Archive of Our Own

01.

Ever since Spider learned how to use Norm’s tablet to mess around and look things up about the world on Earth, he began to wonder why he was called Spider in the first place.

There were plenty of animals that could run faster or climb better than spiders. Monkeys, for example. Every time Kiri giggled and called him “Monkey boy,” Spider felt that the name really fit. Monkey Socorro did not sound bad at all. It was certainly not Miles, because no matter how Mary tried to explain it, Spider could never shake the feeling that the name belonged to someone who was already gone.

Spider liked playing with the Sully kids. He liked racing through the forest with them, climbing until his arms burned with exhaustion, laughing until his throat turned raw, then waving goodbye at the end of the day as they disappeared back into Jake and Neytiri’s arms. Sometimes, if no one called him back, Spider would quietly trail after them all the way home. He would linger off to the side, borrowing a little happiness as Jake scolded his children fondly for being too wild, while Neytiri gently lifted Neteyam into her arms. Neteyam looked so small there, even though he had been taller than Spider for a long time now. Spider used to wonder what it would feel like if Neytiri held him the same way. That night, he might even sleep on the same bed with their family. Even if Neytiri complained that there was not enough space and made him curl up in a tiny corner at the edge, Spider was still happy. Children, in the end, were still children.

When he grew a little older and finally understood the source of Neytiri’s hostility toward him, he slowly learned to give their family more space. Neteyam had grown too, and had begun to carry the responsibilities of an eldest son, so the children would part ways before sunset without anyone needing to call them home. Spider stood alone at the edge of the forest, waving as the Sully kids walked away, and found himself wishing that someone might walk beside him on his way back.

That night, he borrowed Norm’s tablet again to watch videos about animals. The monkeys there lived in groups. Mothers carried their young, they chirred softly while grooming one another, and they called out when moving together. Spider thought of the way Neytiri’s gentle fingers combed through Kiri’s hair, and of the comms Jake gave his children so they could reach them at any time. Spider had never seen a monkey in real life, but he had seen spiders. Some clung to the dark corners of wrecked ships scattered along the forest edge, solitary and silent, spinning fragile webs that were only strong enough to snag someone’s step, before being brushed away without a second thought. He himself had done that more than once.

Spider thought about it for a while, then decided that from now on, he would not feel sad anymore when Neytiri tried to pull him away from her children.

02.

With Lyle’s vise-like arms pinning him to the ground, Spider could do nothing but stare helplessly up at the towering avatar looming over him. The man was holding a tablet with infuriating calm, replaying footage of Colonel Miles Quaritch’s final moments. He seemed almost contemplative when Neytiri’s arrow appeared on the screen, even rewinding to watch it sink deep into the fragile human chest.

Spider had seen pictures of his father before, but the very first thing he truly knew about this man was his death. Neytiri had killed him, and now she was forced to endure the sight of a face identical to her enemy haunting her children like a ghost that refused to move on. If she and Jake came running now to save them, would she feel fear or rage at seeing two faces so eerily identical to the man she had once slain?

Spider was so lost in his thoughts that when he finally snapped back to reality, Quaritch’s eyes had already been fixed on him for a long time. Spider knew the avatar standing before him carried memories of him too, but they amounted to little more than a name. He did not even know that Spider had never been taken back to Earth, that he had grown up on Pandora among forests and unfamiliar creatures. Maybe if they had not crossed paths like this, he would still believe he had a small son somewhere on Earth, probably school-aged, walking home hand in hand with Paz every day. Or perhaps he would not think of him at all, because even when he was alive, he had never spared time for anything that did not serve the mission.

Spider did not know what he had expected from that gaze. A flicker of recognition, a crack in the memories, maybe just another question. Instead, Quaritch only watched him in silence, his eyes lingering longer than necessary, as if weighing a living reality against memories that had been trimmed and rewritten. The tablet lowered in his hand, its screen dimming, and Spider felt a bitter realization settle in. Somewhere deep down, he had hoped for something from a monster who had committed countless crimes against this planet. Against his home. The familiar sting of betrayal and guilt flared again in his chest, the same ache that returned every time Neytiri looked at him with undisguised hatred.

When the bowstring snapped, Spider reacted on pure instinct. He spun around, grabbed Kiri, and dragged her deeper into the forest before he could fully process what was happening behind them. Neytiri’s arrows tore through the air, metal clashed, gunfire cracked, the sounds blending into chaotic noise. Spider did not dare look back. He just ran, bare feet slipping over damp leaves, lungs burning with ragged breaths, his mind empty except for a single thought: get away as fast as possible.

He had no idea how far he made it before a deafening explosion erupted behind him. The next instant, Spider was hurled aside like a rag doll. The impact forced the air from his lungs in a violent rush, pain exploding across his chest so sharp he could not even scream. He curled on the ground, gasping for broken breaths while his ears rang from the blast.

He tried to focus on breathing, to remember what Norm had taught him about staying calm when oxygen ran low, but everything slipped out of reach. His vision darkened as if an invisible hand were closing over his eyes and nose. The sounds around him grew distant and warped, and Spider could no longer tell gunfire from footsteps, or even Kiri’s voice calling his name in desperation.

When consciousness slowly returned, the first thing Spider noticed was that his body was no longer touching the ground. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see treetops rushing past below and to feel his own weight slung over someone’s solid shoulder. It took a moment for the truth to sink in. Quaritch was carrying him with effortless efficiency. Spider wanted to struggle, to curse and demand that the man put him down, but his throat burned dry and his body refused to obey.

The roar of helicopter blades grew louder. Wind lashed against him, setting every torn patch of skin ablaze with pain, and in the blink of an eye, Spider was dumped into the cold troop bay of an RDA aircraft. Just before the door slammed shut, he managed one last glance downward. Neytiri’s figure flickered beneath the canopy, her eyes blazing with fury and despair, her arrow still drawn, as if waiting for the smallest opening.

Run.

That was the last thought that surfaced before exhaustion dragged him under.

03.

Though he had never said it out loud to anyone, Spider had more than once caught himself wondering what his life might have been like if he had grown up with his biological father. And the truth was, telling himself he did not feel a twinge of envy whenever he saw Jake standing at the center of his children was a lie. At sixteen, some instinct still lingered in him, the instinct to reach for parents whenever fear and anxiety crept in. That was why his thoughts kept drifting to Quaritch, even while he was locked behind the cold walls and painfully bright white lights of an RDA holding cell. Spider bared his teeth at the soldiers watching him through the one-way glass, survival instinct flaring so violently that he no longer had the clarity to feel shame or fear in any familiar way.

On the other side of the glass, the colonel stood in silence, neither stopping it nor ordering an intervention. He had always believed that his son had been taken back to Earth, raised in a proper human environment, sent to school, allowed to grow up within rules and patterns he understood and approved of. The reality unfolding before him, however, was the exact opposite. The child had been left behind on Pandora, the very planet where he himself had died, and raised among those he had once called enemies.

An unfamiliar discomfort settled in the colonel’s chest, not quite anger, when he realized that Spider’s behavior bore the unmistakable marks of the Na’vi he despised. Miles Quaritch had never been a good father, but no one could feel entirely at ease watching their own blood act as though it were rejecting its humanity so completely.

“He was raised by a traitor and his unhinged wife. Acting like an animal is hardly surprising,” Quaritch said with a shrug, deciding he no longer cared about the boy’s fate. “Hand him over to those mad scientists.”

He truly believed he could sever that strange, inconvenient concern, coldly and decisively, just like so many other choices he had made in his life. That illusion held until Spider was dragged roughly out of the cell and hauled straight into the interrogation room. His wrists were bound to the NeuroSect E7.2T, his thin body arching in resistance after he managed to leave the two guards with minor injuries. He screamed and cursed nonstop in a jarring mix of Na’vi and English. Spider had no idea what was happening, but his body reacted before his mind could catch up. Violent spasms tore along his spine as the device activated, tears and mucus streaking down his young face as he sobbed and screamed. The pain burned so fiercely that he hallucinated himself as one of the fish Lo’ak used to roast over hot coals for dinner.

As Spider’s words grew weaker and more fragmented, Quaritch tasted something sour at the back of his tongue. He did not want to admit that he was worried about the kid. The boy’s entire body was barely bigger than his forearm, and that fragile human brain might be completely destroyed by this interrogation. He told himself it had nothing to do with him, that the child was not his son, that Spider was nothing more than a warped product of Pandora, of toxic air and misguided upbringing. But when that thin body convulsed so hard the restraints strained tight, a long-buried, familiar feeling surged up in Quaritch’s chest. He reached out and shut the device off.

The machinery fell silent. Spider slumped against the restraints, choking on broken sobs, while the room sank into a heavy stillness. Frances Ardmore could only stare at him, shock plain on her face. Quaritch checked Spider first, wiping the fresh blood from the boy’s nose with his bare hand, then suggested to General Ardmore that he might try speaking to the kid himself.

“He is no longer your son,” the general said coldly.

That’s right, Quaritch. He isn’t your son. In fact, there was no guarantee that the original Colonel Miles Quaritch would have acted the same way if the subject on that table had truly been his biological child. If he were still alive, he would probably have called Quaritch a traitor. Just like Sully.

Quaritch did not know whether what he had just done was the sudden stirring of a faint paternal instinct buried in implanted memories, or a trace of humanity that never should have existed in an avatar body. He forced himself not to think about it any further.

04.

Spider was small enough to fit beneath the table, his body swallowed by the shadows underneath. Quaritch could not help thinking of the mice that scurried under beds, creatures you chased out with a broom handle. When he grabbed the smaller body and tossed it up onto the table like a toy doll, Quaritch genuinely thought that with just a little more force, the boy’s head might snap to the side and his life would blink out.

“Easy there, tiger,” Quaritch laughed, looking at a face that resembled his own by nearly eighty percent, now baring its teeth and glaring back at him. Just moments earlier, the boy had been sobbing so hard he could not be calmed, and Quaritch had carried him back to the cell. Spider kept struggling until he realized he was no match for an avatar, and finally went still.

Quaritch meant to try something softer, but all he could see was the crown of Spider’s blond head as the boy stubbornly kept his gaze lowered. In the end, Quaritch dropped to one knee so he could look him in the eye.

“Son, you’ve got a strong heart. Those scientists put you through hell, and you never gave them anything. For that, I respect you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old dog tag, its metal scratched and worn with age, the only thing left from his previous life. He placed it into Spider’s hand as a gesture of goodwill. “I figured you might want this.”

The dog tag barely had time to settle before Spider knocked it to the floor. The sharp clang of metal echoed in the room, and this time he lifted his head fully, eyes tight with fury and strain.

“My father is dead.”

“I’m not that man,” Quaritch replied, the corner of his mouth twitching at the reaction. “But I’ve got his memories. You should consider yourself lucky for that. Colonel Miles Quaritch would’ve let you die in that chair with your stubborn attitude.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, his gaze lingering on the way Spider flinched every time the name was spoken. “I’m not your father. Strictly speaking, we’re not blood. But I can help you. I can get you out of here.”

Spider did not answer. His lips pressed into a thin line, but his hands curled unconsciously, fighting the tremor that threatened to give him away at an offer that sounded far too easy.

“I’m not asking you to betray Jake Sully,” Quaritch continued, his voice calm, deceptively serene. “I know you’re loyal, and I respect that. Think carefully, because if you don’t, I’ll send you back to the lab.”

Images from the interrogation flooded Spider’s mind. His wrists locked in place, the pain tearing through his skull. His stomach twisted, his breathing quickening. Spider knew that if he were taken back there even once more, he could not be sure he would survive it, let alone keep his silence.

“…I won’t lead you to Jake Sully or the clan,” Spider said at last, his voice hoarse and dry. “And you won’t strap me into that machine again.”

Quaritch only smiled and said nothing more. He had already gotten exactly what he wanted.

05.

The colonel ordered that Spider be given a private room close to his own. When Spider was escorted there, Quaritch warned him to behave himself, making it clear that if Spider caused any trouble at the base, he would not hesitate to send him back to the lab. Spider kept his head down and said nothing the entire time, but it seemed the warning had sunk in.

For the rest of that day, Spider did not resist at all, not even when Quaritch personally brought food to his room. He lay curled up on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around his knees in a fetal position, eyes unfocused as they stared into the space before him. Quaritch lingered in the doorway for a moment, then told himself the boy was probably still in shock from the interrogation and decided to let him rest.

That evening, after finishing the day’s work, Quaritch returned to Spider’s room. The boy’s posture had not changed, but his eyes were shut tight now, his lashes still damp. Something heavy settled in Quaritch’s chest, a feeling he was not accustomed to naming. He stepped closer and gently pulled the thin blanket higher, shielding Spider from the chill.

The moment his hand touched Spider’s body, Quaritch jerked it back on instinct. The skin beneath his fingers was unnaturally hot, while the boy’s hands and feet were cold, his back slick with sweat. He froze for a few seconds, his mind blank, digging through his memories for what he was supposed to do in a situation like this, then turned as if to call Lyle for help. It had been a long time since he himself had been sick, let alone taken care of a child.

Just then, Spider stirred in his fevered haze. Small fingers reached out, catching Quaritch’s hand and pulling it back to his forehead, afraid that the one thing bringing him relief might disappear. He cracked his eyes open, unfocused and glassy, aware only of a large, steady hand pressed to his skin, cool and soothing against the heat of his fever.

In that foggy state, Spider thought of the time Lo’ak had complained of feeling unwell, and how Jake had placed a hand on the boy’s forehead just like this, staying there until the fever broke. Spider did not think any further. He simply accepted it as comfort and kept hold of the man’s hand.

“Jake…” Spider murmured, nuzzling his forehead into Quaritch’s palm before slipping back into sleep.

Quaritch went still. The legs he had been about to straighten felt locked in place, unsure whether to step forward or pull away, unsure whether to take his hand back or leave it where it was. At last, after a long, heavy breath, he slowly removed his uniform jacket, sat down on the edge of the bed, and gathered Spider into his arms, wrapping them around the overheated body.

The colonel could not help thinking about the years he had been dead, about how the boy had grown up in Sully’s arms. The kid did not call that man father, but there was an unquestioning trust there, a complete reliance.

In the quiet of the room, Quaritch wondered whether, if he had never died, this child might have grown up on a completely different path, or whether Spider had always belonged to the forest and the Na’vi. Whether he could ever have remained this stubborn, childish boy, clinging so instinctively to a father’s affection. He knew he had no answers, and no right to demand any, yet the thought clung to him like an old scar, dull and persistent.

Quaritch did not sleep. He sat there for a long time, letting the hours pass to the sound of Spider’s steady breathing. In that rare moment, he was forced to admit that what he held in his arms was not a hostage, not a strategic asset, but a child who had grown up with no place for him in his memories.

And strangely enough, that realization made him feel lonelier than any death he had ever endured.

06.

When Spider woke the next morning, he was alone in the cold room. The blankets on the bed were tangled and wrinkled, as if he had tossed and turned in his sleep. That could not be right. Back when he was still allowed to sleep on the Sully family’s bed, he had learned to stay as still as possible, quiet enough not to take up space.

“Awake already, tiger? Wipe the drool off. Looks like someone slept pretty well last night.”

Quaritch laughed as he stepped into the room, noticing the way Spider’s body flinched at the sight of him. He helped Spider to his feet, pressed a breathing mask into his hands, then ushered him outside.

In the yard, the recoms were loading up, each of them hauling weapon crates large enough to wipe out an entire stretch of Pandora’s forest. Quaritch lifted Spider effortlessly into the back of a KESTREL gunship, the other recoms jumping in right after. The turbines began to spin up, slow at first, the thunder of the rotors making Spider think, unwillingly, of the day Quaritch had dragged him back to the RDA base. Suddenly, Quaritch’s large frame leaned in close beside him, fingers tightening the straps of Spider’s mask.

“Tiger. There’s a tracker in here. If you try to run, I’ll have you back within two minutes and give you a lesson you won’t forget. Understood?”

Spider clenched his teeth, trying to shove the massive hand away from his face, but Quaritch’s firm tone left him no room to resist. He also could not survive without the mask supplying him air, so the threat was not really a threat at all, just an ugly truth he could not deny.

Seeing the reluctant nod, Quaritch smiled and fastened the oversized safety harness around Spider to keep him from being thrown around as the gunship lifted off. “Good. We’re not forcing you to find Jake Sully or his clan. We just need you to guide us. That’s not betrayal, right?”

Spider did not answer right away. He sat stiffly on the cold metal seat, fingers gripping the edges of the harness, feeling the vibration of the aircraft as it rose from the ground, his stomach twisting with every beat of the blades.

He knew this kind of language well. It was how adults softened things, stripped them of their true weight. Just guiding, not betrayal, no coercion. Words arranged carefully so there was no space left for refusal. He looked out through the open bay, watching Pandora’s forest shrink beneath them, layers of deep green canopy folding into one another like a familiar carpet he had once run across every day. Unease crept into his chest.

“Not betrayal,” Spider repeated quietly, more to convince himself than anyone else.

He told himself he would only lead them along the safest paths, that he would stay far from clan territory, that he would keep the Sully family hidden if he could. But the more he thought about it, the clearer it became just how thin the line was between guiding and opening the way. Every meter of forest sliding past beneath the gunship felt like another step pulling him farther from the place he had once called home.

Spider turned his head slightly, glancing at Quaritch seated beside him. The man’s broad frame filled most of the narrow space, his expression calm, eyes forward, as if this were just another mission in an endless list. In that moment, Spider understood something with sickening clarity. This man did not need him to betray anyone. As long as Spider stayed here, as long as he kept breathing the air Quaritch allowed him, the path ahead had already been decided.

This man was his father, or at least the one carrying his father’s memories, and that was what made everything hurt so badly. Why could he not live by his father’s ideals so cleanly, the way Neteyam and Lo’ak did? Why was he the only one who felt this confused, this torn, every time he looked at the man he was supposed to love most?

Spider hated himself for realizing that beneath the fear and hatred, there was still a small, aching desire to belong to someone. No matter how much he denied it, he knew he had never been, and would never truly be, part of the Sully family. The cruel man sitting beside him now was the only one who might be able to fill the loneliness that had gnawed at him for so long it drove him close to madness. He wondered whether being seen by a father was really worth trading away his home, and the most terrifying part was that he could not give himself a clear answer. He did not want to betray Jake or the land that had raised him, but he was so tired of being the one left standing at the edge of the forest, waving as the Sully children disappeared one by one.

Since being taken to the RDA base, Quaritch had not done anything overtly cruel to him. He had even saved Spider, carried him back when he was shaking so hard he lost control and wiped tears and snot all over that expensive uniform. He had sat there patiently, soothing him, and even when Spider lashed out like a reckless, spoiled kid, the man never showed a hint of irritation. That unsettled Spider more than any threat ever could. He was not used to kindness in a situation like this, much less the feeling of being protected by someone he knew was his enemy.

Spider lowered his head and whispered a prayer to Eywa, begging that his heart would not be claimed by something evil.

07.

When the helicopter touched down, the recom squad fanned out quickly, boots crunching over damp, rotting leaves as they moved onto a familiar trail through the rainforest. The forest was as beautiful as ever. Sunlight filtered through massive canopies, scattering gentle beams across the ground, birdsong ringing bright and carefree, unaware that this peace was about to be torn apart. Pandora was still open-hearted, still welcoming those who stepped into it, and that was what made Spider’s throat tighten.

Quaritch gathered the recoms swiftly, standing tall in a small clearing, his voice carrying sharp and clear.

“Sully’s gone. But wherever he ran, we’re going to find him. And his crazy wife too. That’s the mission.”

The words landed like thunder, crashing straight into Spider’s ears and slamming against his thoughts. His heart lurched, heat flooding his chest in a mix of shame and panic. He felt unworthy of standing here, in the forest that had raised him, while listening to plans to hunt the people who had given him a home.

Unable to bear it, Spider dropped his gaze, pretending to study the wild plants along the path. He plucked a few leaves, snapped a thin branch, acting detached, though deep down he knew that his silence itself was a form of complicity.

“To catch him, we’ve gotta go Na’vi,” Quaritch continued. “Eat like them. Ride like them. Think like them.”

He paused, clearly pleased with himself, then switched to his rough, unfinished Na’vi. “And that starts with speaking their language.”

“Yeah, they say all you need to learn a language is hello, goodbye, thank you, sorry, and a good swear,” Lyle chimed in, answering in a ridiculous mix of English and Na’vi.

Spider couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the sight of outsiders draping themselves in a culture they barely understood. He turned back, replying in smooth, fluent Na’vi.

“You call that Na’vi? A Na’vi kid under three could do better.”

He expected Quaritch to snap. Instead, the man looked almost proud. Quaritch grabbed Spider’s wrist and raised it slightly, presenting him to the group.

“All right, kid,” he said, satisfaction clear in his voice. “You’ve just been promoted from team mascot to official diplomatic spokesperson.”

The recoms had no fixed destination for this mission. Their goal was simply to survey the surrounding terrain so the base could build a complete three-dimensional map. They followed behind Spider with exaggerated caution, so overloaded with gear, weapons, and sensors that every step was heavy and awkward, the exact opposite of the fluid movement Spider had known all his life. In terrain like this, with twists and shortcuts he could navigate blindfolded, Spider could have bolted and vanished into the forest within minutes. But the tracking device secured to his body was a constant reminder that no matter how fast he ran, he would never truly get far. So he kept leading the way, slowing his pace to let the struggling recoms catch up.

Sometimes, he deliberately walked too fast, forcing them to lag behind. Other times, he veered onto rougher paths than necessary, then turned back with a few taunting remarks, hoping to earn an irritated glare or a sharp shout from Quaritch. But from start to finish, the man’s satisfied smile never faded, as if all of Spider’s small rebellions had already been anticipated, allowed because Quaritch tolerated them.

Skxawng, Spider fumed silently.

As dusk settled in, the recoms set up a simple camp in the forest. The soldiers were exhausted, sore, and more than ready to hang the small human kid who clung to Quaritch from a tree and be done with it. But as long as the colonel’s smile remained every time his gaze sought out that small figure, they knew all they could do was endure.

They gathered around the fire, tearing open bland military rations to share. Quaritch opened his own pack and held it out to Spider, raising a brow in silent insistence.

“I don’t eat this stuff,” Spider protested immediately, pushing the packet away. It was almost as big as his face.

“Try it anyway,” Quaritch replied lightly. “Who knows, maybe you’ll figure out how to poison me.”

Spider knew arguing was pointless. With a sigh, he removed his mask and took a bite. The sudden, harsh saltiness of the stew made him grimace, nearly gagging. The main dish was far too salty, the crackers were stale, and the fruit paste smelled so artificial that Spider sealed his lips shut and shoved the packet back toward Quaritch.

“So what do you usually eat?” the colonel asked, without a hint of scolding. Instead, he stood and gestured toward the forest. “Show me. Let’s go find it.”

Spider blinked, caught off guard by the offer, but still turned and led Quaritch away from the firelight. Pandora’s forest at night was nothing like the terrifying woods described in old Earth books. With every step, bioluminescent plants lit their way, bathing the surroundings in soft blues and pale violets.

Spider quickened his pace slightly, the frustration from earlier melting away, replaced by a familiar excitement, the same feeling he had when roaming the forest with the Sully kids. He pointed out vines that glowed when touched, flowers that folded their petals at loud sounds, and faint tracks left by small animals that had passed not long ago. His voice grew animated as he explained, almost without realizing it. Jake had been the one to teach him these things once.

When they found a tree heavy with clusters of bright orange fruit hanging among the leaves, Spider’s eyes lit up. In moments, his arms were full. He climbed down and placed the fruit into Quaritch’s hands, mimicking the colonel’s usual commanding gesture, lifting his chin as if to say, Try it.

Quaritch let out a soft chuckle and handed one back to Spider. The boy immediately shook his head, rubbing his flat stomach as if recalling an unpleasant memory.

“I tried it once,” Spider said. “Saw the Sullys eating it and copied them. Had a stomachache all night. Turns out it’s toxic for humans. Probably great for Na’vi though. They eat it all the time.”

Quaritch didn’t press further. He smiled, then casually tossed the remaining fruit into the undergrowth before turning back to Spider.

“Then from now on, we only pick things you can eat.”

Spider’s eyes widened. He stared up at him, then asked awkwardly,

“But what if those don’t taste good?”

The colonel mirrored the boy’s serious expression and used his large hands to rub Spider’s quietly gurgling stomach gently.

“As long as you don’t get a stomachache again. No one’s getting up to take you to the bathroom tonight.”

Spider’s face burned at the teasing, but inside him rose a happiness so intense it felt almost wrong. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way. He knew the colonel was probably just coaxing him along with gentle words. And yet his steps slowed without his permission, and he kept glancing back to make sure Quaritch was still following.

“We’re like two monkeys,” Spider blurted out after receiving a pale pink berry from Quaritch’s hand.

The colonel laughed and reached over to pat his head.

“That's how you thank the hand that feeds you? If that’s a swear Sully taught you, it’s a pretty lousy one.”

Spider said nothing, focusing instead on chewing his food, silently thinking that Quaritch was an idiot if he thought that was an insult. Maybe Quaritch had never really seen monkeys on Earth either, too busy chasing rigid missions to notice them at all.

08.

The recom squad made camp in the Hallelujah Mountains. They crossed the vine bridges stretched between floating peaks with practiced caution, looking more and more like Na’vi with every step. Quaritch frowned as he studied the strange, vividly colored birds circling overhead, their leathery membrane wings stretched taut over hollow bone structures. He knew that bonding with one of these creatures was a rite of passage for Na’vi warriors, which meant he would need one too.

Lyle raised his tranquilizer rifle and fired without hesitation. An ikran shrieked, thrashing wildly in the air, spiraling up and down a few times before crashing to the ground, unconscious. Lyle handed the rifle to Quaritch and moved in to form a bond with his own dazed ikran.

Spider frowned at the cruelty of it, shaking his head as he looked at Quaritch lining up his shot.

“Na’vi kids can do it bare-handed,” he said. “And warriors need tricks like that?”

Quaritch laughed, tossed the tranquilizer rifle back to Prager, and strode straight toward the screaming flock. Massive wings beat the air, whipping up violent gusts. One ikran, larger than the rest, suddenly dove straight at him, jaws wide, razor teeth bared, aiming to tear his head clean off. Quaritch twisted aside at the last second, rolled across the stone, then sprang back to his feet, eyes alight with excitement. The ikran wheeled around, roaring in fury, and in that moment of chaos, Quaritch sprinted toward the cliff edge, leapt, and hurled himself onto the creature’s back mid-flight.

The ikran shrieked and bucked like a wild horse, twisting violently through the air to throw him off. Spider held his breath, hands clenching tight without realizing it, eyes locked on the tall figure gripping the rough hide. Quaritch stayed seated, knees locked in, body moving in sync with every frantic twist.

Just as Quaritch leaned forward, reaching for the ikran’s kuru to form the bond, the creature suddenly lurched sideways, wings flailing in sheer panic. Balance shattered in an instant. Man and ikran plunged straight into the abyss below.

“No—”

Spider gasped, throat tightening as he fought the urge to scream Quaritch’s name.

They all rushed to the edge, peering down into the vast, yawning drop, where only howling wind and layers of cloud swallowed everything whole. There was no sign of life.

Spider’s chest hollowed out, nameless panic flooding him, the same crushing feeling he had when he watched Neytiri’s arrow pierce the man’s chest. He stood frozen at the edge, staring into the darkness below.

With hope fading, the recoms reluctantly turned back. Just as they were about to leave, a powerful gust swept up from the abyss, followed by the thunder of ikran wings and a triumphant shout from behind them. Quaritch burst through the clouds astride the same ikran, back straight, posture solid, laughter ringing so loud it cut through the wind. He looped high through the air, then soared upward again, deliberately letting the whole squad see him, alive and more vivid than ever.

The recoms froze for a heartbeat, then erupted into cheers. Laughter and whistles echoed off the cliffs, washing away the tension in an instant.

“Who’s next?” Quaritch shouted, exhilaration blazing in his voice, one hand raised as if inviting the sky itself. The raw freedom of flying an ikran had clearly awakened something primal in him, something they should have discovered long ago.

Spider stood rooted to the spot, staring, until Quaritch flashed him a grin and called out,

“Tiger, disappointed I’m still alive?”

Only then did Spider feel himself pulled into the man’s sheer joy, his lips curving into a smile. Pride swelled in his chest. Maybe this was how Jake had looked when Neteyam and Lo’ak first bonded with their ikran.

One by one, the avatar warriors managed to tame their own mounts. Furious roars faded into steadier wingbeats, clumsy but thrilling arcs through the air. Every successful takeoff was met with cheers, laughter echoing between the cliffs in pure, instinctive joy. When the last soldier vanished into the thin clouds above, Quaritch signaled for everyone to mount up, excitement gleaming in his eyes.

He whistled sharply, calling his ikran back. The creature descended at once, circling wide before settling near the cliff edge. Quaritch lifted Spider onto the ikran’s back, seating him securely in front before climbing on himself.

“Hold tight, tiger. You’re light enough that one good gust could blow you straight into the abyss.”

Spider wanted to argue that he had flown on ikran far more than Quaritch ever had, but the moment the creature beat its wings and dove off the cliff, the words vanished from his mind.

Memories rushed in. Flying across Pandora’s skies with the Sully kids. Lo’ak’s laughter carried by the wind. Kiri leaning close, pointing out glowing currents below. The absolute freedom as the ground shrank into a deep green tapestry.

He clutched the rough saddle instinctively, letting the ikran carry them upward through cool air, Quaritch’s laughter ringing behind him, blending with the steady rhythm of wings. For a brief moment, Spider stopped thinking about the RDA base, about missions or betrayal. He was flying. And that alone made his heart race, like being given back the days he thought he had lost.

Once they regrouped, Quaritch signaled for spacing and guided the ikran higher. Spider sat in front, his back pressed to the man’s chest, small body tucked safely between solid arms, as if there were no safer place in the sky. Wind brushed through his hair, cool and forest-scented, and Spider relaxed, letting the familiar sensation of flight ease the tight knot in his chest.

Quaritch tried to talk to him over the wind in clumsy, heavily accented Na’vi, mangling the sounds badly enough to make Spider snap.

“Don’t get smug, kid,” Quaritch laughed whenever Spider frowned at him. “Everyone’s bad at first. Basically, I’m like a three-year-old. You’ve gotta be patient.”

“Ngati. Ngaaaati! Oel ngati kameie!”

Spider dragged out the sounds, correcting him for the fifth time that day.

“Oel ngati kameie. Right?” Quaritch repeated, exaggeratedly serious, though his grin gave him away.

Spider felt annoyed at how unserious the colonel was about learning, and yet, at the same time, a quiet warmth bloomed in his chest. It felt exactly like what Norm had once described when talking about fathers. He had said a father’s responsibility was to teach his child their first words.

Wasn’t that exactly what Spider was doing now?

Just like Jake and Neytiri sitting for hours with Neteyam and Lo’ak, repeating the same phrases again and again, never tiring of correcting tiny mouths that never got it right the first time.

If there’s another life, Spider thought, I want to be Quaritch’s father.

A father who would never abandon his child for a mission. Who would come home early no matter how tired he was. Who would build clumsy ikran models out of whatever scraps he could find. Who would teach his child their first Na’vi words with endless patience. He would clap in awe the first time his child bonded with an ikran. He would protect them no matter how big they grew. He would teach Quaritch to love this land, tell him Jake and Neytiri were good people, maybe even let him play with Neteyam and Lo’ak.

At the very least, his child would never ache for a place to belong. He would know that no matter what he did, there would always be open arms waiting.

Spider dozed against Quaritch’s chest, a small smile lingering on his lips, wrapped in those imagined futures.

And so he did not hear the conversation crackling through the comm between Lyle and the colonel.

“Boss, a long-range patrol just picked up a radar hit. A rogue gunship.”

“Where?”

“East Sea. Four hundred kilometers north.”

09.

All the good things slipped away like a dream. When Spider opened his eyes, reality struck him hard, like a slap to the face.

After narrowing down a possible location for Jake Sully’s hideout, the RDA warships moved in swiftly on a Metkayina village. Finding none of the information they wanted, the soldiers immediately began dragging Na’vi from their homes, hauling them across the wet sand, beating them brutally until everyone was forced to kneel in the open center of the village. Anyone who resisted had a stun rifle aimed straight at them. Blue-white currents surged through their bodies, forcing them to arch in agony, screams ripping through the air and mixing with the crash of waves against the shore. Other soldiers spread through the village, storming into every dwelling, tearing through everything with rough urgency. Handcrafted tools, coral ornaments, shell decorations were thrown to the ground and crushed underfoot without a second thought.

All of it was for Jake Sully. Miles Quaritch had returned to his hunt.

When the answers he wanted did not come, the cruelty escalated fast. Gunfire rang out, aimed at the illu bound near the water’s edge. The gentle creatures screamed in pain, their bodies convulsing violently before collapsing into the sea, turning the once-clear water red.

Spider broke down. He rushed toward the Metkayina, dropped to his knees beside them, speaking in broken, desperate Na’vi, begging them to stay calm, to comply, to say anything at all to make it stop. His small face was smeared with tears and snot, pitiful in the same way it had been the first time he staggered out of the interrogation room and buried his face in Quaritch’s expensive uniform.

The colonel approached slowly, his large hand cupping Spider’s cheek, wiping away tears spilling uncontrollably. The boy was so panicked he could barely speak, only stammering as he clutched at the tall man’s jacket, sobbing.

“Please… stop. They’ve never met him, I swear. The Omatikaya don’t come here.”

Quaritch did not understand why the boy was crying so desperately over creatures that were not even his own kind. He had believed that as long as he stayed beside Spider, no one would dare touch a hair of the kid. And yet Spider was crying as if he himself were the one being tortured. Killing Jake Sully and protecting Spider were not contradictory goals in his mind, they ran parallel. Spider did not belong to those wild, treacherous beings. He belonged to him.

Looking at Quaritch’s unyielding face, Spider felt despair swallow him whole. He cried until he had no breath left, realizing that the man who had once held him on the back of an ikran beneath the open sky and the man standing before him now might share the same face, but they had never belonged to the same world.

In the end, Quaritch could not bring himself to let the child witness any more brutality. But he also could not let it end like this. He knew that retreating now, letting the Na’vi escape without paying a price, would strip the hunt of its meaning. Authority would be challenged, and Jake Sully’s name would continue slipping from village to village.

“Burn the whole place.”

When Spider turned around, flames had already swallowed the village, their sharp tongues devouring everything in their path. Black smoke billowed upward, the stench of burning mixing with salt from the sea. Panicked screams echoed as the Metkayina were dragged away from their collapsing homes. In the flickering red light, Spider felt the small, selfish joy he had clung to during his days with Quaritch burn away inside him.

Confirming there was nothing of value here, the colonel turned coldly and reached for the child’s hand, pulling him toward the ship. The instant those fingers touched him, Spider jerked back, twisting away with all the strength he had left.

“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, his voice cracking into hysteria, eyes red from smoke and tears.

Unwilling to let the boy run back to the devastated villagers and continue his broken apologies, Quaritch forced him up onto the ikran, ignoring the kicks and slaps raining against his chest and face. They left the village in heavy silence. On the ikran’s back, Spider sat in front, no longer leaning into the arms behind him. Sea wind lashed his face, salty and stinging, but it could not strip away the smell of smoke clinging to his hair and clothes. Below them, the Metkayina village dwindled into small, flickering embers in the vast blue of the ocean.

After the raids on neighboring villages, Spider’s strength seemed to drain away with each passing hour. His lashes clumped together with dried tears, but the pain had overloaded his small mind to the point where he could no longer cry. Quaritch knew Spider had grown up with the Na’vi, had learned to see the world through their eyes, and therefore could not understand what he deemed necessary. Given time, he believed, once Spider understood humanity’s place in this war, understood what was truly at stake, he would come to accept today’s actions.

“Is that why you brought me back to the RDA?”

After a long stretch of silence, the small body in the colonel’s arms finally spoke, the question barely audible.

“Is that why you pretended to care about me? So I’d be stupid enough to walk around helping with your plan to catch Jake Sully? You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to turn me into something this pathetic…”

By the time he reached the last words, the boy sounded as though he had poured every last bit of his strength into them. He did not turn to look at Quaritch, but the man knew he was crying.

“Listen, kid. This isn’t your little family game,” Quaritch snapped, irritation breaking through as he forcibly turned Spider around, gripping his arm hard enough to bruise. “Bigger things are going on, and you need to open your eyes and understand which side you’re on. Look at your hands. Your feet. To them, you’re no different from a monster. Why waste so much effort protecting people who don’t deserve it?”

“You’re lying. Jake would—”

“Right. Jake will save you. Jake will love you. Jake will make you part of his family,” Quaritch cut in harshly. “Since you were taken, has he actually tried to come for you? Hell, he probably wishes he could shut that little mouth of yours for good so you won’t spill any more of his secrets to the RDA. Do you get it, Miles? You mean nothing to them.”

“That’s not true…” Spider whispered, his voice already hollow. “I lived with them. They taught me. They—”

“Taught you what?” Quaritch snarled. “Taught you to turn your back on your own species? Taught you to cry over animals while humans are being hunted and driven off this planet?”

He released Spider’s arm, leaving dark handprints on the child’s skin like iron shackles. Forcing Spider to meet his gaze, Quaritch spoke with crushing disappointment.

“I don’t need you to like what I do. I just need you to understand. You’re human. You belong with us. Sooner or later, you’ll see that. Stop acting like a traitor, Miles.”

Spider wanted to scream back at him, to tell him how wrong he was, that he had never expected Jake to come save him, that not needing rescue did not mean he had never been part of the Sully family. But the cry died somewhere between his chest and his throat, trapped there, leaving him only able to open his mouth and close it again.

Wasn’t a father’s recognition the one thing he had always wanted?

From start to finish, it turned out he had been the only selfish one.

Spider knew Neytiri disliked him. He knew that the face he carried, eight parts like his biological father’s, forced her to relive the man who had ordered firebombs dropped on the Omatikaya’s tree of souls, killing those who could not escape along with countless forest creatures. He knew his existence put Jake in an impossible position, torn between responsibility to his family and moral boundaries. He knew Neteyam always hesitated, carefully pulling away to spare his feelings. Spider knew all of this, better than anyone. And yet he still clung to them, stubbornly demanding a place no one owed him.

He also knew the Na’vi villagers were innocent. No matter how deeply they hated Sky People, they had never truly harmed a child like him. And still, when their homes burned and death swept through their lives, all he could think about was the love and recognition of that man.

Like a spider, selfishly spinning its sticky threads, forcing others into a web it calls connection, dependence, love. But a spider’s web is still a trap, tightening, corroding, and eventually killing whatever is caught inside.

Only then did he understand why spiders were always alone.

10.

The S-76 SeaDragon roared in its death throes, the massive hull tilting hard to one side as columns of black water crashed into the interior. Metal screamed as it bent and tore apart under unbearable pressure. For a brief moment, the ship looked like a steel phoenix, burning and shrieking, thrashing one last time before being swallowed by the depths.

Icy seawater closed in around Spider’s body the instant he split off from Lo’ak and Kiri, each of them diving toward a different section of the sinking wreck. The breathing mask sealed tight against his face kept his lungs working, but it could not ease the crushing weight pressing against his chest as the ocean darkened with every meter he descended. Light from the surface fractured above him, thinning into pale and  oily streaks.

Spider fought his way through twisted metal and drifting cables, eyes straining through the debris-choked water. His heart slammed painfully when he spotted a blue figure pinned beneath the wreckage. The body lay motionless, heavy and suspended among the ruins, only the eyelids twitching faintly in reflex.

Colonel Miles Quaritch.

Time seemed to stop. Images of the man’s cruelty surged through Spider’s mind, overlapping in a violent blur. A part of him whispered that this man did not deserve to be saved, that his death might be a long overdue justice for everything he had done to this planet and to the people Spider loved.

Spider murmured Eywa’s name into the water, the prayer dissolving into small bubbles that drifted upward. He begged the Great Mother to show him the right path, because he realized he had never truly been forced to make a choice like this before. When he lived with the Sullys, Spider only had to read Neytiri’s moods, try to behave, listen to Jake, eat their food, wear their clothes, follow their rules, all in the fragile hope that one day he might be accepted as truly Na’vi. He had lived by adaptation and concession, never by choice.

Perhaps the first time Spider had ever been stubborn, ever demanded that others bend to his will like a reckless child who refused to back down, was when he met Quaritch again.

He thought of how people used to joke that Kiri was Jake’s most indulged child, that she could be stubborn, demanding, even hurt his feelings, and still be forgiven. In the frozen heart of the ocean, Spider finally understood what it felt like to be cherished like that.

Quaritch had even been willing to give up Kiri, his last bargaining chip against Neytiri, just to save him. Bitterly, Spider realized that no matter how much of a demon Quaritch was, no matter how many sins he had carved into the world, the father inside him loved Spider.

He did not allow himself any more time to hesitate. Spider turned back and grabbed him. The avatar body was far too heavy, almost dead weight in his arms, forcing Spider to pour every ounce of strength into pulling him, but he could not carry him. They drifted helplessly, colliding with sharp shards of metal. Spider’s breathing grew frantic as he searched for another way. At last, after a desperate struggle, he yanked the release cord on the life vest. The air bladder inflated instantly, hauling them both toward the surface.

The colonel looked wrecked, stripped of the imposing presence he usually carried. His soaked uniform clung to him like a torn second skin. His breathing was ragged, broken. And yet his eyes did not change. In the chaos, they remained fixed on Spider with an almost obsessive focus.

He braced himself against Spider, trembling hand gripping his shoulder as he forced his blurred vision to stay open, checking his son for injuries. His gaze traveled slowly from Spider’s face to his arms, then stopped at his chest, where Neytiri’s blade had left a long red gash across pale skin.

Wind howled overhead. The colonel’s ikran finally arrived, wings proud and powerful as it circled once before lowering itself onto the churning sea. Spider suddenly thought that this might be the last moment they would ever see each other.

“Son.” Quaritch reached out, his voice gentle like soothing a child. “Come with me.”

Spider felt his inner child begin to sob inside his chest, aching to lift his arms and run into the safety of that large, steady hand. He had comforted that child for years, only for him to still stand there, waiting for his father to come and take him home.

The Spider of years ago, the boy who used to linger at the edge of the forest and secretly wish for a father to lead him through the trees, would have rushed into Quaritch’s arms without hesitation. But the sixteen-year-old Spider, carrying too much loss, bitterness, and pain tied to this man, suddenly felt exhausted. Exhausted by a father’s love. Exhausted by his own.

He thought he should have grown used to this feeling by now, yet it still tore him open, the wound in his chest splitting wide and deep, bleeding freely. It hurt so badly that he no longer had the strength to speak to the man who had used a blade coated in sweetness to carve his heart apart.

Spider bared his teeth, a broken hiss tearing from his throat, and then he threw himself back into the sea.