic that caught the light as Lo’ak lifted it.
Tuk leaned in closer, eyes wide. “What is all that?”
Lo’ak furrowed his brows at the metallic object in his hand. It was heavier than it looked, cool against his fingers. Two thin metal tags hung from a short chain, clinking softly as he lifted them from the box.
“What are these?” he asked, turning them over.
Spider stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the dull metal. “Dog tags,” he said quietly. “Humans wear them in the military. They have your name on them. So you can be identified.”
Lo’ak frowned, reading the letters etched into the surface. “So… these are his?”
Spider nodded once. “Yeah.”
Lo’ak hesitated for only a second before lifting the chain higher. He slipped it over his head, the tags settling against his chest with a quiet clink.
“Cool,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.
Next, Kiri reached into the box and pulled out a folded piece of fabric. It was softer than the others, worn thin in places. When she shook it out, the color was a deep, familiar green. Across the front, printed in worn yellow letters, was the word MARINES.
Tuk squinted at it. “What are marines?”
Spider answered without really thinking about it. “It’s part of the human military. They do a lot of fighting and traveling.”
Kiri nodded slowly, like she was filing the information away. “So he was a warrior even before becoming Na’vi?”
“Yeah,” Spider said, shrugging. “Basically.”
Only after did he realize how easily the explanation had come to him. He knew a lot of things like that, bits and pieces he had picked up from years of listening to Norm and Max talk, from hanging around labs and hallways meant for humans. It was strange sometimes, knowing so much about a world he had never really lived in.
They pulled a few more things from the box after that. More clothing, mostly. Soft shirts worn thin at the sleeves, a jacket that still smelled faintly like something unfamiliar.
Then Lo’ak reached in again and pulled out something small and round.
It was a watch, the band scuffed and clearly well worn. The screen was dark, unlit, like it had not worked in a long time. Lo’ak turned it over in his hands, thumb brushing over the scratched surface.
“What does this do?” he asked.
“It tells time,” Spider said automatically. “Or it used to.”
Lo’ak pressed one of the buttons anyway, like he expected it to spring back to life. When nothing happened, he shrugged. “Weird.”
Lo’ak set the watch down beside the other items, and that was when something else caught his eye near the bottom of the box. A small stack of photographs, edges curled and worn smooth with age.
He picked them up, curiosity tugging at him all over again.
Lo’ak slipped the band off the stack of photographs and began flipping through them, the paper soft and worn beneath his fingers.
The first photo made him stop.
“Wait,” he said, holding it up. “What is this?”
The picture showed two boys standing shoulder to shoulder, both smiling wide, arms slung around each other like they belonged there. Same face. Same hair. Same grin.
Tuk leaned in, squinting hard. “Why are there two dads?”
Lo’ak tilted the photo back and forth. “Is this… him?”
Spider frowned, stepping closer. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe?”
Kiri studied the photo for a moment longer. “They look related,” she said. “Very close.”
Lo’ak nodded slowly and flipped to the next one.
This time, Jake was sitting in a wheelchair in what looked like a crowded room, balancing several small glasses across his forehead with a crooked grin. The people around him were laughing, caught mid-motion.
Lo’ak exhaled shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah… I’m not asking about that.”
Tuk giggled. “Why is he doing that?”
“Humans do weird stuff,” Spider said, though he was smiling too.
Lo’ak moved on again.
The next photo showed Jake squeezed inside what looked like the cockpit of a fighter jet, crammed shoulder to shoulder with a few other people in matching uniforms. They were all smiling wide, faces bright and young, like they were daring the camera to catch them still. Jake was front and center, helmet pushed back and tongue sticking out in a way that felt wildly unserious.
Lo’ak snorted. “Okay, that is definitely him.”
Tuk laughed. “He looks silly.”
Lo’ak lingered on the photo a second longer before setting it down, a small smile still tugging at his mouth.
The last photo was Jake, Norm, Trudy, and Grace sitting around a table with a messy stack of cards spread out between them.T hey were packed in close, elbows bumping, all of them mid-laugh.
Kiri’s face softened instantly. She leaned closer, eyes lighting up in recognition.
“Mom,” she said, smiling.
Lo’ak glanced at her, then back at the picture, studying it for a moment longer. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this happy in a while,” he said quietly.
No one said anything after that, but no one disagreed either.
They packed everything back into the box after that, slower than before. The clothes were folded carefully, the watch set back in its place, the hoodie smoothed down like it mattered how it was left.
Lo’ak lifted the dog tags for a moment, then let them settle back against his chest instead of returning them to the box.
Tuk hesitated with the photographs in her hands, flipping through them one last time before tucking them against herself. “I’ll bring these back,” she said softly, like she was making a promise.
No one argued.
Spider slid the box back into its place near the wall, nudging it gently until it was hidden again.