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Rage. Pure Rage. That was what Lo‘ak felt after Jake told him off again. He couldn't do one thing right, could he? He was a walking disappointment—a disgrace to the Omatikaya.
He'd heard Jake call him that once. He'd cried for hours, hiding in the forest until the light faded and he heard frantic voices searching for him.
When he was back at High Camp, he was in for another scolding. It confirmed what he thought about himself…
He wasn't worthy of being Jake Sully's—Toruk Makto's—son. He wasn't worthy of anything.
"Lo‘ak! Where were you?" Jake asked when Lo'ak stepped into the Mauri. His voice was stern, his brows knitted together.
He'd waited the whole evening for Lo'ak to come home, but he hadn't shown up. The boy missed dinner and bedtime. Jake's blood was boiling by now. He'd been so close to going and searching for Lo'ak, but he'd forced himself to remain in the Mauri and wait instead.
Neytiri said Lo‘ak was most likely with Tsireya, and he definitely wouldn’t do something stupid if the chief's daughter were with him. Jake didn't know about that. He certainly did stupid things while he courted the chief's daughter, and he knew how unpredictable Lo'ak could be.
Besides, he wanted his son home by evening, for dinner and time as a family. They'd abandoned that for too long.
And he just wanted to know if Lo'ak was safe…
Lo'ak's jaw tensed at Jake's question. "I was out," he replied, brushing past his father. He didn't want to talk to him. It wasn't like he wouldn't be scolded again. It was all he got those days.
"Don’t!" Jake warned, grabbing his son's arm. His hold was tight—maybe too tight. "Where. Were. You? Answer my question!" he demanded, eyes narrowing.
Lo‘ak turned around, glaring at Jake. "I already said that I was out. I’m home now, aren’t I?" His voice was clipped, jaw tense. He looked like the spitting image of his father.
"Were you with Tsireya?" Jake pressed, his hold on Lo'ak tightening. It would leave bruises if he didn't let go.
"Why do you care?" Lo'ak spat, tugging his arm back to free himself from Jake's hold, but the older man didn't waver. His grip was firm.
"Because I’m your father and I don’t want you to mess with her. She’s the chief's daughter—"
With a huff, Lo'ak cut him off. "You’re my father? Then maybe behave like it for fucks sake!" His words were like venom, slipping off his tongue without a second thought.
That caught Jake off guard. He blinked at Lo'ak, mouth open, but no words were coming out. His grip around Lo'ak's arm loosened, and the boy finally managed to free himself from his father's hold. Jake stumbled back from the force.
His breath was going heavy, his mind clouded, and his ears ringing. What? What did Lo'ak mean by that? He was his father. There was no possible way Lo'ak was being serious.
There was no way that Lo'ak was speaking the truth. Or was there?
Jake couldn’t sleep. Nor could Lo‘ak. All they both did was toss and turn, willing the night to pass and the day to start. It was near torture.
When the sun finally rose, Lo'ak was out of Mauri as soon as possible. He didn’t want to run into Jake. He had enough scolding for a week. Enough was enough; he couldn't hear it anymore. It felt as if Jake didn't see Lo'ak for who he was. All Jake saw was this… soldier that he was trying to raise and train. But that wasn't Lo'ak.
He was so much more…
Awa'atlu was already bustling with Na'vi, as the usual morning business got underway. With quick feet, Lo'ak made his way outside the village and jumped into the water on the way to search for Payakan.
Sometimes it felt as if the Tulkun was the only one who understood how he felt.
He was an outcast, too, wasn’t he? He knew how to deal with being a disappointment.
After a few moments of searching, Lo'ak saw the Tulkun approach, a smile spreading on his face. He rarely smiled these days, especially not when he was with his family. It felt as if life was too heavy for him when he was around them.
"Hey, big boy," he greeted his friend, climbing onto his fin. "How are you?"
"Fine," Payakan, gently letting Lo‘ak down into the cool water. "And you?"
A heavy sigh escaped Lo'ak's lips as he splashed with the water around him. "Could be better…" he confessed, looking away. In the distance, he could see a few kids playing with their ilu's. On the shore, the women were weaving baskets, and the men sharpened their spears.
"Your brother?" Payakan asked, but Lo‘ak just shook his head. It wasn't Neteyam, no…
"Nah… My Dad," a sarcastic laugh followed after that. At some point, Lo‘ak had lost count of how many times he'd complained about Jake already… It was ridiculous, actually. He should get along with him, be a good son, but he just couldn't. It felt impossible.
His relationship with Jake had gotten so bad that, sometimes, Lo'ak couldn’t even remember his childhood…
He couldn’t remember the times he used to play with Neteyam, Kiri, and Jake, how they'd run around the jungle, chasing each other. Kiri always talked about it to keep the memory of Neteyam alive, but Lo‘ak couldn’t remember.
It was as if his brain refused to think about the good times so that Lo'ak wouldn't be hurt any further by Jake's actions. Because as soon as the war started, Jake changed.
He became the Marine he had been. Lo‘ak and Neteyam were instructed to call him Sir; suddenly, his soldiers, no longer his sons.
Ridiculous if you asked Lo‘ak, but Jake became his and Neteyam's Commanding Officer. If they didn’t listen to him, they weren’t allowed out.
Stupid, but that was how Jake was…
He once shared with Lo‘ak and Neteyam what his life as a skyperson was like, and it was strange. Lo‘ak could never picture him as a skyperson, but once the war started, he finally understood what Jake had described. Because, deep inside, he was still a skyperson—he just refused to admit it.
"I‘m gonna go and look for him!" Jake got up, heading for the entry of the Mauri.
Neytiri sighed, getting up as well. "MaJake—" she tried, but he cut her off.
"He’s been gone for hours, baby!" Jake replied, gaze frantic. The RDA could still be out there somewhere. They didn't know if they were gone for good. "Something could’ve happened to him. I need to know that he's okay."
There was this sense of urgency in his voice, and Neytiri knew there would be no use in arguing. If Jake set his mind to something, there was no way to keep him back. She stepped in front of him, her eyes meeting his.
"Be safe…" she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek. "And do not be too harsh on him. Please."
Jake placed his hand over hers before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "I won't, baby. I promise." He pulled back. "And I'll be safe. Don't worry."
With a heavy chest, Neytiri watched him leave. Something was about to happen. She just didn't know what.
Lo‘ak was lying on the beach, eyes closed. It was just quiet. And he liked the quiet. Sometimes you just had to ignore everything and everyone to relax. That was exactly what he was doing right now.
But then, he heard Jake call his name.
His eyes opened wide, and he scrambled to his feet. "Shit, shit, shit," he cursed. If Jake found him now, he’d be fucked, really fucked. He’d been gone for hours, and he knew that Jake hated that. He always said that the RDA could still be out there somewhere, cowering to attack at the right moment.
Lo‘ak searched for a place to hide, but there was nothing. He was exposed. Why did he decide to go to the beach anyway? He knew that he’d be easy meat for Jake.
Stupid boy, he cursed as he began to run; away from the beach and into the thin forest starting just behind the village. He hoped Jake hadn’t seen him yet.
But he had. It was just a glimpse, but Jake was on Lo'ak's heel. He kept calling out for him as he followed him into the forest while the sun slowly started to set.
Since when did he get so fast? Jake thought after a while, breath coming in sharp. He really was getting out of shape. He should be ashamed of himself.
By now, Lo‘ak was keeping to the trees, jumping from branch to branch. It was what he did best, and the setting sun gave him a much-appreciated head start. The harder he was to see, the harder he was to catch.
Jake's voice sounded again, sharper this time. "Lo‘ak, stop, please! I just want to talk to you." He hadn't realized his son's elevation change. He was still on the ground, not even thinking about lifting his eyes to roam the trees.
"But I don’t want to talk to you!" Lo‘ak shouted back, his lungs aching for air. He wouldn't be able to keep this pace up. He needed to do something to get Jake off his back. He needed a plan… He wasn't used to life in the forest anymore. This was taking more strength off him than he liked.
His grip was getting loose, his footwork sloppy. His muscles were burning already, screaming in protest. Each leap pushed him further into exhaustion.
The dimming sunlight suddenly turned from his friend to his foe. But before he could properly think, his hand missed a branch, fingers closing around nothing. With a bone-shattering scream, he tumbled toward the ground, darkness engulfing him.
Jake came to an abrupt stop when he heard the scream. That was Lo'ak! He set off, sprinting in the direction of its origin. "Lo'ak!" His voice cracked when he broke through the plants and saw his son's limp body lying on the ground.
Immediately, he dropped to his knees, scanning Lo'ak's body for any visible injuries—blood, a broken bone, anything. He didn't find any, though.
"Lo‘ak, hey! Lo‘ak! Wake up, come on. Wake up!" Jake's voice trembled as he pulled his son into his arms, checking his body for any visible injuries again.
Lo‘ak didn’t respond, though. His body lay limp in Jake's arms, head lulled to the side. The only thing that reassured Jake that his son was still alive was the fact that he still breathed.
"Hey buddy, come on. Wake up!" Jake tried again, hand moving to slap Lo'ak's cheek. "Don't leave me hanging here." But nothing happened. Lo'ak's eyes stayed closed.
"Fuck," Jake breathed out. He had to take Lo'ak back to the village. Neytiri or Ronal could help Lo‘ak. They were his only chance. He didn't know what to do. He had years of battlefield experience, but he wasn't on a battlefield right now, and the body in his arms wasn't his comrade but his son.
Jake stayed with Lo‘ak the whole time. He couldn’t leave him alone. Not again. He knew that he had been a bad father, and he had to change that!
He was already responsible for losing one son. He didn’t want his family to lose another one just because he was too stupid to do what a father was supposed to do. Children were gifts from Eywa, and what did Jake do? He didn't treat Lo'ak like a gift. No, he treated him like a burden.
As his thoughts pondered, though, his eyes caught movement. Lo'ak stirred with a slight groan. He was waking up. He held his head, squeezing his eyes shut before slowly opening them up again to examine his surroundings with hazy eyes.
He was back in their Mauri, lying on his mat. It was light outside again. He figured he must've been knocked out the whole night. His gaze roamed around, glad that he was alone.
Until he wasn't.
As soon as Lo‘ak saw Jake, a sharp hiss left his mouth. What was Jake doing here, out of everyone? The boy presses his back against the wall of the Mauri, bearing his fangs. His heart rate picked up, tail lashing behind him.
"Lo'ak," Jake slowly said, raising his hands in a de-escalating manner. "You're okay. Everything is alright."
The boy shuffled back on his mat, putting distance between himself and Jake. “Don’t—don’t come near me," he whispered, eyes wide. “Please," his voice cracked. He didn't want Jake here. Not now, not ever.
Carefully, Jake inched closer. "It's okay, son—"
"Don’t call me that!" Lo‘ak tried to hiss, but tears started to stream down his face. His vision blurred, and he quickly turned around. Jake couldn't see him like that—all weak and pathetic.
The son of Toruk Makto shouldn't cry like a baby. Neteyam certainly didn't. Lo'ak was a disappointment in every sense. He couldn't even listen to god damn orders. Because if he could, Neteyam would still be here.
Jake's heart cracked. "Talk to me, Lo'ak," he softly urged. "Come on. I'm here to listen."
The boy shook his head, hugging his knees. "Don't act as if you care now," he rasped. "I'm not your son." He pressed his forehead against his knees, his shoulders shaking from the force of his sobs.
"Now, why would you think that?" Jake asked, brows knitting together. "Last I checked, I was your father. And not anyone else." What was Lo'ak talking about? There was no doubt he was Jake's son.
Lo'ak's fingers dug into his skin as he tried to ground himself. "I'm not worthy of being your son. I am no son of Toruk Makto."
Jake winced at the title. He didn't like it. He despised it. Why was everyone so adamant about keeping calling him that? He left Toruk behind, and he never wanted to become its rider ever again. “That's not true," Jake carefully said, sitting down a few feet from his son. "You don't have to be worthy of anything to be my son."
"That's not true," Lo'ak whispered. "I have to be worthy, and I'm not. I am a disappointment. To everyone. Not just you and Mother." His eyes were burning from the tears, and his face was itching. He just wanted to sink into his father's embrace, though he knew he couldn't.
That only rubbed salt into Jake's split-open heart. His son was no disappointment, no. He was his. His pride and joy, his little baby boy. "That’s not true!" Jake tried to argue, voice urgent. He knew he was harsh on Lo'ak, but did it really make the boy think he was a disappointment to him?
A sniffle filled the silence before Lo'ak spoke up. "You act like it," his voice cracked. "You act as if I’m the worst thing to ever happen to you.“ He paused. "And I heard you call me a disappointment." His voice was quiet all of a sudden. "You—You were talking to mom and… and I heard it clearly."
The painful memory rushed back into Lo'ak's mind, and new tears stung in his eyes. It felt so present, even if it was years ago…
Jake didn't know what he was supposed to answer. Yes, he'd called Lo'ak a disappointment. He'd spoken these harmful words. But it was the heat of the moment, right? It wasn't like he meant it. He was just… angry and scared and—and disappointed.
But he regretted what he said. The second, he realised the weight of his words, he regretted it. And that was before Neytiri shunned and shamed him for even daring to think of Lo'ak like that.
"Lo'ak," Jake slowly started. "You are the best thing to have ever happened to me. And—I know I struggle with telling you that, but that's not on you." He inched closer to his son, hands reaching out carefully. "That's on me." He swallowed, his voice wavering. "You hear me, son? That's on me."
The boy shook his head, hiding his face from Jake. "That's not true. You're—You're lying." His voice cracked.
"I know I am hard on you," Jake tried to get through, his fingers ghosting over Lo'ak's arm. The boy flinched, and Jake grimaced. "I am hard on you, and I shouldn't be, but I am trying to protect you, okay? All—All I ever do, I do to protect you."
There came no answer, but Lo‘ak also didn't pull away. Jake counted that as something. "You are just like me, Lo'ak," he tried to explain in a gentle voice, his fingers carefully pressing against Lo'ak's arm. "And that scares me. Not because you are a bad kid, but because you are so full of love and compassion for the people you care about, that it makes you reckless."
Jake took a shaky breath. "It made me reckless. And see where it got us…" The words sat heavy on his tongue, but they were the truth. Jake was reckless, and now his family was in shambles, and Pandora was at the brink of a full-blown war.
The first time since this whole conversation started, Lo'ak looked at Jake. Slowly, he lifted his head, turning it until his eyes met Jake's. "What?" he whispered, voice rough from his tears.
Jake shuffled even closer, his hand drifting from Lo'ak's arm to the back of his skull. "You are just like me," he repeated in a soft voice, almost a whisper. "And it scares me. It scares me so much because I made so many stupid mistakes when I was young, and I don't want you to make the same ones."
"You don't make mistakes," Lo'ak replied, brows furrowing. "You—You never make mistakes."
A humourless chuckle left Jake's lips. "Now, that's not true, son. That is really not true." He bit the inside of his cheek. "I make lots of mistakes. Lots. Especially when it's about you, apparently." His fingers carded through Lo'ak's hair. "But what's important is that we realise our mistakes and that we change."
"No," Lo'ak protested, shaking his head. "I deserve this." His eyes narrowed. "Everything is my fault; I deserve your anger."
Jake didn't know any better but to shift and pull Lo'ak against himself. He wrapped his arms around his son, his hand cupping the back of Lo'ak's head. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing is your fault. And you do not deserve anger." His tone was fierce but gentle.
"I am the one who's too harsh on you. I am the one who gave you and your brother too much responsibility. Nothing is your fault, baby boy. You hear me?" Jake pulled back from the hug to look at Lo'ak. "It's not your fault."
New tears gathered in Lo'ak's eyes, and he tried so hard not to cry, not to let the tears win, but he couldn't. They flowed down his face as sobs rocked his body. "I'm sorry, Dad," he cried, throwing himself back into his father's arms. "I am sorry."
Jake's hold around Lo'ak tightened. "It's okay," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "It's okay, baby boy. You have nothing to be sorry for."
Without really noticing, Jake started to rock back and forth, cradling his son in his arms, the same way he did while he was still a baby. "I love you, Lo'ak," he muttered against his hair, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "I love you so much. And I see you. I see you, my son."
It wouldn't stop now. Jake knew. Lo'ak would still be reckless, and Jake would still scold him, but now, Jake really understood why Lo'ak did what he did. And maybe that would help him to finally be a better father for his boy.