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It wasn't a rare thing, ikran choosings gone wrong. Jake had been there for many, watching brave and strong Na'vi tumble and fall off the back of the beasts. He had even attended funerals, after some. And yet.
It wasn't a rare thing, ikran choosings gone wrong. But Kiri had been special, only having to ask the ikran to be her friend, and Neteyam had been a natural during his, succeeding first try. Jake had only assumed that, with a confidence that echoed his older siblings' and a stubbornness that echoed Jake's own, that Lo'ak's choosing would have gone smoothly as well. And yet.
It wasn't a rare thing, ikran choosings gone wrong. And yet, climbing up those mountains, Jake had believed in the best-case scenario.
And yet, Lo'ak had fallen.
He had lost his grip on the struggling beast, and Jake had watched in horror as his youngest tumbled off the edge.
Jake had heard nothing but a ringing as Neytiri ran alongside all the others who had climbed that day to where Lo'ak had fallen from view. Kiri had clung to Neteyam's arm with a hand clasped over her mouth, staring at the edge with wide eyes. Neteyam had looked at Jake with nothing but silent fear, frozen in place, and Jake knew he was waiting to be told that everything would be okay. That his brother was okay.
He had been ready to breathe upon hearing that Lo'ak was alive, saved by a wide rock ledge on the side of the mountain, only to go numb upon hearing Lo'ak had injuries to his legs.
There had been blood as Jake flew them back to Home Tree.
There had been sobs and desperate gasps from the boy in his arms as he ran them to Mo'at, as he pleaded for her help despite knowing she'd do it without thought.
There had been a short glance back from Neytiri as she stepped into the medicinal marui with Mo'at and their son.
There had been quiet, fearful stares from Neteyam and Kiri as Jake's voice broke, as he begged Norm over comms to come and to come quick.
There had been a single nod, a precious permission to enter, from Mo'at as Jake held the curtain open to show Norm there, human medical supplies in hand.
And then there had been silence.
Jake sat on the far side of the clearing, facing the marui, half focused on sharpening his knife. Neteyam and Kiri sat next to each other, just outside the marui, shoulder to shoulder.
Neteyam barely moved, his only movement being in his hands. His eyes were stuck on a chunk of wood he held as he chipped away at it with his knife. Curled strips of bark fell to his feet as the wood slowly began to take form, though Jake couldn't tell yet what it would become.
Kiri was the opposite. She swayed, her eyes close as she hummed some made-up song. Her hands fidgeted with a bead on her songcord, and occasionally her hand would flick to sweep away the wood chips from Neteyam's feet when they piled too high.
Silently, in a greedy moment of peace, Jake thought of how much they reminded him of a younger him and an alive Tommy.
The bead that Kiri was fidgeting with was one Jake knew well. He had made it, years ago, and had made a matching one for Neteyam. They were both far better than the one he made for himself. He remembered Neytiri smiling down at them from her hammock as he taught them how to tie the bead to their songcords themselves, remembered explaining to them that 'this bead is for the birth of your brother, Lo'ak'.
The moment of peace was gone a breath after it came.
It wasn't a rare thing, ikran choosings gone wrong.
Lo'ak had fallen.
A cry came from the marui, some ugly broken sob, and Jake watched as the twins switched. Watched as Neteyam's knife dug deep into the wood as he closed his eyes, his body beginning to rock as he mumbled something — maybe a prayer — under his breath. Watched as Kiri stilled, her humming coming to a sudden halt as her eyes opened, looking over her shoulder at the closed marui entrance. Watched as, a moment after the cries had stopped, their swaying and stillness returned to what it was before in almost perfect unison.
With a deep breath, he loosened the grip on his knife, not remembering when he had tightened his hold until his knuckles paled. He sheathed it before he could forget about it's existence, before he could drop it. He hunched over and simply sat there, waiting.
A breath passed, and Jake felt an ache to move. And so he stood, ignoring the way the twins both turned to look at him for a silent moment before returning to their stillness and swaying.
Another breath, and Jake was pacing.
A part of him felt guilty for his steps, for borrowed legs that worked. Another breath, and he pushed the ugly feeling down to somewhere deep and unreachable.
The next breath came with another cry from the marui, and Jake flinched, though his pacing never stopped.
His thoughts came to him spinning. He'd been here before.
Too bright lights. Sorry faces.
Years ago. Half forgotten.
Paralyzed.
Another breath, this one deep. Desperate.
Jake knew that, worst-case scenario, the scientists could do something. Maybe.
The operation existed. It had to.
There had been something for his spine. Sure, he never could afford it, the price so high he had considered sketchy alternatives more times than he'd ever admit. It had been unreachable, but it had existed.
It only made sense that something existed for this.
Jake walked away from view, just around the corner, mumbling to the twins that he needed fresh air and immediately cringing at the stupid excuse. He knew his spiraling thoughts were visible. Knew that he could only pace there for so much longer before Neteyam looked up from his carving and asked if he was okay, before Kiri stilled and stared at him alongside her brother as they waited for his answer.
In the privacy of a corner turned, Jake's pacing resumed.
Something had to exist for this.
There was no money on Pandora, no word for lie. The people here were honest, good, kind.
It was only an if.
If the option was there, if there was something for this, it'd be comfortably within Jake's reach. He would grab onto it before his heart could complete a beat, before his son could begin to imagine a world like the one he had left behind.
But the ifs didn't end there. There was always another if. Jake knew the truth all too well, had cursed to gods unnamed about the endless list of ifs years ago.
If the scientists here knew the surgery.
If they would be confident and comfortable enough to perform it.
If they even had the tools required for it.
And only if Lo'ak needed it, Jake forced the thought, mouthing the words to himself to make sure he remembered.
It was all one big if.
Two big ifs, Jake corrected himself, blinking against stinging eyes.
If Lo'ak needed an operation, but the scientists couldn't do it, what then?
Jake's pacing came to a halt. He looked down at his legs. Borrowed. Working, with the muscles to prove that fact.
The worst-case scenario laid half forgotten in an old portable lab, hidden somewhere in the trees, tangled in vines next to a link unit long unused. Maybe, worst-case scenario, Lo'ak could—
Jake shook his head. His wheelchair would be too small for Lo'ak, too human. Absently, he wondered if the wheels would still turn after years of laying motionless.
His pacing resumed. His legs working, borrowed.
He'd trade his legs for Lo'ak's, if he could. If the worst-case scenario came true.
He had lived like that once. He could do it again.
He couldn't let Lo'ak lose it all.
Lose running through the forests with his siblings.
Lose dancing around the fire.
Lose mounting a pa'li.
Lose crouching under bushes as he stalked his hunt.
Lose climbing up those mountains again to try with a new ikran.
It would be an easy sacrifice. Jake would make it in half of a heartbeat.
Only if Lo'ak needed it.
God — Eywa — he desperately clung to the hope that Lo'ak wouldn't—
"Jake." A voice called, familiar.
Jake's pacing stopped abruptly. He spun on his heels almost too quick. Norm.
"Norm." He forced his voice to bubble up his throat. From the way Norm's brow was furrowed, he could guess with confidence that this was not the first time his name had been called. Jake swallowed. "How are— Lo'ak. How is Lo'ak?"
"His legs are fine, Jake. Relax."
Jake nodded, letting himself breathe properly again. He couldn't remember when his breathing had become so forced, a thing he had to think about.
"They're hurt pretty bad. One's broken and the other's got a nasty cut. It'll need stitches. But with Mo'at's skills and my monitoring, he'll heal just fine." Norm swallowed. "It'll be a bit before he's clear to walk again, though."
Jake's stomach dropped. It wasn't the worst-case scenario, only a temporary disability, but it still stung something too close to his heart.
"Okay." Jake croaked. "Okay. Thank you."
His eyes wandered to behind Norm, finding two faces peeking around the corner. Neteyam's ears pressed back at being noticed, and Kiri placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from retreating. The action earned her a silent hiss from her brother, which she echoed in an instant. A breath later, they had pulled each other out of view, a hushed bickering just barely reaching his ears.
In a greedy moment of peace, Jake let himself huff in amusement.
"Mo'at was finishing up when I left." Norm continued. "You should head back to the marui."
"Okay." Jake turned back to look Norm in the eye, and offered him a single nod before he passed. "Thank you. Really."
"Anytime." Norm nodded back.
With borrowed, working, shaking legs, Jake rounded the corner back towards the medicinal marui. The twins were waiting for him just behind the bend.
"He's hurt bad?" Neteyam asked in an instant.
"He'll be okay?" Kiri asked in the same moment.
They both knew the answers already. Jake knew they had been listening around that corner, knew they had likely sneaked behind Norm and heard the whole thing.
He answered them, regardless. Placed firm hands on their shoulders and squeezed. Offered them a forced smiled, hoped it came off as comforting. "Yes, he's hurt bad. And yes, he'll be okay. It's just gonna take him a bit to get there."
They both nodded. Neither of them struggled as he pulled them both into a hug. A hug that was either for them or for Jake himself, though even he couldn't decipher the whispered meaning behind his own action.
A few breaths later, breaths Jake couldn't bother to count, Mo'at stepped out the medicinal marui. Sweat painted her brow, and yet she held her chin high.
"Come." She spoke gently, her hands motioning for them to approach. "He can be seen now."
Jake hovered behind Neteyam and Kiri as they approached, only to stop as they stopped. The curtain was closed, and Jake had learned the hard way more times than he could count that it was only meant to be lifted by the tsahìk herself. Had earned a stern hiss from Neytiri when he had lifted it himself only minutes — hours? — ago.
"He is tired and needs rest." She hummed, pulling the curtain open with one hand. "Be quiet."
The twins ducked inside, and Jake followed after offering Mo'at a quick thanks.
His nose filled with the harsh smell of medicine, and he breathed out harshly as if he could blow the scent away. He shook his head with a groan, pressing his fingers to the edges of his eyes. He was tired, the day stretching too long. He blinked, looked across the marui. Stopped breathing, only for a heartbeat.
Neytiri sat with her legs crossed, Lo'ak's head resting in her lap. She had one of his braids between her fingers, feeling the woven hair and decorative beads. She sung a quiet song. Familiar. Lo'ak's songcord.
Lo'ak himself was a sight that made Jake's chest grow too tight. His legs were both bandaged. One rested atop a pillow, something Jake had seen Norm walk into the marui carrying, and had supports sticking out from the top of the bandages.
One's broken.
The other leg was wrapped in a different bandage. Thicker, its threads pressed close. A deep red seeped through the plain colour of the bandages, a larger yellowish stain indicating some sort of medicinal ointment applied in handfuls.
The other's got a nasty cut.
Neteyam and Kiri were waiting for him, just past the entrance. He could feel Mo'at standing behind him, the curtain falling closed behind her.
Jake swallowed.
"C'mon." He mumbled, resting a hand on both of the twins' backs and guiding them across the marui with him.
Kiri sat next to Neytiri and rested a hand on her shoulder, whispering the question of if she was alright. Neteyam sat next to her, taking hold of Lo'ak's hand but keeping his eyes on his mother as he awaited her response to Kiri's question.
Jake sat on the other side of Lo'ak from the twins, giving a gentle squeeze to Neytiri's thigh. She looked exhausted. Must have been, after seeing their son through the wound dressing.
Neytiri offered a tired smile, her free hand resting on Jake's and squeezing it in return.
"I am fine, 'ite." She whispered with a small nod.
"Dad?" Lo'ak spoke then, his voice was quiet, small, broken.
Jake turned his head almost too quick towards his youngest. In his peripheral, he saw Neteyam squeeze Lo'ak's hand.
Lo'ak looked beyond exhausted, his eyes barely open and swollen, tear marks staining his cheeks. He looked small, weak, afraid, pained, everything Jake had never wanted to see his children as. Everything he feared.
Jake forced himself to take a deep breath.
The worst-case scenario remained half forgotten in an old portable lab, laying next to a link unit long unused, with wheels that maybe turned.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm right here." Jake answered, hushed. Neytiri's hand moved from his hand to his shoulder, offering him a grounding squeeze.
"You're okay." Jake continued, one hand moving to squeeze Lo'ak's hand and the other brushing over his braids. Jake let his head fall, resting his forehead against his son's. Lo'ak made a tiny sound, and it reminded Jake of a much younger version of him, small enough to fit in his arms.
Jake blinked back tears.
He'd be okay.