Chapter Text
A pair of exceptionally small, chubby hands reached up towards Colonel Miles Quaritch’s face, as he held a little girl- his daughter, in the crook of his elbow. Paz watched him from the bed, hiding a small smile as she rocked her son. The baby in his arms stretched minutely, scrunched up face crumpling further as she yawned, and Quaritch ran a fingertip over her cheek, tracing the coffee-coloured birthmarks striping her little face.
“They don’t look much alike,” he mused, eying the boy Paz was holding. “Ya’ sure they’re s’posed to be twins?”
“They’re fraternal twins,” Paz frowned, brushing away a strand of golden hair from the boy’s face. “They aren’t supposed to look exactly alike. And anyway, I had to push ‘em out at the same time, so if they aren’t twins I’m not sure what they are.”
“Hm,” Quaritch grunted, monotone. The baby in his arms stirred again, cooing, large, watery brown eyes squinting upward. “Well, she’s a carbon-copy of her mama, if it weren’t for all the spots. Ya' thought up names, yet?”
Paz grinned at how gentle the man was being with her daughter. The sight was almost comical; this huge, macho hunk of a man– cradling a baby like a china doll, unable to take his eyes off of her.
“I’m thinking I’ll name him Miles, after you,” she gestured to the blue wrapped bundle still fussing in her arms. “Oh, hush, you. Do you want to name her?”
Quaritch looked up at the question directed towards him, before hurriedly looking back down when a chubby fist closed around his dog tags and gave it a harsh tug.
“Woah, princess, already planning on picking fights, eh? Might make a good marine when you're older, huh?,” he mused, making Paz roll her eyes exasperatedly. Brown eyes stared up at him expectantly, as large as moons, like flinty little chips of onyx. The sterile bluish light of the medbay made the patches on the baby’s skin more prominent. Like… like a little fawn.
“Frances,” he decided, nodding. An old-fashioned name for the little lady, after his mother. “Frances Quaritch sounds nice, doesn’t it, soldier?”
“Socorro,” Paz shot back, grinning her wild, beautiful grin. “I did all the work pushing ‘em out, so they get my last name. And stop calling the baby that! She’s not gonna be a soldier– aw c’mon Miles, don’t cry…”
Quaritch huffed a laugh as Paz trailed off, going back to hurriedly bouncing the boy in her arms. His twin appeared to be much calmer, chewing on a patchy little fist and gurgling. He stroked a small lock of thick, dark hair on her forehead. It was soft, feathery and downy, fanning under his finger. The first human baby to be born on Pandoran soil, as delicate as a flower on a death trap of a planet.
Frances sneezed, nose twitching. Paz was saying something, but he ignored it in favour of studying Frances’ little face as she scowled, wriggling to escape the finger on her forehead.
“Oh, you'll be a little spitfire, alright,” he whispered, smiling, marvelling at how her birthmarks rumpled with her frown. “Little fawn.”
He pulled the small metal cross from around his neck, and pressed it into the blankets, watching Frances grip it curiously, fumbling the metal item in little hands.
Paz was grumbling, and Miles had taken to outright wailing. Quaritch hadn’t heard a thing.
—
Tuk squealed delightedly as a pair of speckled arms with pink hands wrapped playfully around her middle, tickling relentlessly. She giggled until she’d laughed all the air out of her system, batting at the human teen until they’d let go, snickering. The six year old stuck out her tongue, breathless, before cuddling close anyway, fiddling with the beads at the end of the elder’s braid. Her ears flicked backward at the sound of approaching ikran, making both her, and her companion look up towards the source of the sound.
“Fawn, the warrior party’s back!”, Tuk gasped, tail swishing in excitement. “They’re back, they’re back!”
A smile settled on Fawn’s face at Tuk’s delight, as they let the young Na’vi pull at their hand, dragging them as she ran to let the others know. Spider caught up to them, grinning with equal joy, followed by Kiri. Kiri flashed Fawn a gentle smile, bumping her hip lightly against theirs, before reaching up with a graceful, blue hand to smooth down the stray hairs escaping Fawn’s braid.
“Had fun with Tuk?”, she asked, voice as lilting and dreamlike as ever. Fawn returned her smile, taking her hand when she reached out, looking away as Tuk ran forward with Spider.
“Of course”, Fawn’s braid, nowhere near as long as Kiri’s, fell over their shoulder as the two walked towards the cliff. “You know I love playing with her. And I could see that she was getting impatient with all the waiting, so I thought I’d distract her.”
“We thank you for your service,” Kiri joked, as the ikran landed on the edge of the cliff, their riders slipping off their backs. “Who knows how we’d keep Tuk happy if it wasn’t for you!”
Fawn's smile turned a little wan as Kiri let go of their hand, floating forwards to meet her family. They twisted the end of the braided songcord attached to their belt absently, watching as Tuktirey bounded over to her mother, who dismounted and embraced her daughter, cooing.
It stung a little, to be treated like some sort of babysitter. They knew Kiri didn't mean anything by her words, but Fawn understood that they weren't exactly considered ‘family'. Spider, their twin, was still so optimistic about it, hoping that Jake and Neytiri considered him one of their own, and not just a human child hanging around their children.
Fawn was as pessimistic as Spider was hopeful. They’d realized a long, long time ago, that the two of them were nothing but strays to the Omatikaya. Not only were they human, they were also the only living relatives of someone who had brought nothing but destruction to Pandora. It would be too much of a stretch to see the look in Neytiri's eyes when the two teens were around, and consider it to be anything but dislike.
The sins of the father are the sins of the sons, and all that.
Fawn caught up to Spider, standing next to him to curiously watch as Jake gave both Neteyam and Lo'ak a dressing down. Their eyes narrowed at the sight of blood on Neteyam's back, as the older boy shuffled nervously from foot to foot under his father's glare.
“Kiri, Fawn, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded?”, Jake sighed, exasperated, turning towards his daughter. “Please?”
Kiri's eyes darted between Neteyam and her father, displeasure evident on her open face.
“My brother is wounded.” she said, tail smacking against her leg. Stubborn as ever, thought Fawn fondly, glancing towards Neteyam, who looked paler than usual. Lo'ak's head was hanging, and he looked guilty. Clearly, something had gone awry, and it had probably been started by Lo'ak.
Fawn kissed their teeth in sympathy, watching idly as Neteyam awkwardly tried to take responsibility for whatever had transpired. He was a good boy, they thought, feeling oddly protective of him when Jake snapped at him. And he was a good brother, and so was Lo'ak. No matter how much Jake treated the middle sibling like a nuisance and a troublemaker, and even if he was a little irresponsible, Lo'ak was a great brother.
Fawn tugged the much taller Na'vi boy towards Mo'at's hut, sitting him down in front of the Tsahik. Neteyam looked sheepish as Mo'at began tending to him, berating her grandson. Fawn passed over a bowl for the Tsahik to make a salve, lips curling at Neteyam's yelps as she applied said stinging ointment directly to his injuries.
They could hear Kiri's disdain in her voice as she argued with Mo'at over the herbs she was using, before tuning it out and focusing on stitching the wounds on Neteyam's chest. Fawn listened to the hiss of Spider's mask from where he was standing behind them, bickering with Lo'ak and Kiri, feeling uneasy.
The lingering feeling of utter loneliness was back again, even though they were surrounded by people. It came and went often, usually easily combatted by a game with Tuk or a nap with Kiri. It hadn't existed before, back when Spider and Fawn were kids, and were closer.
Fawn chewed on their lip, eyeing their twin as they finished applying the bandages to Neteyam's azure skin, nodding absently at his gentle thanks.
There had been a time when the two had been inseparable, back when they'd had no one but each other, and a few of the scientists. Back before they had argued over their father, before Spider had realized how different Fawn was– too emotional, so overbearing.
They had hoped it would be a teenage spell, that their eighteen minute younger brother was just rebelling, but it had carried on for years instead. And life was hard when the only other person like you tried his hardest to avoid you.
They inhaled, light retracting off of the glass of the exo mask, and catalogued their emotions, folding them away. Catalogue, catalogue, catalogue. Don't bother anyone. Just like Neytiri wanted them to be, quiet, obedient, normal.
Fawn licked up the bead of blood blooming on their lower lip, smiling at Neteyam as he spoke, brushing away a strand of their hair from their face. He was one of their closest friends, an older brother they'd never be able to have. Neteyam was the perfect son, the perfect friend, but he'd never truly understand the way Fawn was crushed under their mountains of responsibility, or their need to be the more mature one, their need to be perfect, to make sure Spider never got into trouble.
Neteyam was still saying something. Fawn hummed sympathetically, patting his shoulder gingerly. They hadn't heard a single thing he'd said.