Archive of Our Own

“You.” Varang grabbed hold of Spider’s hair once more, dragging him back to the centre of the group. 

Kiri gasped and scrambled to follow, but was kicked in the gut by an impossibly tall, leering Mangkwan male. 

“Hey!” He struggled, but Varang threw him on the ground next to the fire. He hissed, unable to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back. 

“Why are you so special?” She bent down as he pushed up into kneeling, eyes only inches away from his. Hatred burned through her widened pupils, assessing him. 

This close, Spider could almost see the thoughts passing through her mind. Fear gripped him, keeping his knees rooted in the damp grass. 

“Why has the great mother” - she stressed the word with disgust - “chosen to touch you, of all things?”

Shrieks rose from the surrounding warriors, seconding their leader’s words. 

“I don’t know,” Spider gritted out. 

“Leave him alone!” Jake grunted from where he lay hogtied at the edge of the trees. 

Varang smirked, their fear curling her lips in pleasure. 

Spider swallowed. 

“You are chosen.” She dragged a finger along his jaw, taking her time, playing with him. He didn’t look away. “Whatever plans she has for you… I will destroy them.”

Ice ran through his veins, despite the heat of the fire causing sweat to bead along his skin. 

“Eywa wants you to breathe?” She stood, towering over him like death. “You will not breathe.”

Her hands clamped over his mouth and nose, pressing his face into her as she squeezed… he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t get free, she was blocking all of the air… 

He thrashed against her, attempting to stand but unable to even get his feet up. Vaguely he was aware of shouting - familiar voices trying to defend him, but they were drowned out by the jeering of the ash people and Varang’s own screams of pleasure as he fought. 

Soon the rushing of his blood in his ears was the only thing he could hear.

His lungs were burning. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out what little he could see through Varang’s hands. There was no air. No air, no air… each second that ticked by amplified his panic, until bright spots appeared on his eyelids and dizziness overtook him, forcing him into darkness. He fell limp…

The next thing he knew he was lying in the cold grass, the world coming back slowly. The air was cool and thick as he sucked it down his throat. His chest hurt, but there wasn’t time to focus on that. Varang was speaking over him, her silhouette casting shadows on the ground. 

“You belong to me now.”

Spider heaved, struggling to push himself up. Was Kiri still okay? Rough, masculine hands pulled back to his knees, and he found himself looking up into the face of his captor. 

Her expression of fury was the most terrifying sight he’d seen in his short life. She pulled a curved blade from her back, holding it to Spider’s chest. 

“We will show Eywa what loss can do.” 

Spider braced, preparing for the end, but the blade only sliced a shallow cut across his chest. He grunted, feeling the sting where it intersected his still-healing scar from Neytiri. 

Varang brought the blade to her lips and licked his blood from it. Something like triumph shone in her eyes, and she spoke one word, calmly, for all to hear. “Fire.”

The warriors around them immediately threw their hands to the air, brandishing their weapons and shouting in jubilation. 

“He is ours!” Varang cried.

Spider took the moment to desperately glance toward Kiri and the others. He found her eyes, filled with unshed tears and horror. In that moment they exchanged something far deeper than what could be conveyed with words. Spider understood it - and he knew that she did too. This could be the last time he ever saw her.

His chest was caving in. 

“Son!” Quaritch’s voice broke the connection, drawing Spider’s attention. The Colonel was lashing out furiously, but was as hopelessly bound as Jake. 

“Shall I release them, Air Breather?” Varang pulled him up, whispering into his ear. She was so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. 

This was no time for defiance. “Please,” he choked hoarsely. 

“Hmm,” she hummed. “They do not deserve to live.” 

Spider closed his eyes, refusing to give way to his fear. 

“But then who will spread the message that Varang takes what she pleases? Especially,” she cooed slowly, “from Eywa.”

He didn't dare say anything. Neither did the rest of the camp, all waiting for Varang’s verdict. 

“Leave them bound,” she ordered. Spider practically sank to the floor with relief. “We must take our prize home.” 

The Mangkwan cheered and called for the ikran, brandishing their bows high in the air. Above the din, Spider’s ears caught one whispered word from across the grass. “No,” Kiri begged him with her eyes not to go, to figure it out, to do something. 

But he couldn’t. 

One of the warriors bowed low to Varang, presenting her once more with the AR. She took the offering regally, pointing the barrel straight toward Kiri. “Tell the world. Eywa has no dominion over Ash.”

Spider was dragged away by a warrior, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the wet ground, his knees bloody and mud spattered. He couldn’t protest - Varang might change her mind. He had to wait until the others were clear, then he could die fighting. 

He was pushed between the shoulder blades toward one of the ikran. He tried to glance back over his shoulder at Kiri - at the rest of his family, but the warrior towered over him and wouldn’t allow it. “Move!”

The ikran shrieked and Spider made the mistake of making eye contact. 

“Get up.” The warrior grabbed him by the waist and practically threw him up into the saddle. Without his hands to hold on, he’d be lucky to make it to the Ash camp alive. Two other warriors came out of nowhere with rope, tying his ankles to the footrests on the harness. He panicked, unwilling to let them, but he had no choice. He pushed back the whimper threatening to clog his throat, turning it into an unappreciative growl as the male warrior climbed up behind him. 

At a cry from Varang, the clan took flight. Spider jerked forward as the ikran beat its wings, twisting to keep sight of the Sullys as they rose off the ground, but he could barely see them amongst the other ikran and forest canopy. “Kiri!” he cried out. 

Then they were too high, the trees too thick, and his family was left below. 

It was a long flight to the Ash clan’s home territory. On the back of an unfamiliar animal, a huge sadistic warrior the only thing keeping him steady, Spider began to shiver as they flew through the cold night air. His thoughts were split between the Sullys and Quaritch, who would hopefully have managed to get out of their bonds by now, and whatever trials awaited him when they landed. He had no clue why Varang had taken him or what she wanted, but he was quite sure it wasn’t going to end happily. 

He would have to try and reason with her, try and tell her he was no one special. Maybe he could convince her he’d simply been born an air breather and Eywa had nothing to do with it. Afterall, her gripe wasn't with him, but the All Mother. If she thought he was just a normal human with a random gene, she might let him go. 

He caught himself. Who was he kidding? 

He was screwed. 

Dawn wasn't far off by the time they arrived over the Mangkwan camp. There was just… nothing. A huge expanse of barren land lay below them, creeping out on all sides from the towering volcano to the east. Spider had never seen a single solitary peak stand as proud as this one did. Smoke billowed in a massive plume miles high from the volcano’s crater, clouding the gradually lightening sky above them. Ash coated the land in streaks of grey, covering all in a thick blanket. It was clear from the tree line in the distance that this had all once been forest. Now, bare rock and the bitter smell of volcanic fumes were all that remained. 

A surge of adrenaline-fuelled fear chased away Spider’s impending exhaustion as the clan flew lower, heading for the hollowed out husk of what had once been their hometree. The place was devoid of life, of noise. 

Yurts were strung up between any remaining scorched wood, and leather tents formed the basis of the camp. In the weak, predawn light, Spider could make out totems cobbled together from bones dotted throughout the structures, decorating the entire place with death. 

The ikran landed heavily, kicking up a fine layer of ash that clogged Spider’s throat. The warrior swung off behind him and a minute later his ankles were freed from the harness. He tentatively slid off, stumbling a little on landing. His legs were stiff, but the dread pooling in them made them even weaker. The party cried out to announce their arrival, Varang swooping in to land her massive nightwraith. Spider had never seen one in real life before - he hadn’t even known it was possible to bond with one. The animal shrieked as Varang slid off, so nimble it was nightmarish. Seeing him, she stalked over. 

Spider steeled every last ounce of courage he had. “You got me. What do you want from me now?”

Her posse hissed at his insolence. 

“I have not decided, Air Breather.” She inclined her head, predator-like. “Tell me. What is your name?” 

“Spider,” he replied. 

Her tail swished above the ash behind her. “Spider,” she tested the word on her tongue. “We have much to discuss.”

She grabbed his shoulder and pushed him forward, marching him through the entrance of the camp. They passed tents smeared in red and black paint, stitched with bone carvings, and from behind one of the curtains Spider caught sight of a small bald head peering out at him curiously. Villagers who were already awake ran over, tense and alert to his presence under the tsahik’s hand. No one questioned her. They hunched down as she passed, almost like they were scared to speak. She led the party to the centre of the camp, an empty gathering space outside the entrance to what must be her own tent, judging by the size and intricacy of the design. She stopped, bringing Spider to face her. Her eyes were full of promise, like she couldn't wait to get started. 

When she spoke, she addressed the crowd. “This is what Eywa chooses to bless.” Her voice carried far across the camp, laden with authority. “This creature is so worth saving that she bestows upon him the gift of breath.” 

Spider swallowed, dread pooling in his stomach. 

“The Air Breather!”

Hisses and shouts echoed through the crowd, condemning Spider, condemning Eywa, condemning anyone in support of her. 

“I brought him here to show you, my people, that Eywa is a fool! Nobody is above the wrath of Varang!” She pulled a knife out, and Spider backed away in fear, but she only brought it down on the ropes binding his hands. He stumbled in shock. 

“Eywa has chosen him, and so we will take him from Eywa!” 

The crowd’s cheering thundered in his ears. They began chanting, the sound drowning out anything else. “Death to Eywa! Death to Eywa!”

Oh, this was so not good. 

Varang advanced on him. He was forced to walk back until his feet hit something tall and sturdy and uncomfortable. He glanced behind him. It was a totem pole, made from Na’vi skulls. 

Bile surged at the back of his throat as she pinned him against it, his back pressing uncomfortably into jaws and teeth. Someone came up behind him, seizing his wrists and trying them tightly around the totem. Spider was stuck. Horrified, he stared up at Varang.

She drank in his fear, and smiled. 

“From now on, he belongs to me!” she called to the crowd without taking her eyes off Spider. “Do not touch what isn’t yours.”

She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned her back on him, slinking away toward the entrance of her tent. The warrior who had flown with Spider - the lower half of his face painted black - raised his spear to the sky and the rest of the Mangkwan cheered. He must be her second in command, because he ordered the warriors to sort through the Tlalim horde and then clean and repair the weapons. A lot of villagers stayed to stare at Spider, expressions of confusion, shock and fear written across their faces. 

Spider glanced around helplessly. Dawn had broken now, grey light spilling across the ashen ground, somehow making everything seem even more monotone than it had looked at night. He tested the rope binding his hands, but it was tied tightly. 

Fuck.

This was not an ideal situation. He was tied up in the centre of the village like an animal on display. The Sun was going to rise properly soon and he couldn’t remember the last drink of water he’d had. His chest stung from where she’d cut him, blood crusting across his chest, but worse than that his body was burnt out. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d been dying on the forest floor, Kiri, Lo’ak and Tuk’s voices around him fading into blackness. Miraculously, he’d somehow woken up. For a good three minutes it had seemed like everything might be alright. But then they had appeared, and Varang had asphyxiated him again in a mockery of what Kiri had done to save him. Spider should really have known better. No good was ever going to come from this. He’d barely been breathing five minutes before the gift had backfired. 

Looking around now, he almost wished Eywa had never blessed him. If he had simply died before Kiri could save him, maybe they never would have been caught by the Ash. Maybe Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk would be safe and untraumatised. As far as his own fate was concerned, he’d much rather have died peacefully in Kiri’s arms back in the forest than be subjected to whatever humiliation and pain he was sure to face here. 

Despite his surroundings, he could no longer stave off the utter exhaustion from nearly dying twice. He just wanted to close his eyes, resting his chin on his chest. The wave of sleep that crashed over him came silently and swiftly.

He jerked awake, a sharp pain on his ribs pulling him suddenly back to reality. A stone lay at his feet, and he looked up through heavy eyelids to see a group of small, weedy looking kids with bones pierced through their ears and noses. They were hovering twenty feet or so away, holding more of the sharp stones. Spider looked at his rib where the pain had woken him, realizing how that had happened. 

“You little shitheads,” he groaned, but they only seemed to laugh behind their hands at him, egging each other on to throw more stones. Some of them missed, but most of them hit, catching Spider in the thighs and torso. One smaller one caught him above his eyebrow. 

“Ow!” he whined. “This is not exactly a fair game!”

Is this what he had amounted to? 

Was Varang just going to leave him here to be stoned to death by feral children? 

He took the brunt of it - thankfully they only had a limited number of stones and were soon called away by a parent, whom Spider’s instinct told him was more concerned about Varang’s wrath than his own welfare.

His shoulders were aching from being bound in this position, but mercifully he drifted back off again pretty quickly.

He awoke to fingers caressing his face. Eyes flying open wildly, he found himself face to face once more with Varang. 

Eywa, did she have to get so close all the time?

“Spider,” she crooned. Her black and blood-red feather headpiece blocked out all else from view. There was only her. 

He struggled fruitlessly against the rope. “Get away from me!”

She ignored this, holding up a waterskin in front of him. He stilled, his eyes widening in need. He was so thirsty. She brought it to his lips and he shamelessly gulped down as much as he could manage, water spilling down his chin and neck. He drank until it was empty, gasping when she removed it. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, sizing her up. If she wasn’t going to kill him immediately, he needed to play nice long enough to escape. 

Her hands invaded his hair, stroking his locs. “Where do you come from?” she asked, her voice low with curiosity. 

Spider weighed what to tell her. Saying the wrong thing could easily sign his death warrant. “I am Omatikayan.”

She smiled placatingly. “No.” She shook her head. “You are not.”

Spider glared at her, unflinching. 

She twirled one of his locs around her finger, eyes roaming the blue stripes across his body. “Who do you belong to?”

If that was her way of asking who his parents were, he wasn’t going to play along. “I was raised by the Oma-”

He was cut off by a sharp slap to the face. 

He turned his neck, cheek smarting. 

“Who birthed you?” she demanded, anger bubbling behind her voice. 

Lie. “I don’t know.” He scowled at her. 

“Hmm,” she said. “We will see.” 

She moved behind him, cutting the rope keeping him bound to the totem. He fell forward, almost hitting the ground, but caught himself in the nic of time. He glanced around anxiously, scanning for a possible exit route. 

“Come,” she nodded toward her tent, the entrance decorated with hundreds of animal bones. “We will talk inside.”

She waited for him to walk ahead before following. He reluctantly stepped forward, the ash soft and warm under his feet. One of the warriors with a bone pierced through both eyebrows jeered as he passed, and Spider couldn’t help wondering if he was walking towards his death. 

What he’d originally thought to be a beaded curtain at the entrance to Varang’s tent was in fact devoid of beads. Instead, teeth hung from the strips of leather. All different kinds, from every creature imaginable. He forced himself to part the curtain and step through, but then the aroma of the inside hit him like an RDA supply train. The air was thick and heavy with it: a spicy perfume that stuffed its way down Spider’s throat. He tried to repress a cough, but was unsuccessful. How did she live in this?

Inside was dark, but spacious. A fire pit in the middle, shelves and pots stacked around the outside, and soft pelts in one corner for sleeping. Hanging from the ceiling were huge meathooks, and a small central opening above the fire allowed the smoke to escape. Trays of smaller jars and ingredient pots surrounded the fire. 

“Sit,” Varang said softly. 

Spider obeyed, sitting cross legged by the fire. The ground was hard and the flames cast heat over his skin, but he focused on what he needed to say. “Listen, tsahik, I was born like this, Eywa didn’t choose me. Some humans can just breathe. It’s rare but it happens.”

Varang slouched down on the opposite side of the fire. She watched him, drinking in his words with an amused stare. 

“I’m not blessed,” he was almost pleading. “Eywa doesn’t care about me!”

She was silent for a moment, switching her attention to the bright flames between them, then back to him. “You... are a liar, Air Breather.”

Spider gasped. 

“Does your tongue know what truth is?” Her eyes narrowed in question, almost like she was talking to herself. 

Spider racked his brain for something to say. Some way to defend himself… “Please, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what you want!”

“I want?” She repeated. “I want your goddess to suffer, as my people have suffered.”

Spider’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising rapidly. It was difficult to breathe in here. 

“I will ask you again. Where did you come from?” 

Spider closed his mouth in defiance, lowering his chin. 

Varang simply smiled in that sick way of hers. She got up, tail swishing and Spider braced himself. She didn’t come for him. Instead she went to the pots filled with different kinds of colourful powders. 

“I can pry truth from a stone,” she whispered, taking a pinch of white powder and adding it to a separate bowl. “A Sky Person child cannot cling to falsehoods here.” 

Spider tensed, ready to back away as she approached him. She poured the mix of powder onto her palm. 

“What is that?”

“Have no fear,” she smirked, scooping up the powder into some sort of pipe and raising it to Spider’s face. “You are the first sky person to be cleansed of their lies. Be strong.”

Spider shook his head, backing away. He could not let her give that to him, whatever it was. He wouldn’t just hand over his agency, he couldn’t- 

“Agh!” She hissed as he bolted, knocking the instrument from her hand and spilling the powder everywhere. Before he’d even made it one step she grabbed him by the hair and threw him to the floor. He pushed against the ashen ground, scrambling toward the exit, but she exclaimed furiously, and suddenly his hands were in hers, being wrapped with a thin piece of leather. 

He hissed and kicked at her, but her size and strength easily dominated his. She dragged him by the wrists to a hook hanging from the ceiling, and lifted them up so that he was forced on his tiptoes, hanging like an animal to be slaughtered. He kicked out, hissing at Varang venomously when words failed him. 

“Stupid child.”

Spider could do nothing as she refilled the pipe and brought it right up to his nose. 

“Don’t, please!”

She blew the powder up his nostril. 

He sputtered, not used to the sensation. Then a warm feeling doused his senses. His body stilled. His brain short-circuited. Pleasure as he’d never known it surged through his blood, alighting every cell under his skin. He sagged against the hook, head lolling forward as his eyes closed without his permission. Was he fainting? It didn’t feel like it. He was too content to be unwell. Fuck, his body was reacting in ways he didn’t understand and couldn’t even register. 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew he should probably be worried about that, but the electric hum of ecstasy radiating through his body repressed that voice as quickly as it was noticed. 

Varang lifted his chin. 

Wow. 

Had Spider never appreciated her beauty before? She was magnificent! The firefight danced in her eyes and Spider stared, unfit to do anything other than take her in. 

“The pollen is strong,” she purred. “For a Sky Person.”

Spider blinked. He heard the words - he registered that she was speaking, but he was too preoccupied with the powdery texture of her face to even try to comprehend what she was saying. He felt the strangest urge to reach out and touch it. He wanted to know what it felt like.

“Now,” she murmured. “Only true words will come from your tongue.” 

Was he supposed to speak now? Had she asked him a question? Spider blinked again, and an eye appeared right in front of him. Not Varang’s eye. Not a real one. It moved and swelled on her palm, drawing his focus.

“Where did you come from?”

He grinned. He missed his home. He hadn’t been there for so long. Months. Why hadn’t he been home for so long? He couldn’t remember. 

Something to do with a tall blue man, the humans… that definitely wasn't where he was from. 

“The forest,” he slurred. “The caves.”

“Who are your parents?” 

He frowned, wincing against the pleasure wracking his brain. He was so blissed out, he didn’t want to think about anything bad…

“Who?” Varang demanded. 

“The Colonel. Blue one.” He was aware of Varang’s eyes narrowing. The firefight was no longer visible in those deep pupils. “Mom’s dead.”

“The skyman?” She pressed. “You are his son?”

If Spider had been more lucid, he would have seen the cogs whirling in Varang’s mind. 

He swayed where he was suspended. Varang held the back of his head, shaking him gently. “S’complicated,” he murmured. 

“Speak.”

“He’s… a clone.” The Na’vi didn’t have a word for clone but it was the best he could do. “Miles Quaritch.” The words were rough on his tongue. They felt wrong. “He died… human.”

He didn’t know what he was saying. He forgot each syllable as soon as it was out of his mouth. 

“He is reborn?”

“Don’t ask m’how. Science.”

She appraised him, lifting her chin. “How do you breathe our air?”

“I dunno… Was dying. My mask ran out of power. Kiri…” No. 

That was bad. That was wrong. He’d forgotten why, but he shouldn’t talk about Kiri. He knew he shouldn’t. There was a reason…

“Kiri?” Varang prompted, leaning closer. 

He frowned. What was happening? Where was he? Underneath the haze of mind numbing bliss a ripple of panic surfaced. “No…” he said slowly. He had to stop. He couldn’t talk about Kiri. Why?

…They’d hurt her. 

He exhaled, somewhere between lucid and not. “I… I passed out.” He tried to think, tried to think. He needed to fight this! “I woke up, and the forest had healed me.”

Varang snarled, angered by his answers. 

“I don’t know what happened… I don’t!”

She had stalked over to the fire, her back to him as she crouched at its edge. Like she was asking it for guidance. For a few minutes, she stayed like that. Spider's eyes began to droop as sleepiness took him once more. He could taste the powder at the back of his throat, mixing with the hot, aromatic air. He was thirsty again. 

Varang stood suddenly. “I should kill you.”

Spider inhaled, as if to take his last breath, but she didn’t raise a knife. She tilted her head to the side. 

“But you are strong, like fire.”

He didn’t feel very strong. His shoulders were killing him, his lungs were sore and he was running on half his usual brain capacity. 

“Mangkwan are strong. You will fit.”

Spider shook his head, sweat dripping down his temple. 

“Or you will die.”

“No. Kill me now.”

She looked him up and down while he did his best to glare at her. It was so hot in here… She responded only with an amused hum. “But first you will suffer. As I command it, so Eywa will see what happens to the things she cares for.”

This was all just a bad dream. He’d wake up any moment now on the forest floor. Lo’ak would be fitting the mask over his face and he’d be saved just in time. Or better yet, he’d wake up back on the Wind Trader ship, having fallen asleep after the dancing and the wine he and Kiri had snuck. 

He closed his eyes, picturing her face as she’d watched him be carried off by the Ash clan. He prayed she was okay. Varang had said she’d let them go to spread her message, but there was no guarantee she'd stuck to her word. She hadn’t taken off until after Spider had been carried away. At least, that’s what he thought happened…

His thoughts were like honey.

Kiri’s face, her glowing tanhi and sparkling eyes swam at the surface, and it’s what he clung to as Varang cut him down from the hook. He collapsed in a heap, the blood rushing back to his arms. 

Strong indeed. 

She dragged him out of the tent - back into the fresh air and bright sunlight, his eyes squinting against the sudden assault. She threw him into two male warriors, and then he was being secured back around the totem. If he died here, would they add his bones to the structure? 

By some small mercy, the bindings were loose enough to allow him to sit at the ashen base. The Sun was reaching its highest point now, and he didn’t bother resisting when his own exhaustion took him. 

He did not sleep for nearly long enough. Someone threw a rock at him, bigger than the stones that the children had used. It knocked him alert suddenly, bringing him brutally back to reality. The ground stared back at him, dead and unapologetic.

The Sun beat down on the back of his neck, its glare seemingly magnified by the pale ground. Spider’s mouth was dry, his throat parched. Clearly, Varang intended to leave him out here for hours. 

Beyond that, he had no clue what she would do. 

So Spider sat. 

Drifting in and out of consciousness as the Sun moved across the horizon, lighting up Polyphemus before the daily eclipse, then finally bringing dusk with it. 

When no one came for him as night fell, Spider began to lose hope of being allowed a more comfortable sleeping place. 

Not too far away a bonfire was lit. Sounds of cheering and celebration carried to him on the faint breeze. His stomach growled as it detected the smell of roast meat. Still no one came. 

The bones dug into his back as he leaned against the totem, staring up at the stars in between dozes. They glinted at him, his only company until morning came again. 

Spider was seriously considering having to swallow his pride and piss himself where he sat. He had needs, and he was being totally neglected. His body had completely stiffened up from being in the same position for nigh on twenty four hours, pain wracking through his shoulders. He was starved and dehydrated, and utterly miserable by the time Varang appeared in the morning light, slinking out of her tent with a kind of malice that somehow made Spider wish to be left alone for a little bit longer. 

He glared up at her, trying to show her he wasn’t afraid. 

She gestured to a warrior behind him, who cut his arms free. He winced in pain at the sudden movement, and spat at the feet of Varang. 

“Come,” she smiled. 

He got unsteadily to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” God, his voice was rough. 

Sharp pain punctured his side. Varang’s second-in-command with the black facepaint jabbed him with his spear, leaving a bloody wound just under his ribs. Spider hissed furiously. 

The warrior made to jab again, but Spider dodged, finding himself moving in the direction Varang had asked. 

They walked around Varang’s tent, following a path through a sparsely populated area at the rear of the camp. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To your new home,” Varang replied without looking back. 

Spider eyed the warrior still trailing him with the spear. There was hardly anyone about back here. The tents weren’t ones made for dwelling in. They seemed to be storage areas, or half-hazard workstations. Piles of bones towered against the leather awnings, strips of animal skin were hung out to dry in the breeze, and wood had been collected from somewhere, in various states of design. 

Ahead of them, Spider thought he saw where they were headed. Charred branches secured together with woven rope crisscrossed, forming four walls and a roof made of bars. It was a prison. 

“Do you like it?” Varang smirked, turning to face him. “You will sleep here. By day the people will watch you in the village. Let them see what happens to Eywa’s precious things.”

Spider swallowed his reaction. 

“But first, you must be marked.”

Marked? His eyes widened in alarm. She pushed him over to where a small fire was burning next to one of the supply tents. It had mostly died out, leaving just glowing embers behind. The warrior who had pushed Spider along with the spear now handed Varang a short, ceramic stick that was intricately carved with designs. It looked almost like a paintbrush without the hair. She turned it over in her hands, like she was inspecting it for signs of damage. Spider braced, trying to keep a handle on his fear. He knew she could smell it like a thanator could smell blood.

She smiled to herself, and pulled out a waterskin, tossing it to Spider. “Drink.”

Spider caught it, and although every instinct in him was screaming at him to gulp it down until there wasn’t a drop left, he hesitated. 

“Drink,” Varang repeated, her voice dropping. 

“No thanks,” Spider managed to keep his voice level, even though his throat and tongue were as dry as the desert. 

Varang’s eyes travelled the length of Spider’s body. “It is a kindness,” she said. “Only insolent children bite the hand that cares for them.”

Spider pressed his lips together. Is that what was apparently happening? Varang was caring for him?

He could drink it willingly, or she would force him. There weren’t many options. He obeyed with slightly trembling hands, unstoppering the waterskin and pouring the cool liquid into his mouth. Eywa, that felt good. As soon as he confirmed that it didn’t immediately taste like poison, he began to gulp it down. Like yesterday, he swallowed every drop. 

He finished with a pant, throwing the empty skin back to Varang. Perhaps a little too forcefully to be considered respectful. 

She smiled, turning her back to him and bending low over the fire. 

A wobbling sensation crept up Spider's legs that had nothing to do with fear. 

Oh, shit. 

He let the sensation spread, horror mingling repulsively with whatever chemical now flowed through his blood. 

She turned, approaching him with the ceramic instrument. It was now glowing red hot from the embers of the fire. “To be a part of the Ash, first you must burn.”

He wanted to move. He wanted to run. 

But his legs had disappeared, and he was too light headed to coordinate an escape attempt… he stumbled backwards. 

Like a palulakan she stalked him effortlessly, taking hold of his hair once more. 

“Stop,” he tried. 

She pulled his head back, exposing his chest, and pressed the blunt tip of the instrument into his flesh. 

His scream was cut off by the smell of burning skin infiltrating his nostrils. The hissing sound of his own skin evaporating…

The pain debilitated him, until the only thing he could focus on was an overwhelming wave of nausea. 

When he opened his eyes, he was still standing, kept upright by Varang. Sweat beaded down his entire body, his limbs cramping and his breaths coming in short pants. He couldn’t look down at the mark on his collarbone. He could still smell it. 

“Good,” Varang smiled. 

Spider was almost boneless. No energy to do anything, even protest as she reheated the brander and applied a second scar adjacent to the first. He wasn’t sure how many she made, only that after a while he was on his back in the ash. Still she kept going. 

Was it the drug she’d given him or his own pain and exhaustion that caused him to black out? He remained awake the whole time, but when she finally stopped and sat back on her haunches to assess her work, Spider felt like he couldn’t remember half of it. Like a dream slipping through his fingers the harder he tried to focus on the details. 

Small mercies. 

She applied some sort of cloth to the row of small circular burns forming a line just over both collarbones, coated in something that seemed to ease the pain minutely. His body wasn’t moving by his own volition anytime soon, so all he could do was lay there and focus on the feeling of wetness trickling down his temples from his eyes. She secured the cloth in place with a woven wrapping, tying it across his chest to keep it in place. Then he was thrown over the shoulder of her warrior, who carried him to the prison cell and deposited him roughly in the dusty shade. The door closed, trapping him inside. Then he was alone. 

It must have been early afternoon by the time he was lucid enough to care. He sat up slowly, examining the dressings on his chest. As much as he didn’t want to, he needed to see what they’d done to him. 

He gingerly peeled back the bandage and cloth underneath, which smelled vaguely of mint. The row of burns were small and circular in shape, like the scars Varang wore proudly across her brow ridge. In fact, once they were healed he knew they’d look just like them. Just like scars the rest of the clan wore in various places decorating their bodies. 

There wasn’t any bleeding, but the pink skin was weeping painfully. 

Well… fuck. He’d have these scars for life. Prominent. Visible. 

He took a deep breath to combat the vomit threatening to appear at the back of his throat. 

It’s okay. The scars didn’t mean anything. He had to focus on getting out of here first, before stewing over something that was done and dusted. 

He looked around the makeshift cell. It was infinitely preferable being in here than tied to that ungodly totem in the baking Sun. Slowly, he got to his knees and fumbled around the walls. The wooden poles were bent and hardened into place, creating a lattice that he could stick an arm through but no more. Giant, dead leaves woven into the canopy provided shelter from the midday heat and there was even a pot in the corner whose purpose was obvious. 

He also spotted a waterskin lying just inside the door, next to a small plate of roots. His stomach roared inside his belly, and if the situation wasn’t so dire Spider would have laughed for days with Lo’ak about how loud it was. He scrambled toward the plate and tore into the roots. Tasteless, uncooked, still muddy… but edible. He gulped the water down too, which helped him to swallow the chewy plants. 

Eywa, where were Kiri and the rest now? What had happened to Quaritch? Spider hadn’t seen nor heard anything of the Colonel since he hauled him out from the bottom of the SeaDragon. How exactly he’d found Jake at the Wind Trader crash two days ago Spider was none the wiser. But when the recom version of his father burst through the foliage to rescue them Spider’s heart had reacted in a way he hadn’t had time yet to process. Spider only wished the rescue attempt hadn’t been in vain. 

With Spider gone, would Quaritch have turned on Jake as soon as they’d got themselves free of their restraints? Was it possible that Quaritch had killed him? 

Spider couldn’t think about that. Jake was alive, and so were Kiri, Lo’ak and Tuk. They were forming a rescue plan this second. 

But his shoulders sagged fractionally as he remembered the last time he’d been captured by unfriendly forces. No rescue attempt had come then. The Sullys had fled. 

Spider didn’t blame them - he could never. Jake had to protect his family and get them out of High Camp before the RDA came looking. He only wished that Jake had known Spider would never give them the intel they needed. He’d proven that now, so maybe it had earned him a few kudos in Jake’s eyes. Maybe enough to warrant a new rescue attempt now.

Regardless of what Jake’s plans were, Spider knew he could count on the Colonel. At least he hoped he could. Quaritch would want him back, as soon as possible. He’d wanted him back for weeks, but just hadn’t been able to find him. 

With a jolt of hope, Spider realised that Quaritch could easily commandeer RDA forces again and come to extract him. They knew he was at the Ash camp. Surely the RDA had a record of where this place was. All it would take would be the willpower on Quaritch’s side. 

If he wasn’t too wrapped up in trying to kill Jake, and the fallout of that. 

No, Quaritch would come. 

He would come. 

“I guess now is the part where you kill me a third time?” The Colonel looked up at where Sully stood over him, his eyebrow raising in a silent dare. “You know I’ll just come back again.”

Jake said nothing, watching Quaritch struggle against the hog tie still binding his wrists to his ankles. He’d been laying like this for nearly two hours while they’d tried to work a way out of the bonds. 

He and Sully hadn’t been able to do jackshit, but Jake’s brood weren’t tied up as heavily so had been commanded to search the forest for something sharp. Eventually the son had found a rock with an edge that would cut through the ropes. Albeit torturously slowly. He’d freed himself first, then cut Sully free, then the two girls. 

And so now it was that his great nemesis stood above him, Quaritch’s fate in his hands. 

Jake didn’t speak for a long moment. The kids watched him too, and it seemed to Quaritch that even the forest was waiting for Sully’s decision. 

“You’re gonna go get him?”

It was obvious who Sully was talking about. And in that moment the Colonel knew he was safe. Jake wasn’t going to kill him. Not when he needed Quaritch to rescue the kid for him. 

Quaritch huffed. “I shoulda known you wouldn’t.”

The older girl - Kiri, who Spider was fond of - murmured to her father. “Dad…” 

The little one clung to her arm anxiously.

Sully silenced her with a placating hand. “What happens when you get him?”

“Cut me loose, then we’ll talk.”

Sully’s jaw tightened, but he did as Quaritch said with no questions. Quaritch couldn’t deny his surprise. He rubbed his wrists as he sat up, his legs and arms aching from the position they’d been in. 

“Okay. What happens?” Jake repeated the question. 

Quaritch could practically see the man’s brain whirring behind his eyes. Sully had always been an open book. He was assessing how he’d get the kid back from Quaritch, once Quaritch had freed him from the Ash. 

So predictable.

“He’s my son,” Quaritch shrugged casually, but his tone indicated anything but nonchalance. “What do you think happens?”

The Kiri girl gasped beside Sully. Quaritch didn’t spare her a glance. 

“I think,” Jake answered in that low voice of his, “you take him back to Bridgehead and they’ll study and experiment on him until there’s nothing left. He can breathe the air now. They’re not gonna let that go.”

Quaritch pursed his lips. What Sully said was worth considering, much as he hated to admit it. The same thought had already crossed his mind while he’d lain there waiting to be untied. 

“Who says I take him back to Bridgehead?”

It was Jake’s turn to scoff. “So what? You’re gonna ride into the sunset together and live in the forest?”

Sully had him there, and he knew it. Quaritch couldn’t abandon his post, and there was no way Spider would go along with it. The boy had made his choice extremely clear. 

He deflected. “I can look after my own son, Sully. Don’t concern yourself.”

Jake stepped closer, squaring up. He still held the sharp rock - the only weapon any of them were left with. “It’s Spider. I’m already concerned.”

Quaritch looked him up and down calmly. Sully didn’t threaten him and he never had. “You didn’t seem to care last time you lost him.”

Sully winced dispassionately, almost like he hated the truth presented to him and didn’t have an argument. 

“Dad!” This time it was the boy that spoke. “You can’t let him take Spider.”

“Quiet, boy.”

The girl. “No! Dad…”

Quaritch watched Jake, enjoying the man’s internal struggle. Oh, it was satisfying. If he wanted Spider rescuing, he had to accept that the kid was going back with Quaritch. 

“He ain’t your son,” Quaritch growled dangerously low. Why did he have to constantly remind both Spider and now Jake of that fact? It was infuriating. “Can I go now?” he held his arms out, inviting Sully to make a move and attack him. 

Jake continued to stare at him, his tail swishing anxiously behind him. “You can’t let them study him.”

“And why shouldn’t they?” Quaritch bit back. The folks back on Earth deserved a chance to benefit from this whole shitshow.

“Humans cannot get that ability.”

Quaritch sneered. “That sounds like a you problem, Corporal.”

“It will be like torture for Spider. If you care about the boy at all, you won’t let him go through that.”

Quaritch took a step back, deeper into the forest. “Don’t talk to me about how to care for Spider. I was there the first time.”

Jake hissed. Oh, he was furious. A satisfied smile slipped across Quaritch’s face in spite of the anger bubbling through him at Sully’s hypocrisy and interference. 

“No, you caused it the first time!”

Quaritch snarled back, unable to help himself. “You don’t like it? Rescue him yourself.”

“We can do it, dad. We can get the warriors together-”

“Be quiet!” Sully snapped. 

The littlest one sobbed behind her brother. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Quaritch taunted him. “Lovely as ever to catch up, Jake. But if you don’t mind, I’ve got a son to rescue.”

Jesus, Sully had some nerve. Quaritch pushed through the forest at a rapid pace, ferns and branches brushing past him as he raced toward a calling point for his ikran. He’d have to add this to one one of the top reasons he hated Jake Sully. Right after killing the kid’s mother, along with countless other good men and women. 

He’d never met a more hypocritical bastard. He wanted Spider back, but he wasn’t willing to go and save him? And pretending to care for the boy, what on God’s green Earth was that all about? It was all a bunch of bullshit, that’s what it was. Sully had never cared about Spider. If he did, the kid wouldn’t look like… well, Spider. 

He travelled deeper through the forest for another thirty minutes, needing to be completely sure he’d lost Sully, but he eventually found a patch of forest floor where the canopy wasn’t so dense, ensuring Cupcake could land. 

If she was still hanging around. 

Thank God, it didn’t take her long to arrive after he called for her. Sparing a thought for Lyle as he climbed on board, he gripped her harness and connected the kurus. Her great wings beat against the ground once, then they were airborne at last. 

He only hoped Wainfleet wasn’t lying dead somewhere around the perimeter of the scene. The only reason he wouldn’t have come in as backup would be that he was killed, injured, or otherwise had to flee. He really didn’t want to lose Lyle. On top being his closest member of Project Phoenix, and a longtime friend in SecOps before that, it would be incredibly lonely to be the last remaining recombinant on Pandora. Ardmore had already declared the project a waste of money, given how quickly most of them had fallen to Sully’s hand, so there would be no more after him. 

But he couldn’t dwell on Lyle. 

Spider needed him, and he’d be damned if he let the kid suffer at the hands of those Ash monkeys a moment longer than necessary. The first thing to do when he arrived back at Bridgehead was assemble a mission team comprised of the Colonel’s most trusted officers. He didn’t need to alert Ardmore of his plans. It would mean having to answer questions he’d rather avoid. In particular how he’d failed to bring in Sully despite having him briefly in custody.  

Another thing he wasn’t planning on revealing was Spider’s newfound ability. The more Sully’s words played on his mind, the more he had to agree that Spider would never be safe if the RDA found out about his little gift. 

Nobody needed to know. It wasn’t mission critical. The only tricky part would be extracting Spider without anyone realising he wasn’t wearing a mask.

He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he urged Cupcake onwards. Towards the city, and towards Spider’s only chance at freedom. 

The next day, Spider was disturbed from his solitude by the warrior with the black face paint. Spider should really find out his name at this point. Confronted with a raised spear and venom in the guy’s eyes, Spider stood his ground behind the bars. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

The male didn’t reply, just snarled at him as though Spider were nothing more than dirt on his foot. He opened the door and grabbed him by the arms, hauling him out of the prison and into the bright light of morning. Spider squinted, wincing in pain as the movement jostled the dressings on his chest. “Get off me!” He snarled, shrugging himself out of the man’s grip with every last ounce of strength he possessed. 

The warrior let him go, pointing the sharp end of his spear in warning. Spider glared at the guy, but followed in his stead, back toward the centre of the camp. He desperately prayed Varang was done ‘marking’ him, but he wasn’t sure that if she had any other plans that they’d be any less painful. 

“Where are we going?” Spider growled as they passed tents and yurts, villagers running to watch as he walked by. 

“Shut up!” The warrior shoved him on painfully. 

“So he does speak! I was beginning to think she’d cut out your tongue…”

That earned him another shove between the shoulder blades. 

Soon they were back at the centre of the camp, the bone totem standing proud in the clearing outside Varang’s tent. 

“Tsahik!” the warrior called, and she emerged gracefully from behind the curtain of teeth. Her curved blades weren’t on her back, but she probably had a knife at her tailbone. Spider didn’t allow himself to relax for a moment. 

She stalked over to them, and Spider raised his chin in defiance. 

She beamed, her eyes lighting up. “Air Breather. Are you well?” 

He almost did a double take. She slinked around him, circling him like a predator sizing up how meaty their meal was. 

“Never been better, tsahik,” he hissed as bravely as he could manage. 

Apparently satisfied he hadn’t sprouted boils overnight, she came to rest in front of him. She raised a finger to his jaw, caressing it slowly. He leaned away quickly, but didn’t try to bite her again. 

She hummed in amusement, turning her attention to his chest. Almost tenderly she peeled back the dressings, revealing the raised and weeping wounds beneath. The urge to curse her out to smithereens flowed through Spider, but he bit his tongue. 

He deserved a medal for his restraint. 

“They heal well,” she said. “You are almost Ash.”

“Great,” Spider bit out. “What’s next? A party?”

She discarded the dressings on the floor, exposing the wounds to the air. No one said anything, the atmosphere tense with anticipation while Varang deliberated. 

She ran a hand through his locs. Purposefully. Teasingly. An evil glint shining from her eyes. 

Spider’s pulse quickened. “Please,” he said, dread curling in his stomach.  

It’s not like he hadn’t noticed the clan were all bald on the crowns of their heads. All apart from Varang. He just hadn’t wanted to think about it. 

Her hand curled through his locs. 

“Don’t…”

She drank in his fear, and for a moment something else flickered behind her eyes. For a long moment, they locked eyes. Spider refused to look away, pleading with his stare. 

Finally, her hand dropped to her side. “I like you like this.”

Spider didn’t let go of the breath he was holding. 

“Now,” she continued, backing off. “You must wear the colours.” 

Two Mangkwan villagers came forward, carrying several large ceramic pots filled with the clan’s signature paints and pastes. 

He’d take a bit of paint over more burns or getting his hair shaved off. His shoulders relaxed minutely. Varang pushed him gently against the totem and Spider let her, but fought back when she strung his hands above his head. 

He snarled at her, restrained, but she ignored him. 

“The design of a Mangkwan warrior is a symbol of their devotion to me. To the fire we praise. You will feel it too, in time.”

“Oh yeah? I will never never worship you.” 

Her lips curled up in that sadistic smile of hers. 

“Save it,” he spat. “Just kill me.” 

“You are brave,” she commented. “But ignorant of what I will make you into.”

“Keep dreaming lady.”

The pots of paint were set down beside Varang, and the two villagers backed away in reverence to the edge of the tents. Varang surveyed her options, an artist deliberating a new piece. 

She dipped her fingers into the black pot first, coating the digits with the tar-like substance. Spider could do nothing as she smeared the paint around his throat and over his shoulders. He clenched his jaw as the cold stickiness clung to his skin, glaring at her through hate narrowed eyes. She dragged a stripe down the centre of his chest, ending it at his navel. Next she used a single finger to create a line from his forehead down over his nose and chin. He closed his eyes, the unpleasant smell filling his nose. 

She grinned, wiping her hand on a rag before dipping it into the red. She studied his face, her tongue between her teeth. Deciding how best to decorate her canvas. 

The crimson paste was applied lavishly to the lower half of his jaw, and the sides of both temples. 

Next she moved onto the grey. This was a different consistency - not as pungent as the other paints, and not as thick. From what he could make out it looked like the ash itself had been mixed into a liquid. 

She smeared it down both arms, the lower part of his chest and his legs. The blue yovo berry dye he proudly displayed was covered thickly, until no trace of who he’d been before remained. 

He snarled and kicked out when she coated his thighs, but her hands were so large that it was over in two swipes. She spun him around to coat his back too, so that every inch of him was smeared with ash. 

He tried not to look down at his body, but the alternative was staring into the empty eye sockets of the Na’vi skull in front of him.  

Varang stilled as she smeared the back of his neck. Her fingers caught on one of his locs at the base of his skull. 

Wait, no. That was sensitive. 

He jerked away, confusion filling him. “What are you doing?” He hissed, twisting around to look at her. 

Her cruel eyes were wide with shock. 

With something close to… betrayal? 

She grit her teeth and forced his head down, playing again with that sensitive spot on the back of his neck. 

“Get off! Agh!” He cried, as a sudden streak of… not pain, not pleasure, but something in between, shot down his spine. 

Varang hissed behind him, more furious than Spider had ever heard her. At first he thought she was angry at him for whining, but she didn’t move. She seemed frozen. 

What was going on? 

Her hand wrapped around something sore, something that felt new, like it shouldn’t be there. He grit his teeth, trying not to let a gasp escape him at the sensitive feeling. “Get off!” He shouted again. 

He didn’t know it was coming, which was probably for the best. 

Because a second later he was yelling in pain as an intense shockwave travelled through his body, more electricity than anything else. His limbs were almost spasming at the sensation, and his vision blacked out. 

Behind his eyelids, if he focused long enough despite the pain, a feeling of cold hatred filled him. A sensation that wasn't his, that he held no ownership over. It consumed him, and for a split second he was something else. Not Spider. Not the Air Breather.

Varang. 

The sensation ended as quickly as it started.  

He gasped for air, body falling weak against the totem. Nausea swept up his throat and he vomited. 

“What… was that?” He stuttered, almost hugging the skulls for support. 

“You do not know?” Varang had lost her predatory stance. She now stood coldly watching him. 

Spider shook his head, unwillingly to play her games. 

“You have a kuru.” 

This wasn't a difficult mission. A straightforward, in and out snatch and grab. 

The tricky part was keeping Spider’s gift a secret in front of the RDA forces flying at his flank. 

He’d kept the team small. Not small enough to be risky, but enough that he didn’t need to request approval for the mission by Ardmore. Aka, no Dragon warship, and no soldier units larger than eight. 

Well, Quaritch had 3 teams, giving him 24 men. Four in skelsuits. Wainfleet flew next to him on his banshee, thankfully having reunited at base. Between them, it was more than enough. These savages were running around with sticks and bows and arrows. 

The three Kestral gunships carried heavy duty artillery and missile launching capabilities. 

The plan was simple. Land hard, demand the kid, start firing if they didn’t comply. The hardest part would be the retreat, if the clan decided to pursue.  

Quaritch was betting that they wouldn’t. 

“Two minutes to inbound, all ready.” The warning from the lead pilot played in his ear. 

“Nice and easy people, let’s get home in time for dinner,” he reassured them.

He nodded to Lyle as the Ash Camp came into view. Jesus, this place was bleak. Just an open plain of charred land, a blanket of ash covering the hardened lava. The distant volcano grumbled to the east. 

They descended quickly, gunships in front and ready to fire. Some villagers had already spotted them, shrieking to alert the rest of the camp. 

Cupcake touched down, kicking up dust while the troops leapt from the Kestrals with their weapons raised. 

“WEAPONS DOWN!” he yelled at the Mangkwan warriors who had drawn their bows. “Put them down now!” 

None of them did. 

“You need a warning?” Quaritch identified a vicious looking male whose bowstring was strung tight. He sprayed his rifle through the man’s chest. 

The clan cried in horror as the guy collapsed, dead. 

“DROP THEM!” 

They did. That got them listening.

“VARANG!” he shouted.

The squad fanned out behind him, forming a wall to meet the clan. “BRING THE TSAHIK!” His Na’vi wasn't perfect, but it was enough. 

Women with bones sticking through their noses and fangs piercing their ears hissed, hiding their fear as they shoved the little ones back. Some of the villagers ran into the heart of the camp. 

A tense stand off began as they waited for the leader to arrive. Two skelsuits with flamethrowers flanked Quaritch on either side, as he’d briefed them to do. 

A few moments later, Varang stepped forth. 

Oh yeah, she was just as Quaritch remembered. Anger bubbled beneath Quaritch’s skin. At what she had done, and what she had taken from him. 

“Hand over the boy,” he called across, voice carrying over the noise of the gunship propellers. “And no one else gets hurt!”

Varang took in the assembly of metal and guns. Barely a feather on her crown rustled in the wind. “Skyman,” she hissed. “I have killed him.”

Quaritch’s heart dropped like a stone. But it was a predictable ruse. “Nah, I know that ain’t true. He’s here. Hand him over or we keep shooting and don’t stop.”

Varang’s jaw worked. 

She took too long. 

“Shoot him,” Quaritch commanded in English, pointing to a warrior on the edge of her posse. Several soldiers complied at once, dropping the warrior to the ground in less than a heartbeat. 

“I want Spider Socorro!” 

Any remaining villagers fled terrified to the tents. Varang and her remaining warriors cried out not in fear but anger, powerless to do anything, their weapons discarded. Quaritch advanced, holding his arms wide. “I ain’t playin.”

The warriors behind Varang retreated a few steps, but Varang held firm. 

Behind them was the main gathering point in the camp, which was deserted - the Mangkwan must be cowering in their homes, too yellow bellied to face him now. A totem made of bones stood tall, like a flagpole signalling the territory. And there, just a couple of hundred feet away, tied to the base…

“Move in!” Quaritch roared, signalling the troops. As one, they advanced. He knew Lyle had his back as he led the charge, ready to gun down any warrior or villager alike who was stupid enough to get in his way. 

He wasn’t sure what Varang was doing. Let his team deal with her for now. His sole focus was on the small figure slumped against the totem. There was something wrong with the boy - he was painted in the colours of the Mangkwan, but it was undeniably him from the hair and his tiny frame. 

He wasn’t moving. 

Quaritch broke into a run, slinging his AR over his shoulder. “Spider!” 

He skidded to a stop in front of his son, who was half conscious against the skulls. He cradled Spider’s face in his hands. “Spider?”

The kid was still recognisable behind the bold paint streaked across his face. When he saw Quaritch, he blinked in confusion. “You… came?”

Quaritch couldn’t waste time on emotions or explanations. He pulled the spare exopack from where it was attached to his combat vest, fixing it on Spider hastily. “Put it on and play dead.”

“What?” 

Quaritch drew his knife and moved to cut Spider’s bonds. “Do it!” he ordered. 

Spider tightened the straps to secure the mask to his face and Quaritch swept him up in a farmer’s carry. Thankfully Spider produced no protest. 

“It’s okay, I got you,” he murmured as he hurried to the troops, Lyle covering him faithfully. 

Wisely, Varang hadn’t ordered her people to attack. 

Back among the wall of soldiers and weapons, Quaritch addressed the tsahik. His voice came out as a growl. “I ought to kill you now.”

Varang raised a displeased eyebrow. “Yet you have not.”

Quaritch narrowed his eyes. Varang was a powerful opponent. She could become very difficult to deal with if they ever crossed paths again. Not to mention she knew the truth about Spider. She was a liability. 

So why couldn’t he raise his gun? Wainfleet and the others all had their weapons trained on her. But he couldn’t do it. 

Was it killing a woman in cold blood that made him halt? Or was it the boy hanging over his shoulder, who had always been so goddamn peace-loving at heart? 

“Move out,” Quaritch commanded, not taking his eyes off the woman. 

Varang, too, ignored the first unit of soldiers to begin backing off. “He does not belong with you anymore, Skyman.” 

Fury such as he rarely felt these days rose in his chest. It was sharper than the cold anger he constantly nursed toward Sully. It demanded action. 

Unsure how to channel such a surge of fury, he emitted a guttural hiss at the tsahik. 

“Colonel, clear to retreat,” came the comms in his ear. 

It was all the confirmation Quaritch needed to hoist Spider higher on his shoulder and leap onto Cupcake. The rest of the soldiers still faced the clan, weapons raised until the last minute. The skelsuits stayed in place on the edge of gunships’ hangars, ready to fire should the clan give chase. 

Cupcake beat her powerful wings next to Sugar Pie, Lyle’s ikran. A moment later both recoms were in the air, high tailing it away from the camp with the gunships following behind. Quaritch gripped Spider tighter to twist in the saddle, making sure the clan wasn’t pursuing. 

When he saw that they weren’t, he allowed himself his first breath of relief in three days. “You still with me, kid?”

He lowered Spider down to sit astride Cupcake. 

“Yeah... I’m good.”

Quaritch could always tell when Spider was putting on a front, and this was a big front. The kid was drained of his strength, half limp and leaning back against Quaritch for support. 

“Water…” 

The Colonel immediately popped the tube of his hydration bladder open, leaning forward to hand it to Spider. The kid sucked it dry. 

“Tell me straight, kid. Do you need a medic?”

“No,” Spider muttered quickly. “I’m fine.”

He’d believe it when he saw it. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and then you can rest up for a bit.”

Spider didn’t reply, causing Quaritch to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. 

To his surprise, Spider answered a moment later. “Then what?”

Quaritch tensed. 

“Are you gonna let me go?”

God, he really did not want to be having this conversation right now. He’d just saved Spider. It hadn’t even been five goddamn minutes, and the kid was asking to go back to Sully! 

“You mean the traitor who has no loyalty to you?” Quaritch couldn’t help himself. “He wasn’t gonna rescue you, you know that? It’s the only reason I’m alive.”

“You’re lying.”

A sick chuckle escaped him. He loved his boy so much, but goddamn he was stubborn sometimes. “Sure I am.”

Neither spoke after that. 

Ten minutes later, Quaritch caught Spider before he slipped off the ikran, keeling forwards as he fell asleep for real. 

Thirty minutes later and they were crossing the city wall, and he shook Spider before dismounting. Spider followed unsteadily, landing with a stumble on the tarmac. 

Alarm bells sounded in Quaritch’s head at the sight, but he’d deal with that later. He turned to the soldiers now spilling out of the gunships. “Outstanding work today men. I want to thank each and every one of you for a smooth mission. Debrief at 17:00, boardroom 2. Dismissed.” He nodded at them as they filed past, before turning his attention back to the teenager all this had been for. 

Spider was waiting beside Cupcake, a hand on her harness. He seemed… different. Like he’d shed some child-like quality he’d always shown before. And it was nothing to do with the paint.

Quaritch frowned deeply. “What is that?” he suddenly noticed. He crouched in front of Spider, looking in alarm at the wounds on his chest. In the haste of the extraction he hadn’t realised the boy was injured. 

Spider looked away nonchalantly, but the way his mouth formed his next words gave him away. “It’s nothing.”

Quaritch raised a thumb to one of the small dot-like wounds, which appeared to form a line across each collarbone. He couldn’t discern the extent of it through the thick paint. Spider batted his hand away. 

A faint inkling of what they may be glimmered in Quaritch’s mind, but he said nothing. 

The idea of it was… sick. 

He looked from Spider’s chest to his eyes. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said gently. 

Spider could barely believe it. Quaritch had come. He’d thought he would - had hoped he would. 

But it was one thing sitting and waiting, another entirely to be held in Quaritch’s strong arms as they flew the hell out of there. 

He didn’t know why Quaritch had insisted he put on the mask, and to be honest he hadn’t really cared in the moment. But as Quaritch led him into the base he couldn’t wait to get inside and take the damn thing off. Now that he didn’t need it, it felt suffocating. “Why am I wearing this?” he grumbled. 

“Shh,” Quaritch quieted him. “I’ll explain later.”

Years of feeling like a second skin and now he couldn’t stand to wear it. 

The airlock dinged green and they stepped inside. 

Exhausted, he tore the plastic from his face. The smell of Bridgehead’s filtered and artificial air surrounded him. Was it that that made him go suddenly light headed? 

“Woah…”

Quaritch held out a hand out to steady him. “Christ, you’re not okay. We’re going to the medbay.” 

“No,” Spider hissed. He had only bad memories of that place. “I’m good.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer here, kid.”

If people had stared before, it was nothing to the open mouthed awe the citizens of Bridgehead now displayed openly as Spider passed. 

He looked crazy. Covered head to toe in chalky war paint, the skin on his chest weeping gently underneath. These people had probably never seen anything like it. He grit his teeth as he endured their stares, his skin tingling in shame until the moment he could get this shit off. 

“Nothing to see here, folks,” Quaritch warned a couple of people who stood too still for too long as they walked by. His voice was chipper, but the warning laced underneath was clear for all to hear. When they entered through the sliding doors of the medbay, Spider turned to face the Colonel. 

“Can I please take a shower first?” 

Quaritch nodded. “Shout if you need anything.” He didn’t need Spider collapsing behind a locked door.

Spider didn’t wait before scampering off to the side room he knew contained the shower and bathroom. Faucet rammed as hot as it would go, he stepped bracingly into the heat. The water ran red first.

He clenched his teeth as tainted rivulets ran down his chest burns, stinging all across the sensitive skin. When the pain brought tears to his eyes he angled his chest out of the stream, gently rubbing around the wounds to clean the remaining paint off. 

A knock sounded. “Dry clothes at the door. Don’t you dare argue.”

He didn’t respond, happy to spend a whole hour under the water. The heat was starting to turn the clean patches of skin red, but he didn’t lower the temperature. He washed every inch of his body, certain he’d never feel clean again. Red and black runoff sprayed the floor and base of the wall. 

He dipped his head forward, washing the back of his neck. Slowly, carefully, he felt for what Varang had discovered. 

His hand touched something soft and sensitive. Something small, unprotected. He inhaled. 

So that had happened. Spider half believed he might have dreamt the whole thing in his starved, delusional state. 

But the proof was in his fingers. The kuru was only a few inches long, not yet visible from under his locs. 

When he was finally satisfied - and after several annoyed prompts from the Colonel - Spider stepped out of the shower and tried to examine the kuru in the mirror. 

Holy shit. It was pale pink, looking more like a tentacle than a kuru, but there were the tendrils. They seemed to wave at him as he craned his neck to see. 

That was… so weird. Possibilities raced through his mind as to what this would mean. How he’d finally be able to connect to Eywa, connect to his own ikran, maybe. Connect to someone special. 

He knew he should be excited. Elated, even. But he just felt exhausted.

Deciding it was something he’d figure out later, he retrieved the sweatpants and shirt Quaritch had left for him and got changed. 

A second after the shirt was on, he pulled it off again. It rubbed the burns uncomfortably. 

“That’s better.” Quaritch approved once he stepped out. 

A nurse was standing with Quaritch, who gestured for him to take the bed closest to them. “Hi Spider. My name’s Janine. How are you feeling?” She was in her late thirties or early forties with dark hair and hazel eyes. Beyond that, Spider didn't have the energy to care.

“I’m good,” Spider answered automatically. 

Quaritch sighed wearily. 

“Your father told me what happened.”

Your father. Spider blanched, eyes darting to Quaritch before he could help himself. 

Was he imagining things, or was that a blush creeping across the Colonel’s face? 

“Those look like some nasty burns. Do you mind if I take a look?” 

Spider nodded, trying to look anywhere but at the Colonel. 

Janine was gentle as she examined the small, circular wounds. “How did you get these?”

He shrugged. “Crazy lady with a poker stick.”

Janine’s hands went still. 

“Are they gonna scar?” 

“I’m afraid so,” she said tentatively. Kindly. 

Spider had already known the answer, but it crushed a part of him to hear nonetheless. 

“There are surgeries that can help… I don’t know how it would work. If you’re eligible.” Her eyes flicked questioningly toward Quaritch. 

“No. It’s fine.” Spider interrupted before the Colonel could speak. He didn’t need any more procedures. 

“You want the surgery, you’ll have the surgery. Understand?” Quaritch’s face was set in determination. 

Spider shook his head. “It’s fine.”

The Colonel made a hmphing noise as Janine picked up some medical supplies. 

“I need to clean these. Is that okay?”

“Go ahead,” Spider muttered, bringing his knees up as he leaned back on the bed. 

Quaritch disappeared while she worked, returning some time later with a tray of food. Spider’s stomach growled hungrily after receiving nothing but raw roots for three days. He devoured the food in less than a minute, and once Janine had applied fresh dressings to the brands she tactfully left them to it.

“So,” Quaritch began. “How bad was it? And don’t give me none of your stoic crap.”

Spider brought his knees higher. “She wanted to get revenge on Eywa.” He sighed, boneweary. “Get revenge on me.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I dunno what she was planning. I guess to turn me into one of her psychos.”

“Hence the branding.”

Spider nodded. “Hence the branding.” He couldn’t help glancing down to the pattern of scars along his collarbones. “Now I’ll look like one of hers for the rest of my life.”

“Kid, you look nothing like one of hers.” He took a seat on the edge of the bed and Spider frowned. “Sorry to break it to you.”

“Very funny.”

“Spider. How can you breathe the air?”

He thought back to the night in the forest. It felt like a lifetime ago. He supposed after everything, he had Varang to thank in the first place for his ability. If the Mangkwan had never attacked the wind traders then Spider’s mask would never have run out. 

“I don’t know. The pack was dead… we were trying to get back to the ship. But I couldn't make it.”

Memories of the panic and struggle for air consumed him, and he closed his eyes. A cold chill broke across his skin. “I was dying… I just remember not being able to breathe.”

The Colonel remained quiet, waiting for Spider to go on. 

“When I woke up, I could breathe again.” 

“But how?”

That was the million dollar question, and the hell if Spider knew. “The forest… the roots, they grew over me. They’d gone down into my lungs.”

He knew better than to include the part where Kiri had orchestrated it.

“That is a whole load of crazy.”

Spider huffed. “Tell me about it.”

The news of his kuru was on the tip of his tongue. He yearned to tell the Colonel, to shout it from the rooftops how proud he was to have his own connection to the planet. But he held himself back. 

“That’s why you put the mask on me,” he said suddenly. “You don’t want them to know I can breathe.”

Quaritch gave him a hard look. “Do you want them to know?”

Spider shivered involuntarily. “Yeah, I guess not.”

Silence fell between them. “Son?”

Spider looked at Quaritch. 

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Spider took in the words, nodding solemnly. There was something he needed to say. “Thank you. For coming for me.”

One half of the Colonel’s face pulled upward into a relaxed smile. “Always. I got your back.” 

Spider nodded, but Quaritch put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You know that right?” 

He tried hard to hold it together, but deep within Spider a part of him crumbled. 

He was so fucked. 

“Yeah,” he said thickly, turning his face away before the Colonel could see the tears brimming behind his eyes. And he did know. It’s why he was so overwhelmed. Varang could do whatever she wanted to him. Body and mind. But the act of love from Quaritch was somehow more painful than anything she could have possibly thought of.